Rating: T for graphic violence and gore, mild swearing, perilous situations, psychological trauma, brief mention of alcohol and drug use, depressive themes

Setting: Fazbear's Fright: The Horror Attraction, during the events of the third game

Summary: Now 45 and perpetually mired in minimum-wage work, Mike Schmidt never came remotely close to setting the world on fire. Knowing far more now than he did back then, he's sitting in a sham of a security office, playing the role of the very job title he held for all of a week. He's got a lighter in his hand and an ally from the flip side. Burn, baby, burn.

Author's Note: The Five Nights at Freddy's games and all canon characters, settings, etc. are the property of Scott Cawthon. This is a non-commercial fan tribute and was not written for profit.

You are free to use any original concepts, headcanons and characters from this fanfiction in your own work (fanfiction, art, etc.) if you'd like.

This contains FNaF3 spoilers, of course. Please note that this fanfic was written after the third game's release and that the author still has an ongoing 'fic based on the first game (slowpoke, much?) and the expanding canon of the second and third games has retconned much of that story. Thus, this one won't spoil the original planned ending to the first 'fic, in fact, it's quite different! The characters' personalities are much the same from the first story but other plot elements have changed.

Views expressed in this fanfiction do not necessarily match the writer's.

It hit him like a ton of bricks, just being back in the old place after five hard years and having come full circle. Mike Schmidt had long held onto the magical belief that after his former boss had turned the key in the lock the last time, forever abandoning his final, failed business venture, Freddy Fazbear's Pizza had somehow remained in pristine condition, undisturbed and waiting for the eventual day when a new owner might allow another generation of children to rediscover the magical and happy memories.

That day had never come and it sure wasn't going to now. Reality had proved itself a cold, hard slap in the face, and the elements were slowly reclaiming the derelict building where Mike had once worked for all of a week, evidenced by the waterlogged ceiling tiles and the green and black mold that had hungrily consumed everything it could cling to. Amidst all the detritus of the pizza palace that had once been the happiest destination of all time for local children, Mike dropped to his knees and clamped a palm to his forehead, his senses overwhelmed.

"Hey, you okay? Could I get you a cup of water or something?" asked the site supervisor who had been charged with overseeing the work crew. Filled with genuine concern, he knelt alongside his stricken employee, who was now cursing softly under his breath, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Naw, I'll live, Harry. I...I guess the mildew in here just got to me. This place really went to seed, didn't it?" Mike abruptly rose to his feet, trying to prove his resolve to continue working alongside the other men, most of them young enough to be his sons. As part of a day labor crew, he hadn't bargained for this when he'd been asked to assist on a "moving job." He had never expected to end up...here, again.

"And how! It sure didn't help that kids broke in over the years and trashed everything that wasn't nailed down," muttered the supervisor, kicking an outdated yet full beer can across the dining area. It clattered over the floor tiles, coming to rest at the base of the empty show stage. "That young guy who bought the contents of these restaurants at the auction..." Harry's voice trailed off and he laughed. "I think he was counting on finding a lot more than this still around. We'll be lucky to fill a single moving truck; most of this is unsalvageable by any means. It was just his dumb luck, though, and he should've had the good sense to inspect the goods before he bought 'em."

"You're telling me," Mike replied, coughing hard behind the dust mask he wore over his mouth and nose. He slid his plastic safety goggles back over his eyes, which contained a steely glint of determination. "Don't keep me in the dark, though, what's he planning for all this stuff?"

Harry shook his head in disapproval. "You didn't hear this from me, but if you can keep a secret, the buyer's a scion of the family that owns Krayzee Action Park, just over the state line. I guess he finally wanted to impress his old man by designing his own spookhouse attraction for the park, so he bummed some dough off him and bought a bunch of old trailers and welded them together or something. He's going with a 'haunted pizzeria' theme and that's why he wants all this decrepit crap. I learned of his plans when he called the office requesting workers to gut the old restaurants, and I might add he was high as a kite at the time."

"That's super sick," Mike sighed, his stomach twisting at the mere thought. "Didn't it ever dawn on him that kids died here?" He felt a pang in his heart. "And a security guard."

Harry nodded. "I agree, it's the ultimate in poor taste to try and make a buck off someone's tragedy." He prodded a ceiling fan, its wooden blades drooping like the petals of a wilted daisy. "Never heard about the security guy, though."

Mike bowed his head reverently, staring down at tiles that had lifted up from the floor. It seems not too many people did. Clyde Miller had died doing what he loved, but his death had gone mostly unnoticed. In the eyes of law enforcement, he officially remained a missing person, a low-wage employee who had never gotten over a demotion at work and had been under a lot of stress, and had walked out on his unsatisfying life to start anew, case closed and no foul play suspected. Mike knew otherwise, but nobody had believed him.

"Oh, and don't forget the guy who got part of his head gnawed off by one of the robots! Bet he'd be real cheesed off to hear about this spookhouse," Harry added.

Mike regarded him sharply. "Yeah, Jeremy's actually a friend of mine. I didn't know him at the time he got hurt, though. I met him later, and he didn't get anything 'gnawed off,' exactly. He suffered a brain injury when an animatronic malfunctioned and bit him, but the amazing thing is, his mind more or less rewired itself and he's made a great comeback. I still see him around every now and then."

"Oh. I-I'm really sorry, man. I didn't know that, it's just one of those things you hear about, you know? Glad to hear he's doing better," Harry apologized. "Ugh, I feel like putting my foot in my mouth right about now."

"Don't," Mike said, grinning to show him all was forgiven, "you'd just get a mouthful of mold. We're practically wading through the stuff."

"Yeah, and we'd better get back to work already," the supervisor said matter-of-factly, pulling a list from his pocket and consulting it. "There's some wooden pizza decorations on the walls near the restrooms, they want those. Have at it, try and see if you can get 'em off in one piece." He passed a crowbar to Mike. "After that, take a wheelbarrow and move out the old animatronics. Those trespassers smashed them up good; they're just laying there in pieces in the same hall. You round 'em up and we'll leave it to our young entrepreneur to decide if there's anything worth salvaging out of the lot. Oh, and the restrooms have been boarded up, so I'm assuming they don't want the toilets, haha." Excusing himself to check on the progress made by the other workers, he left Mike to his tasks.

Just as he'd been told, the four characters who had made such efforts to kill him during his brief employment at Freddy's were now utterly ripped apart, their remnants strewn around the floor. Finally standing triumphantly over the remains of his former tormentors, Mike looked ruefully down at the crowbar in his hands.

"Too bad those kids beat me to it or I would've torn into you myself!" he snarled. The memories of his persistent attackers had never been far from his mind, and he had long assumed that after the pizzeria had closed, the characters had eventually run out of power and their servos had ground to a halt, locking up and ending their wandering days forever. Considering the location's power woes, it probably hadn't taken long. His recurrent nightmares had even driven him to show up one night outside the shuttered pizzeria, flashlight in hand, to peer inside just to reassure himself they had really shut down once and for all. That attempt to investigate hadn't ended well, leaving him with charges of loitering and prowling added to his record.

Dropping to one knee, Mike lifted Freddy's headpiece, staring into the vacant and soulless eye sockets of the mask, the same ones his own eyes would have been forced through if the bear or his companions had ever succeeded in their quest to destroy him. He sensed he should have been finding his long-awaited sense of closure at this moment, but he wasn't feeling the peace he sought, not when virtually everything around him was being moved to a macabre horror attraction.

Sighing, he tossed the headpiece in the wheelbarrow and began gathering up the ripped tufts of acrylic plush from the shredded costumes, hissing in sudden pain. Bringing his hand to his face, he discovered a slash across his palm, and glared down at the culprit.

"Dammit, Foxy," he growled, seeing a glint of blood on one of the pirate character's many exposed teeth. "Even beyond the grave, you got me." Carelessly wiping his hand across his jeans, he gave the headpiece a sharp kick, feeling a little better as it thumped against the far wall, which had been haphazardly covered with particle board for as long as he could remember, a shoddy example of workmanship at best.

Huh, I always wondered what was behind that. Acting impulsively as he had a tendency to do, Mike returned to the main hall and retrieved a sledgehammer from the tool supply, and was soon back at the mysterious wall. He attributed the absolute chill that suddenly overcame him to hesitation.

Mike, NO! You'll let him come back. He always does.

"You're going to get me in trouble doing that!" Harry had suddenly reappeared, reprimanding him with a hand outstretched for the hammer. "Just think first, okay? We're not a demolition crew and I don't want to get blamed for any more damage to this place."

"Fine, but what do you suppose is back there?" Mike asked, jabbing a finger at the door and inwardly scolding himself. His boss was right; the last thing he needed was to be slapped with yet another criminal mischief charge.

"I dunno, maybe a third restroom? Harry shrugged dismissively. "Who cares, but I think I'd better take over here. We'll reassign you to another job that doesn't require the use of tools capable of massive destruction. Go to the security office and clear out everything. They want it all, that's what the list says, anyway."

Dread clouded Mike's mind, almost immediately replaced by fury. It was bad enough that someone was planning to profit off a serial killer's legacy, now they were going to capitalize on the grim fate of the only one who had made any real effort to help him survive his week at Freddy's.

The office hadn't escaped the deterioration that plagued the rest of the building, and the former security guard smiled wistfully, resting a hand on the rusty but cool metal of the desk fan. It was all still here, just as he'd left it. This was where he had tried so hard but in vain to prove himself, taking risks that bordered on insanity, only to learn the restaurant was closing and he was being fired. He often felt very little in his life had gone right since.

This place has been responsible for destroying so many lives when it was supposed to be a fun paradise for kids; why would anyone in his right mind want to bring it back? Mike jumped when a figure appeared at the door, flashbacks of the animatronics having done exactly the same flashing through his mind.

"Sorry, Mike. Are you sure you're okay? When you stormed off I realized I might have been a little harsh on ya." Harry scratched his head, leaning against the doorframe. "Besides, how did you know exactly where to find this room? I didn't even get a chance to tell you where it was and you came right here. You just made a total beeline for this office, like you knew something all along that I don't."

"Lucky guess, I suppose." Luck had nothing to do with it, nothing but bad luck, anyway. The former guard had never told anyone about his failed employment at the pizzeria, preferring to hide his brief association with that accursed place. He only wished he could just as easily bury his own memories and deny the whole thing had ever happened.

Author's Note: This chapter was in no way putting down day labor workers or those who earn minimum wage. There is absolutely no shame in honest work. Been there/still there myself, just sayin'. ;)