AN: 1) This contains action/friendship/mystery, maybe some romance and bits of horror towards the end.

2) In this story Chica and Bonnie are female (Possibly Foxy as well but still deciding)

3) There may be scenes of intense violence and action

4) If you are waiting for my other fics I am still working on them, but this just pop in my head one night so I decided to write it down, it has been on my mind ever since (If its of any comfort to my Halo readers, I'm making progress on the next chapter of "Unexpected Alliance")

5) I've never played Five nights at Freddy's (Which I do not own) but I have been reading fics on site and using Wikipedia so it should be accurate, but this is a AU remember.

6) The cover for the fic will make sense as the story progresses along (I do not own the image)

7) Thanks for reading and I hope you will enjoy.

Five Nights at Freddy's: Shadow Wars

One.

Mike Schmidt silently waits in the dimly lit room as moon light filters through the window blind and add a bluish hue to the office. The single lamp on the desk he is sitting in front of provides only the faintest of illuminations, leaving the rest of the small room shrouded in shadows. There wasn't much inside, the décor isn't something to brag about, there are no personal affects like most offices would have and the one other thing that contribute to the abnormality of the situation is the nine millimeter handgun resting on the desk.

However Mike wasn't eyeing the weapon, instead he is staring at his Pad that is propped in his lap while listening to it using earbuds that are connected to the device. He is watching a news channel that is airing on the internet as it shows images of a grisly sight.

"Russian officials still has the Grafov train station under guard as police and government agents work around the clock in their investigation on the hideous crime scene," a female news anchor report.

A slide comes up next showing the outside of a large building as helicopters, police men and firefighters rush around the structure while a crowd of civilians watch from the opposite side of a flimsy yellow tape barrier.

"It has been almost a day since the deadly shooting has occurred and there is still little to nothing that has been revealed to the public."

Mike's face stiffens as he listens to the unfolding story.

"What we do know for certain though is that at approximately 4:19, Eastern Standard Time, a deadly break out of violence has taken place that had claimed the lives of sixteen people and seriously injured another twenty four bystanders."

Mike grinds his teeth at the release of the numbers. The day before he counted twelve, there must have been more people who got hit that he didn't see, who could blame him though? Who could have seen through the chaos as the world burned around him?

"The Russian government makes no other comments aside from condolences they give to the grieving families of the deceased," next comes a clip of men, women, and children crying and consumed with misery at the news, "aside from promise of retaliation, it is still unclear who is responsible. Now we go live to our Russian corresponder that is in Moscow as he watches first-hand what is happening half a world away."

The scene flickers to a man wearing a heavy coat and cap as he clutches a microphone while standing in front of the said train station in broad daylight.

He says, "Thank you Jen, as you have said earlier, this is a tragedy that has struck the nation of Russia hard. I, as well as almost everyone in Moscow, has been waiting for further reports to see if this was a terrorist attack or a shootout between two rival gangs. Nothing is for certain at the moment, only that the police is still investigating and has promised us more information as soon as possible, back to you Jen."

The scene cuts back to the female reporter back in the news room.

"Thank you Tim, now in other report, Carl Bowmen, last year's winner of 'America's Got Talent,' is planning on making his stay in Hollywood more indefinite as he proposes to famous actress, Helen Taylor, outside in front of a crowd in the Beverly Hills-"

Mike turns his pad off and sighs as he slumps in the chair.

A bloody massacre has just taken place less then twenty-four hours ago and people were more concerned about a new rich kid proposing to a much older woman; what is this world coming to?

Before he could dwell on this any longer, the door behind Mike opens and a short man strides in.

Nate McCullen isn't pretty, he wasn't paid to be, but one would have thought (with him being a Level One agent within the agency) that he would be more presentable. He is wearing a suit that is all crumpled at the moment, has a five o'clock shadow on the verge of growing out of control, grey hair that is usually comb but is now a tangled mess and he has bags under his eyes. Despite this though, he smiles broadly when he sees Schmidt.

"Ah, Mike," the tired fifty year old man says in greeting as he makes his way around Mike and settles in the seat behind the desk.

"I was worried you wouldn't make it," he said in a solemn voice.

"So was I," admits Mike in a low voice.

Nate nods in sympathy as he reaches into a cabinet behind him and pulls out a file. He flips it open and begins to go through the contents.

"That was some mess you got yourself into," he comments, "the President had initiated the Phantom Personnel Contingency," he pauses at what he is doing as he looks up at Mike, "you and your team are being broken up and place in different sectors."

Mike sighs as he nods his understanding, he was expecting this.

"It's nothing personal Mike," Nate continues as he puts the folder back and digs out another, "it's just for you and your team's safety should the Russians figure out what happened."

"Do we know what happened?" Mike asks in a desperate voice.

Nate sighs and shakes his head, "Unfortunately no, we still can't ID this forth player."

"Could it have been the Russians themselves?" Mike asks.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Nate says as he switches out another file, "their new President may be aggressive, but I don't think he would do something like that, not so soon after the inauguration."

"Does he really focus on keeping the people happy that much?" Mike asks.

"Seeing as how he is from a wealthy crime family with a lot of rivals in the country, I would think so," answers Nate.

"Alright," Mike says as he thinks, "So chances are slim that it was the Russians."

"It may have been a terror group," offers Nate.

"They were too well equipped," counters Mike, "they were organized and ready for a fight, they are either Chinese, Korean, maybe Iranian. There's also the possibly that they were just a heavily supplied Mercenary group like Trenchfoot."

"Trenchfoot is keeping to themselves after their African deal went south," Nate says, "for all we know they could be a rogue Special Forces group."

Mike sighs as he takes all this in. Never in all his years in the network did something like this happen to him. True he lost his share of men on missions and the unfortunate civilian would step into the crosshairs, but this wasn't a unavoidable encounter, it was a all out firefight that may cause a international crisis.

"Sixteen dead and twenty four injured," Mike murmurs softly to himself, "that has to be some sort of record, right?"

"The only number we keep track of," Nate says sternly, "is the number of success we have, that you have," he puts emphasis on that point.

"Tell that to Walt's kids and Robby's parents," Mike said.

"They were grown men," Nate counters, "they knew the risk and besides, they, as well as the rest of your team, knows that you would move Heaven and Earth for them, there was really nothing you could do."

"I caused this," Mike bitterly blurts out.

"Considering the limited options that you had," analysis Nate, "you chose the one you thought was best and it completed the mission."

"And now there are sixteen new graves on the market because of that," Mike seethes, "I should have known…"

"Should have known what?" Nate asks, "nobody knew nothing Mike, we still don't, so do not blame yourself for something in the past; you've been through this before."

"Yeah, but never on this large of a scale," Mike replies in a broken voice.

Nate sighs as he shakes his head before cycling through another folder.

Mike thinks silently to himself before saying, "I'm surprised I wasn't sacked."

Nate rolls his eyes, "You? Sacked? With all your experience I'm sure whichever Congress member suggests that idea will be wetting their pants fearing you will assassinate them," his mood dies down though as he says, "but they are demoting you."

Mike thinks this over before saying, "to what?"

"You went from Level Three to Level Four."

Mike curses lowly, causing Nate to glance up at him.

"I thought you said you didn't care about rank," he recalls.

"Yeah, but not this time," answers Mike, "Now I'll be denied access looking into classified records."

"Why do you care about that all of a sudden?" a baffled Nate asks.

"I was hoping on finding something that can help us figure out who those guys were that attacked us in Russia," answers Mike with fingers curled up into fists.

"NSA and CIA are already on it, not to mention our own people you know," Nate says.

"I've got that, but I just want to help," Mike says in a defeated voice.

Nate nods without saying a word as he continues going through the paperwork in each cabinet he is digging in.

"What are you looking for anyway?" Mike says, more to stop himself from dwelling on the past then out of curiosity.

"This," Nate says as he finally appears satisfied after looking a file over and places it in the middle of the table and motions for Schmidt to scoot closer. Mike leans forward a little, his interest slightly perks as he wonders if this is another assignment. But why would they send him on one after what had just happened?

"Your boys are being distributed to the Military, FBI, CIA and DEA," his senior counterpart informs him, "you on the other hand are going to be performing a civil service act."

Mike is quiet for a moment, stun, before simply saying, "What?"

"You need something to do, but need to lay low, way low," he looks Mike in the eye, "especially if this fourth party got a good look at you and is looking for payback."

Mike shrugs, "I'm more than ready to face a little revenge, besides, what do you mean civil service work? Why not send me to someplace more…useful, like the CIA? I got a few good contacts in the agency."

"We don't want you on the radar, not this soon anyway," Mike visibly deflates at this, "and this is something up your alley," he says as he taps the paper in front of him.

Mike sighs, "What am I doing? Police work?"

"Nope, security guard detail."

There is complete silence after this stunning revelation.

"That's not funny Nate," Mike says wearily.

"I'm serious," Nate looks at the paper, "there's a place called 'Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria' and its-"

"A pizzeria?!" Mike asks in a disgusted tone, "After all the stuff I have done, all the missions, all the kill charts, all the success, you're going to be having me guard some sort of two-bit dump?"

"This 'two-bit dump' you are referring to, is having a lot of trouble, serious trouble," Nate says in a grave voice.

Mike couldn't help but smirk, "what kind of trouble could this place be having that requires the help from a former Green Beret Black Ops trained, agent?"

"How does solving a psychotic murder spree sound?"

Another second of stun silence before Mike snaps himself out of it and says, "Psychotic murder? Like the type with the butcher knife or the type with a chainsaw?"

"The type who mutilates, hides and runs away before the cops can so much as put their donuts down," answers Nate as he looks down at the file.

"The place was pretty popular, started in the sixties and was just starting to take off to the big leagues when something happened in the eighties, or the year eighty seven to be more precise." He looks up at Mike, "in order for this to make sense, I guess we need to know more about this place." He refers to the paper again, "it was the first and only known kid's restaurant to feature fully working, mobile and entertaining robotic animatronics."

"Animatronics?" Mike asks.

"Robots dressed up as giant furry animals…think Mickey Mouse with a terminator exo-skeleton beneath his skin."

"Thanks for simplifying it," Mike sarcastically said.

Nate smiles for the first time out of amusement before saying, "anyway, that's how the place got popular, not for its pizza, but these animatronics who are smart to move and calculate their way around a problem, some are considering them to be the first gen of AI intelligence."

"Stunning," Mike comments in a non-interested voice.

"Back then it was, up until the 'incident' as it's called."

"Incident?"

"That's where things went wrong I guess," Nate flips to another page, "One of the animatronics went haywire and…well to add to the realism, whoever created these robots gave them actual teeth, and unfortunately for this one poor sucker he got bit by the one who had the sharpest of canines."

Mike feels his heart plummet. He has seen the terrible side of humanity and what people can do to each other, but he didn't want to think about what had happened.

"This…this happened at a kid's restaurant?" he asks in a chilled voice.

"Yeah, but the vic wasn't a kid," answers Nate, "it was a guy who wasn't doing anything wrong as far as anyone could tell before, chomp," he looks up at Mike, "lost part of his face."

Mike opens and closes his mouth before saying, "then what?"

"The dude died," answers Nate, "not from the bite itself, but from some sort of trauma he was suffering before he visited, according to the case files he was a Vietnam vet. Anyway, all that people cared about is the fact that it happened at a children's play place and they didn't want their little tykes to be next on the menu."

"Business started to drop after that," Mike guesses.

"The whole operation almost got shut down," Nate elaborates, "They are barely chugging along today, having a killer robot isn't good for publicity you know."

"Do tell," Mike says.

"Alright, they put the malfunction animatronic on ice-"

"Like me," Mike compares in a lukewarm voice.

"You're down Mike," Nate says with conviction in his eyes, "not out."

Mike merely shrugs and waves for him to continue.

"Parents wanted the animatronics to be scraped and have the restaurant either remodeled or destroyed, that's when things get even darker." Nate then pulls out a small white square and hands it to Mike. It was the backside of a photograph, Mike flips it over and his eyes widen in horror at what he sees.

"What is that?" he demands, not taking his gaze off the photo.

"That was a human being," Mike looks up, hoping to see humor in Nate's face, but it was as serious as ever, "from what we can tell he was stuffed into a spare animatronic suit, with all the gears and stuff still inside it."

Mike couldn't believe it, but now that he observes the image more closely, he soon realizes that there is no other explanation, seeing how all the skin, flesh and organs are now one big pulp resting inside what could only be described as a gearbox.

"The psycho killer," Mike says, putting the pieces together.

"This was taken just a month ago, but we have reports suggesting that this has been going on for nearly thirty years."

Mike feels sick and angry as he says, "Thirty years of this," he waves the picture, "how?"

Nate shrugs, "it isn't like this has been happening every night, in fact, that photo is the only thing we have to go off from to suggest what has been going on there. At first it was just disappearances."

"Disappearances," repeats Mike.

"Yeah," nods Nate, "the night watchman was the first to go, he was living alone, no immediate family or close friends and his coworkers only knew him as a nutter, so not many people notice he was gone till after they realized his car has been in the parking lot for five days straight. When they couldn't find him, they just shrugged and hired someone else. When that new guy disappeared on his very first night though, that was when questions started to be asked."

Mike thinks for a moment before asking, "How many people had disappeared?"

"Nine, but only the night watchmen, no other employee or child have been harmed...as far as we know."

"Don't they have cameras or tried to get the police involved?"

"Yes and yes," answers Nate, "however, every morning people checks the cameras only to see that the recordings have been tampered with. There have been police stakeouts, inside and outside, but they never catch anyone. The second to last night guard had a police officer beside him on his second night, nothing happened on the first, but when the officer left to answer the 'call of nature', the watchman had disappeared in a span of a minute."

"And the officer didn't hear a scuffle?" Mike asks, now with full interest.

"Not a peep, and when he checked the cameras he found that they were already wiped."

"Fast worker," Mike says.

"Too fast," he gestures at the photo, "people are scared out of their minds, they only order take-out pizza now, never staying longer than they have to and the people who are working there are only doing it because they have no other place to go, it's a small town mind you."

"So the police got fed up with this and asked the government for help. After pestering us for days on end, we finally sent an FBI agent to have a look see, he went in at night but never came out."

"So nine civilians and an agent," counts Mike.

"Yeah, however when they were searching the premises, the police found a camera that was thrown out one of the pizzeria's windows, it belonged to the agent," Nate glances at the photo, "and that was all that he snapped."

"So he was able to get some evidence out before he got nabbed," Mike says thoughtfully before tapping the image, "and this was a month ago?"

Nate nods, "nothing has happened yet so far, but ten people gone, possibly killed, after thirty years is starting to become a serious issue, and frankly I'm surprised the newshawks haven't started reporting these incidents."

"Possible suspects?" Mike asks next, "any enemy of the owner perhaps?"

"He filed some names, but we have nothing concrete on anybody to suggest that they are experiencing any Hannibal traits. We got ourselves here a classic mysterious Jack the Ripper who apparently is uncatchable."

"Out of public interest," Mike mordantly says, "would it be safer to just demo the building and see what could be found in the rubble?"

"The owner won't allow it, he's got his lawyers, attorneys and law firms protecting his rights, and seeing how there is no real evidence that the disappearances are linked to him or his place of work, we can't nail him or take his property."

Mike thinks this all through before asking, "why do people keep going then? If they know this place has a history?"

"It's a small town," Nate says as if this answers everything, "it's close to becoming a ghetto and there's only one other fast food chain, but apparently most of the residence aren't that fond of Chinese food."

Mike nods as he sucks in all this knowledge. No longer is he a bum on the chair, now he is sitting with full attention and determination burning in his eyes. This was no secret mission in a foreign country, this is happening on the home front and he is ready to meet the challenge.

"Ok…" he says carefully, "but why me?"

"You're the only one available," Nate's tone sounds as if this is a obvious answer.

"Yeah, I know that, but what I meant was why someone with…my line of work?"

Nate taps the image again, "it's pretty obvious whoever is doing this knows what he is doing and is strong enough to do it, average police units aren't going to cut it, and the Bureau is ticked they will retaliate in force for their lost man, which is why they gave the assignment to our agency; because they know we get results."

Nate closes the file and pushes across the desk and in front of Mike.

"This will still be done under espionage tasking," he says, "same line of work, but it may be best of you to stick with your real name seeing how varied names are in the states."

Mike wonders about that for a while before nodding and says, "How will this be played?"

"You'll be acting under the guise of a new guy in town who is willing to give this night job a try; I've already secured you a temporary house there. Your aliases is a young man who has just finished college with psychology degree and needs the money the job is offering while you find your first person to…'evaluate'."

"Cheery," Mike says as he rolls his eyes, "Why psychology?"

"So you will be able to bluff your way through," Nate answers with a smirk.

Mike couldn't believe he is doing this, one moment he could have been doing an assassination of a refugee warlord and his private army in Africa, now here he is being a security guard in a crummy building in the states. He finds this more unbelievable then him being all over the world running covert missions.

He wants to help, he really does, but he also sees this as an opportunity to clear his head, a quick mission ending with him catching or killing a deranged murderer should do it. And in this way, it'll give him some time for him to do his own investigation as he tries to figure out who killed his two guys and all those people on his last op.

He looks at Nate and asks, "When do I leave?"