My Sweet Brownie

First Night Was A Doozy.

Shimidt is pronounced: shi-mid-teh. Jeremy added the the teh so it didn't sound too weird. Ok, carry on.

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In the uniform, he stood with a nervous expression, one hand holding his arm, and the other holding a check. He stepped inside the quiet, dark and now very creepy building. It was empty. No high children, no screaming, no laughing, no food; just silence.

It sent chills down his spine.

He looked left and right trying to find any bit of light to signify the office he was going to do his duties in. He gulped, squinting to see where a light switch could be located.

He boldly squeaked out a little call. "H-hello?" He craned his head forward into the hallway leading to the bathroom. It was quiet, a type of silence that could drive someone insane.

"I-Is th-there a-a M-Mike... Err... Uh..." Pulling out his phone, he shifting his arm so the check was right at his eyes. The phone light shined onto the sloppy handwriting on the check, squinting to decipher what it said.

To: Mike Schmidt
Amount: 150.00$
From: FazBear Entertainment

"A-uh.. M-Mike Shimidt?" He mispronounced, beginning to walk around the dark building. "Mr. Graco... H-he s-said you.. Uh.. F-forgot y-your check..." He called out, gulping down some fear and sighed. "M-mr.. Shimidt..?" He called out again, waiting about a minute before stuffing his phone and the check into his pocket. "I-I guess he's n-not he-"

A whisper came from behind, maybe right at his ear. "I told you not to come... But you refused my offer.." It growled, sending a familiar shiver up and down his spine. The boy, jumped forward, only to be grabbed by the wrist and pulled the correct way to his office.

Very soft, very scared squealing could be even slightly heard as they made their way to the office. Jeremy, being kidnapped and all, wasn't too happy with Mr. Asshole of the planet, dragging him to some unknown location. Curious though petrified about the stronger man that seemed to be very angry with him was all he really was at the moment, wondering who he was and if he knew him.

Throwing him in a chair, the older male glared, blue eyes darting down at the green staring back. "I-" "Don't say a damn word."

The teen froze up ad sat there, tilting his head down to show he was shut up. "Now, how dare you push me," He poked his chest, indicating himself. "Into a goddamn ball out and run off; disobeying my wishes and come here like its all magically forgotten and shit like that!" He groaned, barely feeling any guilt over the powers of his anger which was driving him all the way home. "Can't believe that dumbass head of yours actually made a plan, bad one, terrible one and that was to walk your little ass in her and get killed! Hope you're happy with yourself!" He roughly thrusted his back into the wall, crossing his arms and, still glaring coldly at the shaken teen, began to calm down.

Maybe after a period who knows how many minutes, Mike spoke up. With a cough, he breathed; "Now... You have a check for Mr. Shimidt? He asked, thrusting a hand towards the boy. "Give'it here." He ordered in a cool, smooth voice.

Even with the voice change, it still sent a shiver down his spine. Though, even with no confidence, he boldly spoke. "N-no.. Th-this isn't y-yo-"

"No?! Yes!"

"No... I-it's n-not y-yours-"

"Yes it is! It's got my name on it and I earned it!" He argued.

"Earned by getting pushed in a ball pit?!" He retorted, barely even realizing what he was getting at, but continued just the same. "Earned it by yelling at a possible co-worker?!" The green eyes were coated with tears even though none fell. "Earned it by scaring the living shit outta me, then dragging me here, just so you could lecture me on what I did wrong?! I know what I did and you deserved it!"