Five Nights At Freddy's

Chapter Three: Violet Jackson

Mike arrived at the restaurant a mere hour after opening to get all the official paperwork done before his nighttime shift began. The parking lot was nearly vacant with the exception of four cars parked in the spaces labeled: Employees Only. He parked up front, raising an eyebrow at the bright purple car that sat between two relatively traditional black ones. He hadn't expected to see such a eccentric car in such a small town. He stepped out of his vehicle, lifting his head to the squat, rectangular building before him.
The neon sign reading Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria; Where Fantasy and Fun come to Life was adorned with a toothy bear in a top hat and bow tie. Mike assumed that this was the mascot and namesake of the restaurant, Freddy Fazbear. Mike took a deep breath, reaching the glass doors and peered inside. The restaurant was dim, he could barely make out any movement from within the dining room. He tried the door, it swung open stiffly and slowly.
"Hello?" He greeted cautiously, the sounds of cheery, robotic music ringing from the stage before him. A ruckus caused him to take a step back as a glass plate smashed into the door beside him. He withdrew, shielding his face.
"Even less money than last month?" A young woman screeched, her arms full of dishes, coming into view from a backroom. The person she was chasing, a plump man in a black suit, jumped, shaking slightly.
"Vi, darling, I can explain."
"Don't call me that!" She screamed, causing the man to cringe. She recovered, straightening herself. "Why have you shaved off another five dollars you greedy bastard? This is barely minimum wage- this job isn't even worth it anymore!"
"Because," a third voice said from behind her, "he hired a new night guard." The two fighting figures froze, turning their heads slowly in Mike's direction. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling.
"H-hi..." He greeted, with a small wave of his hand.
"Oh Hell no," the woman named Violet snapped, dropping the dishes in her hands. They crashed to the checkerboard floor with a symphony of destruction, much to the heavy set man's agony. "Iris."
"Violet, honey, this is Mickey Smelt, I've hired him to be the new night guard," the man introduced, "Mickey, this is Violet Jackson, our day shift security guard, and back there is Charlie Toreor, the janitor. I'm Montgomery Iris, we spoke on the phone."
"Hi," Mike managed, still stunned from the scene he'd intruded upon. "I'm Mike Schmidt, by the way."
"Please, come in," Mr. Iris insisted, opening the door for Mike. He took his hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Watch you're step," he suggested, pointing at the shattered glass on the floor, "Charlie!"
"On it," the boy, Charlie, replied. He looked no older than sixteen with a mop of curly brown hair covering his vibrant green eyes and freckled face. Violet's face soured as he entered. She looked him up and down, crossing her arms.
"Iris," she pressed.
"If you have concerns, we can discuss them later in private," Iris hissed behind gritted teeth. Violet reddened but didn't argue the matter any further. A dark figure appeared in the hallway leading to the kitchen. He was a very thick, muscular man with a tight, square jaw. He crossed his arms.
"Where are my plates?"
"On the ground, unfortunately," Violet blushed, "I'm sorry, Jose." The man groaned, shaking his dark head.
"Mr. Shmoe, this is our cook, Jose Escamillo, Jose, this is our new night guard."
"Whatever," the cook replied, disappearing back into the hallway, "he won't be here for long, why bother?" Iris gave a nervous laugh, patting Mike on the back roughly as Charlie reappeared with a dustpan and hand broom.
"He's... not very good with words. He just means that the night shift is a tricky thing to schedule, a lot of people leave after the first few nights because it just doesn't work out," Mr. Iris assured. Violet's mouth tightened as she turned her head away from us, leaning back against a table. "Violet, while Charlie is cleaning up your mess, why don't you take our new friend here on a quick tour of the restaurant?"
"But-?" Violet began, but found it futile upon looking at Iris's face. She knew that look, there was no going back. She sighed. "Fine. Come on."

Mr. Iris retreated into his office, just left of the stage where the three animatronics stood, moving shakily every few seconds to the music. Violet crossed the restaurant, pausing in front of them. The wooden stage, adorned with a colorful, paper backdrop and a cheap, red curtain stood about four feet off the ground.  The animatronics, a bulbous bear, rabbit, and chicken, were jerkily moving left to right, their eyes swiveling around in time greet the children Mike couldn't see.  A neon sign above them read "IT'S TIME TO PARTY" in flashing red letters. 
"Hey there-there-there Fr-Freddy," the rabbit said, "I s-sure am hung-hung-hungry for some p-p-pizza."
"M-Me too," Freddy agreed, his mouth moving up and down robotically to simulate speech, "h-hey Chica, w-what's on the menu t-today?" Mike cringed, as the chicken's vocal recording scratched it's inaudible reply.  Violet glared at him, as though daring him to make a comment. 
"This is obviously the dining room," she informed at last, satisfied with his silence.  She gestured broadly to the surrounding room and then pointed to a camera bolted to the wall above Iris's door. "That's the camera for this general area, it gives a good view of the stage mostly so you can check up on the animatronics during the night."
"I'm sure they'll be lots of trouble," Mike joked, looking them up and down. Their movements were off putting and slightly haunting. The way their cartoonish faces contorted to make them appear lifelike sent shivers down his spine, especially up so close. He turned towards Violet to find her watching him darkly.
"You'll want to keep an eye on them," she insisted coldly. He straightened, his brow furrowing at her serious demeanor. She turned, pointing at some purple, star adorned curtains to their left. "That's pirate's cove, that's where we keep Foxy. He's out of order, but you'll still want to look at him pretty frequently."
"Is... there a reason why?"
"It's protocol," she recited dryly, "it's just what you do, Mr. Schmidt. Follow me, I'll show you your office."
Violet led him down the right hallway, passing the backroom where they kept spare animatronic parts and the bathrooms, pointing out the cameras nonchalantly. He noticed her keeping her right hand balled in the pocket of her purple slacks, she seemed to utilize her left hand almost exclusively. Mike was only barely listening to her spiel, he felt most of her instruction was common sense; check the cameras, call the police if he saw anything suspicious, and stay inside the office from midnight to six. Simple.
"So..." Mike tried, "how long have you worked here?"
"A while," she replied vaguely, keeping her eyes straight ahead of them. Mike bit his lip; investigating may prove harder than he thought.
"Do... you like working here?"
"I can't imagine doing anything else."
"Is that a yes?"
"What's it matter?" She snapped, turning toward him sharply. Her electric blue eyes shone eerily in the darkness. Mike felt a small chill go down the back of his neck.
"It doesn't, I was just trying to make small talk."
"Well, stop it," she growled, turning back around and continuing down the hallway. Mike released his breath, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

They reached the office a few minutes later. It was a tight, square shaped room containing nothing but a desk and chair against the front wall and small couch against the back wall. Behind the monitors which sat flickering on the desk were pinned children's drawings of characters and people only barely defined in crayon. Violet shuddered and crossed her arms despite the absence of any draft or airflow. In fact, the whole building was uncomfortably warm. Mike pulled on his tie in irritation as Violet paused in the center of the cramped room, resting her left hand on the back of the leather swivel seat.
"This is your office," she informed, her voice cracking slightly, "you'll watch these monitors closely for anything out of the ordinary. If for any reason you feel unsafe, you'll shut the doors on your right and left." She demonstrated, pressing a button to their right which caused a heavy, bolted door to fall from it's socket in the ceiling. Mike jumped as it collided with the ground. "You'll notice on your monitor your battery percentage," she explained, pointing at a small ninety four at the bottom of the screen, "you don't want to run out of power or else the doors, cameras, and lights won't work and you'll be a sitting duck."
"Should I unplug-?" Mike started, pointing at the nearby phone and fan. Violet shook her head.
"It shouldn't come to that. You should have more than enough battery to make it to opening." After a moment of silence, Violet raised an eyebrow. "Any questions?"
"I don't think so," Mike admitted bashfully, blushing under her glare.
"You catch on quick," she muttered, "don't ask questions and maybe you'll do alright here. Just keep your head down." She sighed, glancing at the monitors. "Come on, Charlie should be done cleaning up my mess by now, he'll help you pick out a uniform from the backroom." She turned on her heel and walked away, the clicks of her shoes echoing off the walls. Mike hesitated, the lights flickering ominously before his nerves got to him and caused a sudden burst of adrenaline to launch him into the hallway after her.