The JereMike Collection

To say that Mike Schmidt hated his job was an understatement.

He absolutely loathed it, despised it, dreaded coming into work every morning in fear that the night
hadn't of gone by as he had hoped, and there was another body to bury. Another family to lie to. Another name tag for the locker.

During his time as night watch he remembers bolting out the front doors that fifth night, vowing to never set foot in that damned restaurant again or so help him him; he'd burn it to the ground.

But then the bills came, and the landlord bumped up his rent. His fridge was looking empty and his lights started to flicker. His furniture was worn and he had the worst plumbing in the city. But it's better than being homeless, he would tell himself.

$120 per week was not enough to live comfortably, but it was enough to live.

His problems became a little easier when his promotion came around. Not only was he safe from murderous animatronics, but the raise wasn't anything to scoff at either. No matter how small it was, it helped.

Being a security guard was...different. Instead of murderous animatronics, he now had to worry about snotty, screaming kids. Remembering which child belonged to which parent, keeping the bolder ones from climbing on stage, and occasionally rescuing that same kid from the small ball pit they had added in the corner.

He glanced up at animatronics every so often and wonder how in hell they could stand this everyday. Once, the new Freddy turned his head, making eye contact. Mike's heart skip a beat. Then the bear would start singing again, and Mike remembers they're locked strictly in Daytime Mode. He'd let a smile run across his face, not a smug grin or smirk, but an actual smile. He was relaxed.

Until he spotted someone staring thoughtfully at the 'Help Wanted' sign posted in the window.

He couldn't of been older than a high schooler, or a fresh graduate. Messy hair, over-sized sweater and an innocent gleam in his eyes. He stared at the sign for a moment before a giving a small smile. With confindence, the teen stepped through the front doors, looking around. Mike grit his teeth.

This kid wouldn't last an hour at Fazbear's.

The Manager spotted him immediately. He clearly wasn't a booger-faced kid or a mother with a headache, but an opportunity. A possible future Fazbear employee. Or as Mike liked to call it: Fresh Meat.

They were stationed too far away for him to eaves drop, but it was clear what was being discussed. The teen smiled, pointing back towards the windowed sign while the Manager nodded. Yeah, definitely talking about the night watch position.

Mike wanted to intervene, really he did. He was the first to survive the night watch, and he knows first hand what kind of nightmares those six hours in the office could produce. If the animatronics didn't stuff him, the nightmares would ruin him.

There were two before this, hired just after he had received his promotion. The first one didn't last but two nights, and the second one was still 'missing'. As far as the families knew, the first had suffered a heart attack late that second night, and the other ran away to avoid debt.

But the newly placed name tags hidden in Mike's locker tell a different story.

He didn't want to continue his collection.

There was a small tug on his sleeve, breaking him from his thoughts. A little boy, with pizza still stuck to the edges of his mouth, whined something about using the bathroom. The security guard's face remained stoic while he pointed off in the other direction. The brat ran off screaming. He rolled his eyes. Now was not the time to question parenting tatics, he had a disaster to prevent after all.