The JereMike Collection

Blank

When he came to, he was standing in a puddle of spilled milk with his basket thrown down the isle, it's contents scattered across the floor. He quickly left before being confronted, vowing to never return to the store again.

His therapist grew concerned about these 'episodes', worried that if he continued to act rashly and adopt more risky behaviors, these 'blanks', as he liked to call them, would occur more frequently. She wrote him a recommendation to join a help group, one that would teach him how to regulate his emotions and try to rehabilitate what impairments he had to his judgment level.

That's when Mike realized he was nothing more than a series of weekly experimentation and anger issues, so he stopped going altogether.

Not long after it was like he was a whole new person. The blanks didn't stop, popping in every now and then, but he felt like he was developing his own personality, his own characteristics. It was nice to keep his own conscious thought when he was able instead of being told what and how to think. It felt like he had been freed.

But that freedom came at a nasty price. He became a lot more violent, and although he would never attack anyone without reason, there has been a few times with broken noses and bloody knuckles when the option to walk away was there, but he didn't know any better to take it.

It wasn't just violence, but other acts as well. He became a lot more forward, persistent, stubborn, the list could go on. In his view he called it 'determination', but it was more of fear of being defeated that motivated him more than the idea of a reward. His lack of control would cause of a lot of shit for others and himself.

Mike's body had a mind of it's own, making choices for him without his permission.

Jeremy should know, considering most of Mike's outburst would take place at work.

The nights when Mike would stay with him until 6AM would be the nights where no animatronic would dare bother them, or they would working their hardest to stuff the both of them. It was confusing, hard to tell if the robots were afraid of him, or just hated him deeply. There was a possibility it was both, since it was obvious Mike mutually shared the latter.

He's witnessed one of his 'blanks' before. The transition was short and quick, hardly noticeable to anyone else until every detail was accounted for.

Mike's body would tense, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over him. He'd pale and would stand stoic, a cloudy his eyes.

Jeremy vividly remembers one night shift when the animatronics were particularity aggressive. Foxy was posed down the hallway, his mangled counter-part not too far from the office as well. Jeremy handled the cameras while Mike occupied himself with the flashlight, sneering as he kept the robots at bay.

Neither of them had been watching the vents, and it wasn't until chubby plastic hands snatched the flashlight out of Mike's hands did the two of them realize how fucked they were.

BB held his sadistic smile as he crushed the flashlight into two, the head of it popping out and dropping to the floor. Jeremy swallowed. There was the heart-gutting sound of metal against tile as Foxy crept closer, and the static that had been nawing at his ears for the past half hour grew louder as Mangle crawled through the final boundaries of the office, twisted and ready to lunge. It was too late for the mask.

He looked to Mike for some sort of signal. A signal to run, fight, hide, anything really. Instead, the security guard sat fuming in his chair, unresponsive to the night watch's calls.

Then with no warning, Mike lunged towards BB, throwing him against the wall and roughly down to the floor. Sputtering in surprise, BB backed away from the guard as he loomed closer. Mike looked as if he was ready for another attack when wire wrapped around his neck.