Chapter Text
March 3rd, 1987 / 2:30 AM
"Who's watching
Tell me who's watching
Who's watching me
I'm just an average man with an average life
I work from 9 to 5, hey hell, I pay the price
All I want is to be left alone, in my average home
But why do I always feel
Like I'm in the Twilight Zone?"
The young security guard flicked on his flashlight with a rather bored expression, bobbing his head along to the beat pumping into his ears through the flimsy-looking Walkman headset he wore as he strode through the darkened hallways of the childrens' restaurant. His shoulder-length blonde hair was tied back in a man's ponytail and his portable Walkman cassette player stuffed into his back pocket.
"I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
And I have no privacy
I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
Is it just a dream?"
The young man's stubbled chin moved up and down as he chewed a singular piece of bubble gum, shining the light out into the dark room, running the lone beam of light along the circumference of the room ahead of him. Stuffing his left hand into its respective pocket, he proceeded to stroll through the Show Stage area, gripping the flashlight in his right. His green eyes darted over towards the bright, colorful animatronic animals that stood static on the stage with the beam of bright light reflecting off of their shiny, plastic exoskeletons. A brown bear, a yellow chicken, and a sky-blue bunny.
"When I come home at night
I bang the door real tight
People call me on the phone I'm trying to avoid
Or can the people on TV see me,
Or am I just paranoid?
When I'm in the shower,
I'm afraid to wash my hair
Cause I might open my eyes and find someone standing there!"
Pausing in front of the Show Stage, the night watchman tilted his flashlight upward, peering at the animatronics' oddly sinister cartoonish facial expressions. The big, goofy smile of the humorously-proportioned Freddy Fazbear came off as a bit unsettling. The round, green eyes of the normally friendly Bonnie 'The Rockin' Bunny' practically pierced the soul of anyone brave enough to return the rabbit's gaze. The bubbly and somewhat sassy personality of Chica the Chicken meant nothing as she stood there in complete silence and stillness, like a soulless shell of her daytime personality. However, it was then when the young guard caught the movement of...something, in his peripheral vision.
Immediately, he turned the flashlight towards the now empty hallway entrance, fully expecting to catch a thief or some punk kid coming in to screw things up. It would certainly spice things up a bit. After all, it was his first night on the job and, so far? Nothing interesting has happened. At all.
"People say I'm crazy, just a little touch
But maybe showers remind me of Psycho too much
That's why...
I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
And I have no privacy
I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
Who's playing tricks on me?"
The security guard followed in the direction of what his eyes believed to be movement.
The flashlight shone along the black and white checkered tile floor, swearing when all of a sudden, his hip smashed against the corner of one of the party tables.
"Shit!" He hissed, instinctively removing his pocketed left hand to rub the sore area as he continued, entering the dark hallway. At the end of the hallway was the door leading to the 'Parts & Service' room. The young guard sighed, realizing that nothing (or nobody) was there, or so he thought.
"I don't know anymore!
Are the neighbours watching me?
Who's watching
Well is the mailman watching me?
Tell me who's watching
And I don't feel safe anymore, oh what a mess
I wonder who's watching me now
Who?
The IRS?!"
The young night watchman had failed to spot the golden eyes that spied on him from the shadows of the slightly parted door of the 'Parts & Service'' room. Narrow jaws filled with sharp, dusty, yellowing teeth parted as the rusty, old animatronic slowly raised it's hook hand to lightly push on the door, pausing when it creaked. Thankfully, the security guard hadn't heard. Watching as the young man rounded the corner, the animatronic slowly pushed its way out of the room. It's ripped and torn red felt covering had jagged holes, and various parts of the robot's endoskeleton were showing. The synthetic felt covering on the left ear was gone completely, exposing the metal. The animatronic fox, known as "Foxy", followed the guard as if stalking him.
"I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
And I have no privacy
I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
Tell me is it just a dream?"
As the guard was making his way back to his office, the flashlight began flickering on and off...on and off...on and off, before finally dying; having completely run out of power. The security guard uttered a quiet "Son of a bitch" as he gave the flashlight a couple of swift knocks to the palm of his hand with an added shake for good measure, though nothing happened. Rolling his eyes, the youthful watchman knew that he would have to find his way back to his office in darkness. "Great," he muttered pessimistically, "juuust great."
Removing his headphones, he allowed the Walkman headpiece to hang loosely around his neck as he began the trek back to his office, not even bothering to pause the song.
"I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
And I have no privacy
I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
Who's playing tricks on me?"
Having almost arrived at his office, a loud "Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank!" was heard rapidly approaching him from behind, down the hall. Turning around, the young man barely had any time to react to his assailant. With wide, frightened eyes, he screamed a blood-curdling shriek that was almost as loud as the one his attacker had generated.
The last thing he saw before everything went white was the gaping jaws of the old, tattered animatronic fox from the 'Parts & Service' room hurtling towards him.
"I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
Oooh, whoa-oa-oa
I always feel like somebody's watchin' me
Tell me, can it be?
I always feel like somebody's watching me"
((The song "Somebody's Watching Me" was written and produced by Rockwell (1984) and FNaF belongs to Scott Cawthon. I claim only my original characters and the plot of this fan fiction, but nothing else. All brands used in this fic belong to their respective owners.))