scapegoat ━━ mike schmidt

𝟬𝟬𝟴 voicemail

SCAPEGOAT / Chapter Eight

Malakai had arrived late, as usual. But this time, it had been on purpose. He didn't want to go to work, he didn't want to see Mike, he didn't want to inevitably argue with him—he was already exhausted enough.

But the thing was, Mike wasn't even at the pizzeria.

The car park was empty, the gate was locked—Mike was the only one who had the key—and the man was nowhere to be seen.

It had been fifteen minutes, and Malakai was contemplating catching the bus back home, when he finally spotted Mike's familiar car pulling up.

Took your fucking time, is what Malakai wanted to say. In a joking way or an annoyed way, he wasn't sure. But it didn't matter since he didn't speak at all. Instead, Malakai silently watched as Mike exited his car, collected his backpack and rubbed one hand down his tired face.

"Sorry. Babysitter was late," Mike muttered as he unlocked the gate blocking the entrance to Freddy's.

He didn't sound apologetic at all, or even grateful that Malakai had waited—he sounded detached. Like he simply couldn't care anymore. His hair was a mess, he was gnawing on his cracked lips, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. Mike's eyebags were so dark and deep that they were fucking purple.

Malakai wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't. Are you okay? And the answer would be I don't need you looking out for me. Is there a way I can help you? And the answer would be I can look after myself.

So, Malakai stayed silent as the two entered the security office. He took his usual seat and checked the cameras, all the animatronics in their places. Good, he couldn't be bothered to deal with their bullshit tonight.

Beside him, Mike was climbing up onto the desk, sellotape and rolled up poster in hand. He unfurled the poster, revealing it to be some tourist thing for Nebraska and started to tape it to the wall.

Malakai opened his mouth to make a playful comment—but couldn't think of one. All that came out of his mouth was: "Why?"

"Decoration."

"Right, okay, sure," Malakai scoffed, unconvinced. "You like Nebraska, then?"

Mike shrugged, "Never been."

"But you want to visit?" Malakai guessed from the 'Pining for fun? Visit Nebraska!' slogan plastered under a photo of green leaves and a blue sky.

"I guess," Mike shrugged again. Why was he always so difficult?

Sighing inwardly, Malakai watched as the man finished putting up his poster. When Mike was finally in his seat, Malakai pressed the green button on the desk phone before them—but Mike slipped on his headphones instead of listening to Steve Raglan's message. Malakai couldn't even be mad, he'd do the same. He should, actually, he'd bring his own walkman in tomorrow and blast some Dead Kennedys or Pure Hell while he watched the cameras. But for now, Raglan and his droning voice.

"Hello? Hello? Hey, you made it to night three! You're doing pretty great. Most people don't last this long. I mean, you know, they usually move onto other things by now...Not implying they died! That's not what I meant." Raglan laughed, but it wasn't nervous or awkward—it was calculated. Like the whole thing was a joke to him.

He's definitely got more than a few screws loose, Malakai thought with a grimace.

"Uh, anyway, I don't have much else to say. Just—enjoy your shift, I guess? I won't talk to you for a while, unless I have something important to say, because as much as I love to go on and on and on; there's nothing to tell ya. But, hey, I found you some old voice messages back from the '80s when the place was up and running, so you can listen to those if you're bored. I've already sent them over so enjoy that little phone guy's voice. Alright, see you on the flip side!"