My Sweet Brownie

Mission 1: Clean Up!

Mike sighed, regretting ever crawling out of his bed that morning; he wanted to curl back underneath those covers and never leave them. His dreams were blank but he didn't mind the emptiness, he craved it. It was peaceful.

Until his alarm clock would butt itself into the middle of it all. Damn thing.

His mind ran around these thoughts as he debated against or pro on the decision to through the damned thing out the window and shut out the world. Though, the small glares he gave his FazBear security hat said otherwise. He needed money, even if the pizza joint didn't give much, it was still money. He cut down on car rides, beer buying, and the cigarettes that drowned him in a peacful numbness of the world. Those minorities that once brought him joy, now brought him down to a bagel for dinner. He rarely went out, though when he did it was to a local, cheap taco stand or something of that type. Nothing special.

He itched at his scalp, breathing out with a heavy sigh. "Fuck.. Not another one.." He was speaking towards the small headache that was pushing against his skull. Resting his fingers across, attempting a gentle massage. For some odd reason, his mind actually convinced him; even after the failed attempts, that massaging the wound made everything all better.

It didn't and he knew that. But it did make it a tiny bit better. A tiny bit.

He groaned, stretching out his back, eyeing the same alarm clock. Wasn't too early, but he wasn't late either; he could treat himself to a little breakfast at Mickey D's or something like that. Didn't that chicken place by K-Mart have some breakfast? He brushed through his fingers through his hair, taking notice to how his finger yanked against a barrier of tangles. He gave a soft grunt at the short shot of pain before he brought his hand back, rubbing it down his face to scratch off the remains of eye crust.

He grumbled something absurd into his hands as he walked through his bedroom door, passing the loving room without a second glance before haunting at the couch, snatching his work shirt.

Pulling it over his head, he searched through his mind where on earth did he leave his comb. He did have bird's home on his head to brush so this information was something he definently needed. If he didn't find it, the kids'll ask... Questions.

The worst fate to ever to be dubbed against any employee at FazBear's. Kids were determined blow you're head open, dismantle the damn brain by poking at your sides, deciphering you're weaknesses. "Are you ticklish? Are you bald? Why didn't you brush your hair?" are all stupid questions that, if unanswered, bring on a sequence of hard pokes to an employee's hand, face, and thigh.

Groaning at the thought of torture, he grasped hold of the memory on where he had left it. He stepped into the kitchen, spying a quick glance at his cracked coffee maker, smirking at the memory it brought with it. Damn, he was angry. Turning his attention away from the appliance, he grabbed hold of dishwasher's handle and yanked it down, a black comb sitting innocently inside. He pulled it out, rotating it in his hands. Now at the perfect angle to fight away all the knots and ties on his head.

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He stared at the steering wheel to his his little baby, gripping it tightly. He revved the engine and sped off to McDonald's. he ordered there cheapest breakfast, a coffee, rejecting their polite request for creamers, sugars and such else.

Mickey D's coffee was surprisingly well brewed and tasted fresh. He's Lovin' it in other words. He was actually having a good time for once, parked in a parking space, munching on a McMuffin and savoring the energy in his coffee before he switched on his radio. Some lady talking about the economy.

Switch. Some ad about enjoying your workspace makes you a be-

Switch. Work. Switch. Work. Everything now reminding him he still had a hell to leave to in a while. He shifted his eyes down to his watch, flinching when he saw the time.