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You are the fourth and newest member of the Spectral Scoopers, and you are on your way to the original Freddy Fazbear's location. Some security guard named Mike reached out to Lisa a few days ago, and now you are pulling into the parking lot of the abandoned restaurant. It's not as creepy as a couple other locations you've visited, especially the haunted reformatory in the middle of Ohio. That place made you have to run back to the van for a spare change of trousers.
As soon as you, Alex, Lisa, and Rob all file out of the van, you turn around and are greeted by the security guard, who is smiling at you all from ear to ear, with seemingly too many teeth. Something about this guy is giving you the creeps, but he appears... overjoyed that you're all here. Let's see how this goes!
He introduces himself as Michael, not Mike, and you all introduce yourselves, shaking hands. Despite the his borderline-psychopathic smile and crazy eyes (crazy eyebrows too, if that's even a thing), his handshake is warm and cordial, and a pleasant hint of cologne lingers on your hand after said handshake. Michael invites you all and your ghost hunting gear inside the abandoned restaurant, and you wonder just how often he has to deal with trespassers in the establishment.
Your role of the group is to wander around with an EMF meter and digital thermometer, checking for spikes or dips in the electromagnetic fields of the locations you visit, and to check temperatures of your surroundings. Once you locate any anomalous activity, you report back to the group on your walkie talkie. Michael allows the group to roam freely albeit carefully, and despite your gut instinct, you split up and make your way toward the kitchen area. Alex scampers excitedly past Michael, giving him a brief pat on the shoulder and referring to him as "Mikey boy". You notice a flicker of annoyance--resentment, even--cross Michael's face, and he turns to glance at you. You lock eyes briefly and cast him first an apologetic expression, followed by your own annoyed expression and eye roll at the same time as a head nod toward the area off to where Alex scurried, in some manner of silent apology for your cohort's behavior. Michael smiles at you in a less-creepy way than before, though the smile is clearly forced.
Into the kitchen you venture with your flashlight on and strapped to your hip; there are rusted ovens, racks, knives, and other industrial cookware. The EMF meter remains fairly constant, and your digital thermometer also reads a fairly constant 67 degrees. "Hm..." You feel like there may be something creepy in the air, like the feeling of eyes cast toward your back, but your ghost hunting equipment insists that you're fine. You pull open various drawers, looking at this or that, utensils and openers and measuring tools... Then in the back of one corner drawer, you discover a rusty chef's knife with old, flakey stains on it... It really, really looks like blood. Your heart is racing, but your equipment does nothing. Surely if it was a murder weapon, there would be a ghost tied to it, right? You close the drawer without touching the knife. You don't want your fingerprints on this stuff, just in case it is a murder weapon.
Then, faintly, from somewhere else in the establishment, you hear a splash. You had seen Rob make his way toward the water ride area, and you wouldn't put it past his clumsy ass to slip and fall in the water. Not caring too much for him, you think, "Enjoy your Legionnaires' disease..." You shake your head and continue exploring; maybe tonight will be his turn to go back to the van for the spare pants.
The next room appears to have been a walk-in freezer, but the door has since been removed from its hinges. You wouldn't dare go in there if it was still able to lock--you've heard too many horror stories about people dying in walk-in freezers. You check the digital thermometer--65--a little cooler, but that's to be expected since it was a thoroughly insulated room, even with the door removed. Not too much is in this room, just a bunch of dusty boxes. Perhaps you'll poke around just a bit, see what's in them--a scream? From outside the room, you hear what sounds like Alex'es brief scream. He always does get spooked easily, so maybe a big ole spider scurried past him or something. You shake your head and continue inspecting boxes.
Suddenly, a clatter from the opposite side of the room! You whip around and spy a box, fallen to the floor, and a rat scurrying across the room! You jump back a little, not wanting the rat to climb up your leg (not that it's even very close to you), and you aim the infrared laser of the temperature gun at the box... 76! You gasp and approach it, stooping down to look inside the box. Your expression changes as you discover... A family of rats looking up at you! "Hoo!" The sound you emit is a ridiculous, surprised shriek, though not quite a scream. Let's just leave the Ratty family alone and exit the freezer.
You emerge into the main section of the restaurant to find Michael leaning against the dilapidated prize counter, fiddling with an old, rubbery finger puppet. A smirk plays across his face as he raises his eyes to you. His legs are crossed casually at the ankles. "Everything alright?"
Crap, he heard your bizarre sound. A blush creeps across your face, "Yeah, just... A box fell and startled me," you jab your thumb toward the kitchen, as if he didn't just watch you exit the room.
"Hmm," he hums contently, still smiling at you with a creepy little grin. Y'know, in certain lighting, the way a few strands of dark brown hair fall across his forehead, and with that strong jaw, Michael is actually fairly attractive... He just needs to knock it off with those creepy expressions. Breaking your borderline-inappropriate thoughts, he continues, "Yeah, this place will get in your head and freak you out pretty good if you let it..." He stands up straight, setting the little, brown finger puppet on the glass counter on which he was just leaning.
You aren't sure which happens first, even when you replay it in your head: that maniacal, overly-toothy grin stretches widely across his face, and a bloodcurdling scream erupts from below you (you didn't know this place had a basement).
"Lisa?!" You reach for your walkie talkie, but hear only static when you ask, "Hello?! Are you alright?!" to the group.
"Well that should about do it for the group..." Michael tucks his hands into his pockets as he slowly approaches you on his long legs.
Turning to run toward Kid's Cove across the room where you last saw Alex, you skitter to a halt. On the floor is his broken camera, no lights glowing on it now, so it appears it's busted and no longer recording. Around that are large, dark red splatters... and... pieces... of Alex... Beginning to hyperventilate, you turn toward the water ride, where Rob had been, allowing your eyes to follow the manmade stream back into a rocky tunnel. You have no idea where the entrance to the basement is, and after that scream, you assume Lisa is pretty much fucked, so you figure your best bet is to try to find your waterlogged coworker.
The tunnel is darker and longer than you expected; you expected it to just loop right back around, but there are several twists and turns. Part of it is so dark that your now-flickering flashlight barely illuminates your surroundings. You stop when the rocky cliff face juts out so far that you're not able to get past it; you'll have to either turn back or jump into the water. Maybe that's what Rob did, and was able to swim to safety? You aim your flashlight at the stagnant water, expecting it to be dark and dingy like the grossest lazy river ride at a family water park. What you don't expect is the rusty, crimson hue of the water before you, and you gasp. This can't be good; you're still in a stance as if you're preparing to jump in, when you hear his voice approaching you.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you... Not unless you want to meet the same fate as your friend..." Michael is leisurely sauntering up to you, stopping when he's approximately eight feet away from you.
Though the temperature reads 65 degrees, you're shivering with shaky breaths, terror gripping you tightly now. "Wh-what's in there, piranhas?" You simply aren't sure what could liquify Rob in such a manner, so efficiently.
Michael huffs a dry laugh, "Not quite. You can always find out yourself though..." His hands slowly emerge from his pocket, his right hand gripping a knife very similar to the bloody one you found in the kitchen.
Hyperventilating, panicking, flashlight flickering to death, you try your walkie talkie again. "Hello?! Guys?! Lisa, Rob, Alex, anyone?! I need some fuckin' help here!!" The walkie talkie died halfway through your message. Not like they were still able to hear you anyway. Backed up against the manmade cliff, it's just you and Michael now.
The maniacal grin is widely present upon the security guard's face, and the blade of the knife gleams slightly from some reflection around the corner from where he's standing. (The area he's in is ever so slightly illuminated still; he can see you just fine, since he's so used to peering about in the darkness of this place.) "What do you say? You and I have a little fun now that it's just the two of us? Or... do you want to see what's in that water?"
You cannot go anywhere, you're backed up against the cliff, and there's probably animatronic piranhas in the water that will shred you in seconds if you jump in there. You decide it's best to take your chances with Michael, even though he is wielding a large chef's knife. This isn't going to end well. "What, umm, uh, kind of f-fun do you mean...?" you stammer.
He steps closer to you, the soles of his shoes nearly silent on the dirty ground. "Hmmm... What kind of fun shall we have...?" He taps the tip of the knife against his thigh contemplatively, as if he's mulling over his options. "You know, y/n, you were the most polite of the group to me this whole time, the most respectful of this establishment... That kind of behavior does not go unnoticed..." Michael has moved closer to you, but you've also taken a few steps closer to him, for the sake of avoiding accidentally falling into the copper koolaid canal. Now the two of you are standing less than three feet from one another, your back still to the wall, and his sharp knife in between the two of you. From this distance, his cologne is definitely noticeable, though not overwhelming. You hadn't realized how much taller than you he is; at least a foot taller, and he's certainly intimidating, even with his lean physique.
Michael brings the knife up to your face and your breath hitches--you even squeak. He continues to inch closer to you, and you press yourself back against the wall. The tip of his knife now presses against your lips as if to silence you, and you look up at him, utterly terrified. He's smirking, you can tell as your eyes adjust to the very dim light, and his eyes gleam dangerously, mischievously. Without saying anything, he slides the blade slightly down the center of your lips, drawing a thin, red line down the middle of your bottom lip. Again, you squeak. His grin increases slightly, and he presses the blade just to the left of the first cut, slicing you ever so slowly again. You whimper, your eyes locked with his. He repeats the action a third time, shallowly cutting the right side of your bottom lip.
He loves how scared and frightened you look; he knew as soon as he shook your hand that he wanted to play with you. Michael just hoped that you'd be more fun than the other three, and sure enough, you are. A little more brave, but still so easy to intimidate. You're a delight--he even gets to make you bleed... Maybe you'll even let him play with your blood...
This is so fucked up. This creepy psychopath is cutting your lips to shreds in this haunted, abandoned restaurant, and you're feeling some sort of tingling heat growing between your legs? The fuck is wrong with you? A voice in the back of your head, the voice that can't take anything seriously pipes up, 'Guess we might as well go out with a bang...'
You swallow nervously before taking your bottom lip between your teeth. Your saliva stings and your lip throbs from the shallow but effective cuts. As you drag your lip through your teeth, they act like a squeegee to pull blood from the cuts on your lip, the crimson liquid pooling on your tongue. You lower your head just slightly but your eyes remain locked with his, giving you such a sweet, innocent appearance that is quickly stifled as you open your maw partially. You extend your blood-covered tongue from your mouth ever so slightly, displaying this offering just for him, and a groan escapes Michael. He leans down and captures your mouth in his, sucking onto your tongue and stealing your blood into his own mouth. For a split second he breaks the twisted kiss, tilting his head to the opposite side and sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. It's your turn to moan as the sting of his tongue rubbing roughly across the cuts causing you to wince in pain. Not wanting you to move away from him, a cold line presses against your neck firmly--the blade of Michael's knife. The steel warning holds you firmly in place, and you gasp slightly when you feel something else press into your lower stomach. Of course, with how he towers over you, it feels to be quite substantial.
Fairly certain that you're not going to attempt to escape, Michael removes the blade from your throat and instead gently presses it against your cheek while he uses the thumb of that same hand to capture your chin. You whimper at this seemingly endearing act, actively kissing this security guard with desire growing inside you as each twisted moment passes. Then, like slicing the soft skin of a vegetable with a paring knife, he uses his thumb as leverage to press the blade into your cheek, dragging the blade from the crest of your cheekbone to the bottom of your jaw. You shriek in surprise and slight pain, attempting to pull back, but he firmly nips your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking the blood from your still-weeping wounds and holding you in place. Dark beads of blood bubble up along the newly-formed line, the cut not deep enough to cause serious damage, but certainly enough to scar--if you survive this evening's encounter.
Michael's left hand raises to firmly press down on your shoulder as he breaks your kiss, if you can truly call it that. "You want to live, don't you?" You silently nod as you lower yourself to your knees, still cornered between him and the wall. "You can earn your freedom tonight, y/n... Be good for me, now, okay? You're doing so well for me already..." More heat stirs between your legs as you are fully knelt before him. He makes quick work of his fly and extracts himself from his boxers. Your inference from earlier was accurate--he is quite large, in both length and girth. In fact, your mouth begins to water at the sight of him. "If you bite, I'm going to slice you up while I fuck you and hold your head underwater while they devour you head-first," he promises in a sing-song voice. Good heavens, you plan to behave; what a horrid way to go.
Licking your lips, you reach up with your dominant hand and wrap it around the base of Michael's cock. You lean up and run your tongue gently up the thick vein at the bottom before swirling around his head, causing him to exhale sharply. Ensuring your teeth are sufficiently covered by your lips, you raise yourself up slightly and take his head and first couple inches into your mouth, scooping a bit of pooled saliva from beneath your tongue to once again swirl your tongue around him, lubricating him sufficiently. Your hand starts to stroke him slowly, adding a slight twist after things have been properly lubed up and salivated upon. You suck with firm pressure, occasionally lapping at the spongy head in your mouth while ever so slightly picking up your pace every half-minute or so. The trio of lacerations on your bottom lip stings sharply and throbs with each beat of your heart, and you can taste the copper of your blood on his length. Soon, however, that flavor is overshadowed by his salty precum leaking out onto your tongue, his enjoyment increasing your enthusiasm as you suck his sizeable cock. Each time he moans or reaches up with his non-knife-holding hand to pet your head, the tingling between your legs intensifies--you're enjoying this too. Granted not as much as him, as indicated when he firmly grabs a handful of your hair and begins to hump at your sore mouth, your blood streaking the underside of his cock.
His firm grasp allows him to yank you backwards, and you would yelp if there wasn't also a massive dick spearing you in the back of the throat, blocking off your airway. Michael maneuvers you rearward just enough that the back of your head is flush against the rough, rocky cliff behind you, and he continues his assault on your mouth, slapping your hand away from him. He's going to use you now to finish getting himself off; he doesn't need your help, just your hot, wet mouth. His hand grips the side of your face to keep you in place, his fingertips deliberately digging into the long gash on your cheek, causing any clotted blood to resume weeping again. Wincing in pain, you barely manage to suck in enough breaths through your nose to not pass out as he thrusts faster and faster into your mouth, tears welling in the corners of your eyes and occasionally streaming down your cheeks. Each thrust stabs into the back of your throat briefly before slipping down into your throat then pulling out again, just as quickly. The first several times you fought to not gag around his invading length until your throat grew accustomed to involuntarily swallowing such a large, intrusive object in such repeated, rapid succession.
His fingers still entwined in your hair, the security guard grits his teeth and groans roughly, holding you firmly as he begins to unload in your mouth. His sweet, salty, bitter cum floods your mouth, at least until he pushes his entire length down your throat, the front of his pelvis pressed flush against your lips as his thick, slimy load squirts directly down your throat. Tears stream down your cheeks as you look up at him, your eyes locking with his half-opened, lustful, blue eyes. Michael loves the pathetic, helpless look on your face, he loves knowing that your life is in his hands while his cock is in your throat. He can simply choose to not pull out before you suffocate, and that thought causes him to bodily twitch and cum a bit more. God, he loves seeing those tears pour out of your eyes; he hasn't had his dick sucked this good since... well, it's been a long time. Finally, after what feels like an eternity to both of you, he pulls out of your mouth, his dick only slightly starting to soften. You gasp for air and choke, still swallowing down his cum, and Michael laughs at what a pathetic mess you are, with his cum flavoring your mouth and your blood smeared all over the side of your face.
He gives a relieved, content sigh and slips his left hand into his uniform pocket, his right hand still holding that massive kitchen knife that you've gotten to know so well. "You'd best get out of here before something comes after you... Or I come after you again..." He steps to the side just a bit, offering you enough room to escape. Your knees creak in protest as you stand after kneeling for such a long time on the hard, dusty cement. You open your mouth to promise that you won't tell anyone about what happened here, but Michael and his knife firmly grab your arm just above the elbow. "And if I ever see you again..." he looks you up and down, eyes narrowing mischievously and that psychotic smirk reappearing, "I'm going to have the fun with you that I want to have..." Michael holds you just for a moment longer to ensure his words sink in. You nod rapidly, your throat too abused to speak properly, and he releases you.
You run back to the area from where you came, the main section of the restaurant, where the cold night awaits you just on the opposite side of the establishment's doors. You didn't look back, but if you had, you would have seen Michael grinning at you evilly, licking your residual blood from his hand. What a treat it was for you to fall right into his hands, and he is sincerely hoping this isn't the only time you two see each other. Meanwhile, you get the hell out of there.