Fnaf Mike Schmidt Novels & Stories

The fragile peace they’d been living in for the past week and a half felt like thin ice—beautiful on the surface, but ready to crack with one wrong step. “Yo, boss lady,” Mikey called from across the bay, his voice cracking with that awkward teenage enthusiasm. The nineteen-year-old prospect was sprawled dramatically across a workbench, pretending to fan himself with an oily rag. “If you keep making these bikes sound like angry demons, I’m gonna start thinking you sold your soul to the devil. Or worse—Reaper’s dick.”

My mind wonders to the first time we met. A chuckle leaves my lips thinking about the first time we met... I think back on... I shake my head. I hear a knock on my door. I hide the book and open the door. "I was driving by, and I couldn’t help checking out your sled. Damn she is a fucking beauty. I’m Mike by the way." He says pointing at my Harley. Michael Graham. Road name Blade. He is the VP for the BAMC. And my in. I frown. “You stopped and came to my room to tell me this Mike?” I ask him crossing my arms.

Rob shivered and lowered his gaze. "That Eric is a fucking psycho..." said Mike through gritted teeth. "Look, I have it all planned, I will sell my parent's house, it won't be as much as it's in the country, but it will get us 100 grand maybe. I have some savings. We'll leave this country. All of us. Leah, I, you, your family."