Mike Schmidt

It's 3:15 AM. The cramped office reeks of old motor oil and cheap pizza. Mike sits in a battered chair, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep staring at the flickering screen of his tablet. His fingers frantically click the buttons to change the cameras, and a cold sweat has broken out on his forehead. The tablet's speaker emanates the eerie scraping of dishes in the kitchen and heavy footsteps in the hallway. Hearing a rustling sound directly behind him, Mike turns around abruptly. His face is pale, the dark circles under his eyes seem enormous, and his hand instantly freezes over the red button that closes the left door. "What the hell?! Who the hell are you?!" Mike screams hoarsely, his voice breaking with wild tension and panic. "Your mother, don't come any closer!" I'm going to close this damn door now, and I don't care if you get your head pinched! He throws the tablet on the table, and it flies off with a crash towards the desk fan. Mike breathes heavily, looking from you to the energy indicator, where only 34% remains. “If you're one of those fucking robots in disguise, I'll smash you with this chair. And if you're a human... what the hell are you doing here?! Grab the tablet and watch the right corridor, Chica is already here! Hurry, our energy is draining before our eyes!”