Mike was left trembling. He was face to face with a malevolent phantom, a killer. He'd expected this, going in, but somehow what he saw was far worse than what'd been expected. He wasn't prepared. He wasn't.

Sounds of flesh that shouldn't move caused Mike to recoil back. Bones popped, cracked seemingly in and out of place, as withered and decayed flesh puppeteered the ethereal pieces into movement, movement that was wrong. Only capable by something that was no longer of this world. No longer alive. Eyes stuck on the display Mike watched as he, it, raised a hand. The hand held a kitchen knife, its edge glistened with fine speckles of ruby ichor. The fluorescent lights flashed along the blade as the phantom waved it in mock greeting.

"He'llo, hhh-there." Words were wheezed, forced out, labored by rasps of tattered lungs. His mouth moved but the motions were out of sync with the chopped words, as if the jaws were only miming them. The voice itself, choked and mangled by a long-deteriorated voicebox of a machine, leaving it with static and metallic after tone. Supported more by metal cords and wires, than ribbons of muscle and sinew, he tilted his head more into view. Enough to see the tip of a chipped eye socket. Face muscles pulled up, widening the already permanent grin, "Eh-njoy the hhh-show?"

A hacked, wheeze caused Mike's intestines to roil, his skin crawl with a shudder with fresh goosebumps. A laugh. Averse to everything one should be. No mirth or warmth, just malice. Everything compelled him to run, but the connotation of what he said, held him firm. The twisted amusement from the torture inflected upon already tormented souls, it relit Mike's hatred towards him. Teeth gritted and bared, Mike grounded out, "You…"

"Me." He wheezed, neck popping to cock his head, gazing at him from beneath a torn and tattered security cap. Silently, he watched, waiting. Mike grasped at his side and found nothing. Alarm lit his eyes. Horse, distorted, laughter urged him once more into panic's arms. It was gone.

"Some-hhh-thing miss-hhh-ing?"

Alarm spiked. That sounded closer.

Without looking to check, Mike pumped his legs back, propelling himself backwards. Instinct was proven correct as the knife swept the place where he'd once been. He was forced to keep moving as the killer, now in full-view, stalked forward. Each step uttered various nauseating noises, flesh long gone, still writhing. In spite of the macabre appearance, flesh flayed, he towered over the prone night guard. Easily the size of the animatronics. The perspective suggested as such and it bore pressure down on Mike. He could've lung at Mike again, but he stalked forward, step by step.

Mike couldn't flee easily with his injuries, and he knew it.

The thought threw his mind into panic, frantically pull up any idea of how to survive. Golden Freddy. Maybe if he closed his eye-No. Mike immediately shut that down. No way in hell was he taking his eyes off this bastard. His flashlight was gone. A substitute cropped up in its place. He just had to…Mike's thought was cut off, by another taunting swipe of the knife, this time it nicked the side of his hand. The pain blistered and urged him to scramble, his back ramming into the topped chair. He could see the knife poised for another strike. Fighting through pain, Mike grabbed onto the side of chair, aiming to hoist himself up to feet. The pain in his arm was stronger than his aim, he recoiled. Against his wishes, the chair was scooted by back his involuntary movement.

The knife came down. Mike shifted out of the way. Not fast enough. It dug into his upper arm. A pained yell shot forth from his lungs. He could feel it, the knife inside his flesh and the warmth welling around it, warming the cold steel. Either by some determined will or reflex he grabbed the grip of the knife. Fingers going through ones that weren't really there. The sensation sent a whirlwind of foreign emotions through him. By in large the strongest were anger, hatred, unified into killer intent. They were so potent that they overrode Mike's fear, bolstered him into defiance. In the back of his mind though, fear remained, just push back. For the moment.

"Why? Why did you do it-any of it?" Mike barked, akin to a cornered dog. He could hear his own heavy breaths, frantic, uneven, and labored. In his mind he could also year the tinny ringing returning, building to a swell. Anger pushed through it.

Annoyance flittered across the killer's death mask, readily it shifted back to a leer, amused by this act of pitiful defiance. His other mangled arm shot out, grabbing Mike by the throat and hoisted him up to eye level, forcing him to gaze into dead empty sockets. The stench that assaulted Mike as such close proximity incited his gage reflex into action. It was so foul his gut felt to clench in on itself. The grip kept him from craning his neck away, the killer held him too soundly. The rasp laden voice was almost wistful yet distorted with taunting and mocking, he responded, "W-hhy, it's ah'ways- Why. You-hhh, re-hhh'ly think ah'd ever hhh give you closure?"

Mike gagged. The vice on his throat clenched down harder, choking him. Air ways constricted, sucking in air like a gaping fish was painful. How could something that wasn't there exert so much pressure? Without life sustaining air, even rancid air, his strength began to plummet. The one-armed struggle to keep the knife at from plunging ever deeper, waning. Vision blurred, all he could see was a rotten wash of color, with two dark pits that swallowed any light.

A weak, small, cry echoed in his mind but it was too pitiful. Too small against the buffer of air deprivation. A buffer, soon punctured by the hot pain of the knife getting pried out. Only to then get shoved into the security guard's side. Amongst the strangled consciousness, he could feel the fresh new pain of metal scrap against bone. Unceremoniously, Mike was dropped, landing like a sack of bricks. Immediately he began taking in big, rough gasps of air, the intake feeling rough against coarse airways. Too weak, from strangulation and injury, Mike looked up blearily at the phantom. Were it not for his weak consciousness, he'd question why it sudden shifted to a, at the moment, vaguely familiar shadow rabbit.

"Always, why." The phantom toyed with the weapon, as if to press it against an ethereal fingertip, a bone of one. "Ah's hhh-if it'd ever, ever, make a-hh damn difference." He, it stooped down to the eye-level of Mike's crumpled body, the gnarled teeth unnaturally visible amongst the shadows. All three rows. "Noth'in hhh will change. It can't. They'll still be here." The grin crept upwards, towards the edges of the jaws, leaning in, leering, with a hissed whisper, "You couldn't save them."

Mike's hazy eyes widened.

The voices' snickered, their whispers slithering agreements: Hopeless, hopeless, failure.

Limp, numbness, prickled his body with cold static, everything faded out of focus. All he could vaguely see was the glint of the knife as it was raised up. Poised to strike. Somehow the stuffing in his cranium muted the danger. As if it didn't matter anymore. There was no resisting, as he everything fell to black, swallowed up by nothingness.

It was time. To rest.

Knife arced high. It was ready to plunge once more into the hapless flesh. The lack of consciousness was registered. If only for a moment. It wouldn't matter, in the long run, he'd likely waken once the pain shot through him. Only to die. Blood loss caused that. His injuries were minor, currently, it'd take time for him to bleed out. More punctures would speed that along. The pain of this guard would ease his own. Take what he wanted from another, transfer his to another. Just like in life.

"No!"

The sudden lash of retaliation caught him off guard. Knife knocked out of his ethereal hand. Stunned, he could hear it clatter to the ground behind him. How? Was the question resounded in his pained existence. Mike, as he'd read from his name tag, shouldn't have recovered that quickly. Or moved with such sudden force. Confusion turned to agitation. Neck spasming, reigniting pain that lit his annoyance into anger, he hissed with distorted tinny affect. Long rotted arm shot out to snatch the injured prey. Force him back into place. He'd not get far, regardless, but punishment needed to be made for this set back.

A hair's breath away, Mike managed to scramble out of his grip, something that shouldn't have been possible with his injuries. Fingers cracked, twitching in reflexive response to agitation. This was getting ridiculous. He stalked after the crawling guard, longer this went, the worse and slower the end would be.

Just as Mike crawled to the doorway of the security office, his arm shot up. Blinding light flashed from the hall. The killer reeled back with a screech, form flickering out of existence. It took regaining focus for him to pull his phantasmal form back into reality. He shook his head, trying to put together what'd happened. The light. It was like it burned. That son of a- the guard was gone. An animalistic snarl rattled from his ribbon shredded throat, reverberating from the cords and wires that it mainly consisted of now. What'd happened would wait. He was going to make this guard's last moments utter hell.

Mike ran, unevenly shambling down the hall. Injuries all but ignored as he booked it into the main party room. The fair music was still playing on loop, lights dancing all around, oblivious to the life-threatening event it was being accompaniment to. Amongst the dizzying, swaying and swerving, lights, the animatronics were still locked in place. Mangle and Foxy still amongst the party tables, like scarecrows in a field. The main trio were stuck in the midst of their forced dance, frozen like life model study piece.

The sight and noise, all the pandemonium, went unheeded by Mike, who went straight for the wall he'd crashed into earlier. There on the floor, was his flashlight. Quickly, homing right in on it, Mike went to snatch it up. Panting, he shifted it in his hand. Before he could locate the button to switch it on, there was a different sound amongst the music. The jolly, upbeat, music was punctuated by step and crack.

A slice. Along Mike's back.

Mike gasped, stumbling forward, flashlight clutched to his chest like something precious. He wobbled forward, a step, before staggering into a bolting run. He could hear him behind him. The cracking and shifting of mangled flesh, determined to claim another life in this accursed place. Mike continued to fumble with the flashlight, trying to work while fear built up in his throat. Threatening, climbing, to overtake any sense of control. Him, being so near was making it difficult to do so.

Don't look at him.

Keep the fear from jumping further.

He heard a voice distorted growl from behind. Fear worked in Mike's favor now, legs pumped harder and faster than they'd ever been before, fueled, somehow, to go faster. A slick, whiff of the kitchen knife slicing nothing but air. Mike felt it though. The air brush against his back. It caused a hitch, crack, in his breath.

A hand fumbling, he rounded the end of a party table. As he did so, finally, he pushed his thumb up against the power switch. Gloriously, a bright beam of light shot from the lenes, cutting through the darkness and dancing colors. Bright and beautiful.

Swinging around, it was aimed right at the murderous phantom. He shrieked, reeling back like it burned. Once it vanished, no longer held by any force, the bloodied knife dropped with a clatter. Harmless, till wielding with ill-intent, again.

Knowing, this bought only moments, at most, Mike grabbed the table cover tossed it over in that direction. Hopefully, it'd force the phantom to search for it. Anything, anything to buy a few more moments. Time not wasted for a second as Mike continued to run through the main party room and hooked it back round to the hall, aiming to run straight to the front doors. He weaved past Mangle and Foxy, their undoubtedly scornful glares ignored by the sheer focus on a singular objective.

His breath wheezed from his mouth. Forced breathes of lungs pumping faster and harder than they were meant to for such a lengthy time, it felt like his throat was being rubbed raw by the exertion.

A rush came from behind. It was recognized, registered with a spike of urgency, before sheer force slammed him down, face first onto the linoleum. The pain was spread throughout. Instead of focused on the point of impact, it was like his entirety had been hit. A weak groan came from a hoarse throat. Weak shifting of the arms, failed attempt to get back up. A limit had already been pushed, not much more could be handled, but had to keep going- just had to. So close, so close to the exit. He hadn't given up-

Sounds of mangled flesh, shifted, snaps of twitching, pressure of anger, preluded to a rough grab of the arm before getting flipped over to face the source of all the suffering. Hands wrapped around the throat, gripping, digits pressing in. The ones that lacked tips could be felt less so, but the damaged points of the bones felt no less painful. Wires and cables, snaked through tortured flesh and bone could be felt through the palms, pressed so firmly it felt embedded to Mike's skin. The killer's face, forced into a permanent grin was anything but, the fury could be felt through its presence so apparent it was like it was screamed aloud.

"Did you hhh-onestly think hhh you-" The killer's words stopped. "You?"

At long last, this chapter is done.