Immediately, self-preservation locked him into place, his joints went rigid, just like the animatronics had just been. Internally, Mike yelled at himself, no, you idiot! It has to be a bluff. No way can he see me through all the lights, darkness, and robots! Sit still. Call his bluff. Crouched down, Mike remained still. Further encouraged by the animatronics giving wayward glances about the party space, but did little other than that, they too being uneasy about this new presence. Mike heard clanky ambling elsewhere in the room, the other animatronics. Mike's gaze shifted cautiously, trying to locate the unseen robots, to no avail. A bemused laugh from the speakers snapped all's focus back to the empty stage. It was bubbly, giggly, sickeningly fake.

"Ah, this won't do. Our guest of honor is being shy, and we can't have that. Can we?" Mike felt his skin crawl, there was a slither of malice creeping into the cartoonish-voice. Right after, it pipped back to its showman quality, "We'll just have to make him feel more welcomed, put on a bit of a show for him!" A snap of the fingers. The malice, smoothly slithered back in, "How about a dance, kids?"

Mike's eyes widened, how? His attention snapped to Freddy as the bear started to convulse, jittering and rattling like something was rummaging through its suit. It was struggling. Mike hadn't ever seen the trope leader act like this, not even when it was erratically twitching. Then, the motions became jerky. Step by fought step, Freddy marched to center stage. Three colored light, red, yellow, and blue set spot lights on the stage. One for each of the trio. Freddy was bathed in a bright, shiny light. In any other circumstances, it would've been glorifying…

Instead, it revealed the tortured motions. The bear was being forced to preform, to dance, but the motions weren't fluid. The child's spirit was attempting to resist, but to little effect. Mike gripped his flashlight, trying to keep himself still. Don't give in, don't. Then, it began to happened to Bonnie, the rabbit wailed, straining to stop the movement. Gears and joints groaned against the conflict of motion, not meant to work under such condition.

Chica picked up on her being next, the robot took a wary step, trembling and frightened. Adversely, this only brought the voice's attention to her, "Stage fright? Now, now, no need worry, just leave it to me." It chortled, just before seizing control and her "dance" in place. Mike cringed as it eliciting a shriek in response, like a horrified, wounded, cornered animal. It caused Mike to reflexively inhale; he could feel the raw emotion.

"And, now, places."

The words were less instruction and more blunt orders. Closer the animatronics got to their positions on stage, the stronger the wireless signal seemed to get over the ghost's vessels. The other animatronics, namely the visible Mangle, seem at a fearful loss as to what to do. Once the white fox attempted to hold onto Chica before it lurched forward onto the stage. Struggle didn't cease completely though, no the jitters continued along with a low wail, a whimper. Underneath the lights, Mike swore he saw something…leaking, from the suits, a black inky substance, along with a foul stench of decay.

Blood, he thought. He couldn't quiet tell from where he hid, nor did the dizzyingly dancing lights help either. His mind went back to when he heard Foxy hacking up…something. Ectoplasm? Did it really matter? No, not right now. What mattered right now, was stopping this torture show. He couldn't just sit by and watch! Mike, hand clutching his flashlight, bolted out from the prize corner and ran forward, through an isle between the rows of party tables, stopping before the stage.

"Stop it! Stop hurting them bastard!" Mike yelled, hollering at the top of his lungs out of rage, barely audible over the swell of music. He was left panting, momentarily, from the sudden exertion, his frame trembling. Much has he feared the animatronics, from their attempts to kill him and how they haunted his dreams for three decades; killing him over and over again therein, he still knew…he still knew they were lost, scared, angry children, and he didn't want this bastard to get kicks off of tormenting them even after death.

There was a moment pause before the expected retort.

Oddly, it didn't come.

Before Mike could say anything further when he heard movement around him. The animatronics. He'd brought himself, on impulse, out before all of them. His hairs stood on end, feeling their eyes on him. He'd offered himself up like a free chew toy. The garbled, static-chocked, twin screech of Mangle was the first thing to assault him. Noise so overwhelming that it left Mike disoriented before the animatronic lunged at him, clear over a row of tables. Searing points of pain blistered along the side of his arm, as he used it as a shield to keep the fox from biting into his face. It didn't keep the two-headed robot from clawing at him with hard metal fingers.

"I'm- trying to help you!" Mike argued between strained grunts. It was about as effective as his striking it on the side of the head with the butt of his flashlight. It did little other than agitate the possessed animatronic. He strained to angle his free arm, in attempt to shine the light at the robot, only for Mangle to take hold of his arm, squeezing with its robotic strength. It's second head to reach out and bite into the side of the upper arm. While it didn't have pointed teeth, the blunt metal ones were no less painful. In fact, they compounded the pain, crushing. Mike gasped out his pain, tears squeezing up along the rims of his eye lids, as he stared at one scathing, blinding eye and one that was hollow and filled with rage. Desperately, Mike held onto the flashlight. If he lost it, it was all over. He'd have nothing left to defend himself with.

Desperately, flailing, Mike attempted to kick the skinner animatronic off of him. A strike to the hip jostled it, slightly, but only caused the teeth to shift as they were already embedded in his flesh. Mike winced at this, but continued to kick with all he had. Attempting to free his bitten arm, he thrusted it forward, the jaw had strength but the neck made of cords, not as much. Ripping his flashlight arm free, ignoring the searing pain and tearing of fabric, Mike managed to knock the main head of Mangle aside. The animatronic tumbled backwards, into some of the chairs.

Knowing this was fleeting, Mike turned over, scrambling to get away. It was even less temporary than he expected. Something sharp stuck into his shoulder blade, he yelped at the pin-pointed pain- then yelled as he was grabbed and subsequently tossed aside. His already pain riddled body didn't take keenly to being lobbed into the side of a table, which forced a gasp from him. Groaning, Mike shifted himself to see what'd treated him like trash. He froze, old scar, searing like a branded iron.

Foxy.

Mike felt fear seize him like a straightjacket. A cold sweat broke out like mad all over his body. He couldn't think, pitifully trembling, he could only stare at the one who'd haunted and harmed him the most since he'd taken that accursed job thirty years ago. Under the piercing yellow eyes, Mike felt like his vulnerable eighteen-year-old self again. Hell. Who he was he kidding? He was just as vulnerable as he had been back then, only real difference was he weighed less now. That and…he had nobody now, no girlfriend, no friends…nothing. Did Rebecca even remember him? Did, anyone, from his former life remember him, think about him? Mike began to shed tears as the despondent realization came over him, he was going to die alone, and for nothing. Frozen, petrified by his ingrained fear, he stared up at the animatronic, waiting for the end to come. Shadows whispered their venomous truth: he was about to pay for his crime, of abandoning them.

Foxy loomed over him, enlarged jaws creaking open to take the largest bit over him. Pointed teeth awaited to be sunken into his plaid skin. Two burning eyes leered down at him, daring him to move, to struggle. If he did, the aloft hook was waiting to drag him painfully back into place. Mike could see his blood already drying on its old serrated edge. A flick of a tendril like tongue snapped his attention back to the awaiting jaws. Like a serpent it flicked about, awaiting, waiting for the moment to strike…Foxy shrieked, a loud bestial, metal coated roar and lunged. Mike screamed.

Eyes clamped shut, unwilling to watch his own end, Mike heard his own yell…trail out and shift into frantic, hitched breathes. Next, came a peculiar series of sounds. Metallic snaps. Mike, feverishly panting and mind racing, gasped and looked up. He recoiled under the sight of Foxy's glare. Yet, even under the spotlight, confusion mingled in. Foxy, wasn't moving. It was stuck in midst of its pounce. Mike didn't take a moment to even consider why this was, he turned and fumbled his way into getting up. Tripping over a chair, that he tossed aside after getting a semblance of a grip.

Mind a hornet's nest of thoughts and pin needle sensations, each clashing against one another to shove itself to the forefront of his thoughts, Mike couldn't even clearly think of what to do, let alone gather precisely where he was. The colorful dancing lights, weaving in and out of each other caused his surroundings to become a blur of hues, the shadows to duck and weave around him.

Mike crashed into the far wall in the main party room. His injured shoulder ushered a yelp. Heart beating in his ears, adrenalin coursing, racing through his veins, Mike's eyes darted back towards his predators. He could still see them, glowering at him. He, he had to get away, far away. Who knew when they'd decide to peruse him again. A sharp whine in his head caused Mike to cringe, it felt like needles were dancing around in his skull. Shaking it off, Mike scrambled back into the hall, he had to get to safety.

The security office. He had to get to the security office!

He ran. He ran down the hall like it was race, one that held his life as the prize. Once he saw the door way in sight, Mike eyes widened in relief. Turning the corner, Mike only got to glance inside before he was sent flying into the desk. The front of his face left like a flat end of an iron was smashed into it. His nose blistered. Warm liquid dripped from his nostrils. Delirious, Mike's head spun, thoughts getting fractured, uncompleted. A groan warbled past his lips, puffy from impact, before something grabbed him by the back of his collar. Faintly, Mike got to utter a short-lived mutter of confusion, before he was flung into the opposite wall, and crumpled in the corner.

Too shaken up, Mike's head slumped back against the wall behind him. What was going on? He wanted to know, and so he looked in a state of confused innocence. Mike squinted his eyes unfocused due to the head injury. The office looked empty. That couldn't be right through. Movement caused him to bristle. He leaned forward, just making out a shadow ducking back into the hall.

What-? His rattled mind managed. Mike squeezed his eyes shut, willing them to focus again. When the floor beneath him felt like it settled, he looked back to the doorway. Whatever had been there, was, of course, gone. He could tell that much even with still fuzzy vision, edges of things looking just a touch blurred. A sound put Mike back on alert. It sounded like, he winced, a pain blooming to life. Mike held his aching head it was protesting being forced to function with such damage. Head, nose, arms and shoulders were all demanding treatment at the same time. Honestly, Mike couldn't tell what hurt more.

The taste of blood on his lips pulled his attention there first. He brought his hand up, intending to wipe it off, only for a flash of pain in his arm, to cause his shoulders to buckle, his other hand reflexively grabbing hold. Right, bite, Mike reprimanded himself. His other shoulder blistered with jagged, enflamed affliction, it still felt like the hook was in it. Mike didn't want to move. If he let his arm slack, it'd only hurt more. Just shifting, it was like glass shards were grounded into his wounds.

I have to move, find out- what, hit me. Mike didn't know if it was self-preservation, deliriousness, or sheer stubbornness, that drove him at this point. Likely a mix of all three. Using his lower body strength, the part of himself with least damage inflicted, Mike pushed his back up the wall till it supported him. Eyes focused on the opposite doorway, one step at a time, one laborious step at a time, he walked forward. His legs moved fine, but the cobweb coated cotton stuffed inside his skull made it difficult to coordinate himself.

When he reached the other side of the room, Mike paused…just what was he going to do? What could he do against something that tossed him around like a ragdoll? No. No time for that, one step at a time, he told himself. Figure out what it was, plan then.

Cautiously, Mike peered around the corner, into the hallway. He could hear the music box still ticking away. Shit, how much play time does that have left? Panic surged, he glanced to the front desk, where he hid the tablet. Should, he go and get it? Fuck, Mike couldn't deal with another threat. Wait, where on the desk had he hidden the thing? The needles lacing the cotton in his head, like barbwire digging through his thoughts, interrupting them.

Useless, useless, failure. Mike felt a chill slither up his back, gaze yanked to the shadows in the hall. They were looking at him. He could see the inky shapes of a fox, flicking its tongue at him. Just waiting…just waiting for him to slip up. There were two foxes now, one with two heads, both leering. The rest were there too, huddled together. Telling him, soon, he'd be unconscious, in their domain, or better yet: dead.

The needles dug in deeper, the ringing, resounding louder than before. His focus got blurry again, legs buckled under him. Only because his hand caught the doorway, just barely, out of instinctive reflex, did he not completely collapse. He could just hear his heavy breathes above the blare sounding off in his mind. No, no, no- I- can't faint here, not again!

Mind racing, panic stricken, frantic, paired with his rapid-beating heart, was intermingled, laced, with the venomous whispers of the shadows, which spitefully coaxed him into giving in. Sit still. Let the end deliver itself to him. A panicked, pleading, No! Broke through the storm in his mind, jolting him just enough back into focus, just barely. The shadows, his nightmares, resumed focus and hold soon after, but their hold wasn't as tight. Mike squinted his eyes, peering through the murk. Seeing the shadows writhe, shapes sway, tempting him to loosen himself, he pushed himself away from the doorway. Into the light, away from the sight of them.

Crawling backwards, pushing with his feet, Mike struggled to get away from the delusions. His injuries increasingly fought him, made it difficult to move. He ended up using bitten arm like paddle, as it was less painful than the one which his shoulder was sliced open. Still, he felt a fresh, invigorated, wave of pain assailed him. Each shift, earned a grunt of struggle, and a gasp of strain.

Mike, panting heavily, only stopped when he was settled, side leaned against the wall of the security room, the hall obscured from his sight by the doorway. He cringed as a loud ring sounded in his mind; it was like an unceasing, tinny squeal. He clasped his eyes shut, hand gripping the side of his head as he tried to will his mind to shut out the sound. A long way, back, a while after he began to have this…affliction, Mike had learned that, like with Golden Freddy, if he didn't look at the hallucinations, their effect upon his psyche would wane. Focusing on his breathing, steadying it bit by bit, he gulped, swallowing the lump in his throat, before letting slip a long…exhale.

His body shuddered, releasing a small load of the strain from it. Then, Mike stilled. He felt something slight, lightly, slip up, against him. It was thin. One could mistake it as paper, were it not for the metallic chill that came with its touch.

Mike's eyes flew open. Before the blade could cut his throat, he shoved himself away with shove of his arm against the wall. Mike tumbled over, cringing at the paint that shot from his injured shoulder, and the fresh cut on his other shoulder. It stung. Not a deep wound it seemed.

Heart rate pounding in his ears again, Mike wildly shifted his body around to face whatever had attacked him. Everything stopped. He couldn't hear his heart racing any longer. His hairs stood on end. Blood felt to have drained from his complexion. All the result of the ice bath he seemingly had been dunked into. He couldn't think. He could only stare in sheer fright at the sight he was getting a peek at.

Around the corner of the other door leered a mutilated death mask of a face. Lips torn away, leaving snaggled teeth. What was left of them. Metallic replacements, coated with rusted ichor lay just behind them. Flesh, faded, into the color of suffocated rot. Eye sockets, just as empty as all the others, with a white gleam housed within. Unlike the others, it held something darker, twisted: it was him.