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He runs down the hallway, the footsteps of the thing just behind him. Not much longer now. Not much longer now. He's almost done, it's almost 6AM. Just keep running. Don't let it get to you.
6AM.
He survived another day. For now.
He's breathing heavily. Running from one side of the room to the other, openning and closing the doors, as well as ocasionally checking the cameras at a hard learned pattern. He's running out of energy too soon.
He's not going to make it.
He sees a hint of golden out of the corner of his eyes. It takes him a moment to remember to not look at it, but by then it's too late - the golden hallucination stuns him and, high-strung as he was, he passes out during the seventh night.
I'm going to die, he thinks, just before darkness takes him.
But he doesn't. He survives against all odds, althought he is left feeling numb and sick for quite a while afterwards.
The mask makes it hard to breath.
But he has to keep it on, or risk mangle recognizing him as human and attacking him - so far all it did was hang around in the ceilling and be a bother, but he knows better than assuming it to be harmless. None of the animatronics are.
Don't make sudden movements, don't make any loud noises.
The night is almost done. He can do it.
It inches closer, seeming almost curious. His heartbeat peaks up. He tries not to move, even though all his instincts are screaming ABORT MISSION in his head.
It makes a loud screeching noise and jumps at him.
He can feel the bite, the metalic teeth sinking into his head. It hurts, then he feels what he could only compare to static in his skin followed by all the nerves in his body screaming in pain. And the it suddenly stops.
The alarm rings 6AM, as he lays on the floor, mangle still in the room, but deactivated now. There is no trace of the bite aside from the damage in the mask, which is now beyond repair. He'll need to buy a new one.
He couldn't bring himself to get up, mangle's screech still ringing in his ears, still feeling the phantom echoes of the pain under his skin. He felt like death. He's well aware that he should have died right then and there. But he hadn't. And he had no idea why or how.
It couldn't be a hallucination, as he has chalked up to the previous times as. The mask was proof of it.
He forces himself up, swearing to himself to quit that day.
But he keeps coming back even after that, drawn in by an unseen compulsion to stay that he simply could not fight against.
He wakes up with a start, breathing heavily, a scream caught in his throat.
He can't remember where he is, can't remember what had happened, he can't breath, his mind filled with a terrible sense of helplessness.
Faintly, he is aware of a voice talking to him, although he can't understand what is being said.
Then, there are arms around him. He fights it at first, but then he feels it.
A heartbeat.
He stops and listens. The voice is still there, seeming just a bit clearer now and he can recognize it as Mark's. He still can't quite understand what he's saying.
A heartbeat.
He hugs him back like his life depends on it and presses his head against the other's chest.
Animatronics don't have a heartbeat.
Hallucinations don't have a heartbeat.
He made it. He's out. This is real.
"It's okay, Nate," says Mark, "you can let it out."
Just like that, the dam breaks, and he starts sobbing in the other's shoulder.
They stay like that for a while.