Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Greetings.

Welcome to Drowned...a story about ink and gay people and drugs and gay people and the author being unapologetically cringe and Fall Out Boy references and other silly things.

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This is the first fic in the Drowned series, with the others as follows:

Drowned - main story, from Henry's leaving to just as he returns - ongoing

Drenched - continuation of main story, from what happens after Henry returns - will be written after Drowned (the first story) is completed

Drought - backstories of the main story's characters - first part (Joey) has been written, may or may not be written/finished in future

Drained - fix-it AU for main story - may or may not be written after main story is completed

Bolded titles denote fics that will be written for certain, while unbolded titles denote fics that may be cancelled due to not being essential to the main story and/or lack of interest.

Updates will be slow because we live in a society (/hj about the reason, but /srs that chapters will take a while to write).

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We ensure that we update our trigger warnings with each chapter publication, so please pay special attention to warnings for any topics/scenes/lines that may disturb you.

- Substance use/abuse and addiction is a major theme throughout the fic.

- Later chapters contain some heavy violence, most of which is canon-typical.  There is one major torture scene, and some implied instances.

- There is one suicide attempt/self-harm scene.

- Some characters refer to abuse in their pasts, both emotional and physical.  Many characters have some form of childhood trauma.

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Other details of this series include:

- Homophobia and transphobia do not exist because nah.

- The timeline is wonky--just kind of go with the flow.

- The fic is not completely historically-accurate, and becomes significantly less so as it goes on.  Additionally, it is rather canon-divergent.  We kind of stopped caring about canon.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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Okay, I think that's everything.

Finally, I would like to add a shout-out to my fantastic friend and writing helper @King_Of_Paradoxes from Wattpad.  Please go follow him immediately right now at this minute at once right away!

Also...King_of_Paradoxes is making me put a shout-out to myself in here.  Sobs.

So shout-out to the Static System, I guess.  They definitely are.

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One last thing...

...

It's okay for dreams to fade away.

It's okay to let go of them, or to find new ones.

But even if they don't come true...remember what they were.

...

Thank you.

Chapter Text

Hello, darling readers.  So...here is Picrew Face Claims, 2.0; with this one, I used Icon Maker + Star Wars WIP by Kmerolzzzz. And, um...I won't add any silly or annoying comments this time around...heh...

Also, I realize now that using the yellow background for all of them was not the best decision, and I highly regret picking that color.

Anyway, here are the designs~

Joey Drew

Henry Stein

Sammy Lawrence

Susie Campbell

Jack Fain

(The Picrew didn't have hats.  (◕︵◕))

Norman Polk

Allison Pendle/Connor

Thomas Connor

Wally Franks

Shawn Flynn

Grant Cohen

Abby Lambert

Bertrum Piedmont

Lacie Benton

Emma Lamonte

Buddy Lewek

Dot

Johnny

Nathan Arch

LGBTQ Log:

~ Norman is gay and grey-ace (he/him).

~ Wally is gay and genderfluid (he/they/she).

~ Lacie is a butch lesbian (she/he).

~ Abby is a lesbian and demiwoman (she/they).

~ Jack is bi, with no preference (he/him).

~ Bertrum is bi, with a slight preference for women (he/him).

~ Shawn is pan, with no preference (he/they).

~ Joey is abro, and switches between gay, bi, pan, and aro/ace (he/they).

~ Grant is aro/ace, a combination of averse and indifferent (he/him).

~ Johnny is agender (they/them).

~ Nathan is trans (he/him).

~ Henry is demisexual (he/they).

~ Sammy is multiromantic/sexual in some way (he/they).

Any characters not specified are not necessary cis, straight, and/or allo.  Pronouns may not reflect what is written in the fic because I didn't decide on them until later.  </3

Chapter Text

In the bustling chaos of New York City, two men, both gleaming with pride, stand front of a colossal building. One of them, with slicked-back auburn hair, and wearing a navy-blue a robust physique, steps towards the door of the new construction; he drifts his hand a bit on the dark wood, hesitantly, before grabbing firmly onto the gold-painted handle. He turns it with a satisfying *click*, and opens the entrance to reveal a grand maze of rooms and hallways. He smiles and turns toward his business partner, a soft-spoken, slim man with wispy blonde hair, donning a white suit.

"Come inside, Henry...it's perfect," the auburn-haired man says to him; seeing the excitement in his partner's bright blue eyes, Henry Stein steps forward into the building.

It's even more beautiful than he had imagined; the walls are a soft sepia color, blending flawlessly with the brown-tone furniture. The mere height of the building is majestic, and the atmosphere flutters with ambition and self-fulfillment. Henry feels a warmth in his chest; after months of planning, hoping, and waiting, his partner and him had finally created the animation studio they had been wanting to form ever since they first put their pencils to paper. The blonde smiles at his best friend, and the mutual pride sits between them for a moment.

Another man enters the premises: a lawyer. He carries some papers, and says to the new owners, "Well, guys, all you have to do is sign, and it's all yours." Henry pulls out the pen he always kept in his pocket, and writes his name on the lines of the permits and certificates; he has been vying for this moment for oh, so long. He hands the official documents to his partner, who follows suit to Henry's actions.

When all is settled with the legal work, the lawyer shakes the men's hands. "That makes it official: you two now are the owners of this studio. Congratulations, Mr. Stein and Mr. Drew."

The man in the navy suit laughs. "I've told you, sir, there's no need for that 'mister' stuff. My partner's name is Henry, and please, call me Joey."

Chapter Text

Henry rises from his desk, grabs his finished drawings, and starts on his way to the music department. While he walks, he ponders the last few months; despite the time that has passed, he still feels that warm sense of pride in the creation of he and Joey's animation workshop, Joey Drew Studios (Henry had wanted to call it Stein-Drew Studios, but Joey had insisted that it be named after himself, and Henry had relented). The two of them had managed to hire a small group of people, and though their team was tiny, both Henry and Joey felt certain that soon, their studio family would grow.

The animator's pale, almost washed-out blue eyes fall upon his sketches; Henry's new character, a little devil darling named Bendy, stares back at him, his cheesy smile and pie-cut eyes popping out of the canvas. Henry gives a soft grin to himself and continues on his journey.

In the music department, Samuel Lawrence is practicing his violin. With shoulder-length dark brown hair, lilypad-green eyes, and a toned body, Sammy is what many people consider handsome--and he knows it. He puts down his instrument and greets his boss.

"Hello, Henry." His voice is gruff and annoyed; the first time Henry met him--at the interview before Joey hired him--the animator was confused on why he seemed so irritated, but had come to learn that that was just the way Sammy was all the time. He was always just a bit angry about something.

"Hi, Sammy. How's your new composition going?" Sammy had been working to the bone on his newest musical piece, although he refused to reveal the title of it.

Sammy grunts. "It's going along, but I don't have the harmony that I want. Maybe if I switched the violin part to a flute..."

Henry patiently waits while Sammy digs through some music sheets; the animator had also learned throughout the months that you shouldn't distract Sammy when he is concentrating. "Is Jack here?" he asks when the composer rises up with the sheet he was searching for.

A head pokes out of a doorway down the hall; the timid Jack Fain, Sammy's lyricist, says barely audibly, "I'm here, M-Mister Stein, sir." Jack's bosses make him nervous--as do many things--but he trusts Henry more than Joey. Jack hadn't been much for words at his interview with the two, and while Henry had seemed to understand his shyness, Joey kept trying to coax a sentence out of him. In fact, Jack suspects that it was probably due to Henry that he even was hired.

Henry turns towards the poet and smiles warmly. Like his musical partner, Jack has green eyes, but his are a darker type of green --"emerald," as his mother had called them--dusty brown curls stick out from under his yellow bowler hat, and a bridge of freckles is painted over his cheeks and nose. When Joey had wanted to reject this kind, quiet soul, Henry had stepped in and convinced his partner to hire him. Henry saw something in Jack that Joey did not; beneath this young man's shy exterior, there was a spark of courage and integrity, and that was what the studio needed.

The artist starts up the stairs to the projector office; once he is arrives, he scours the room for their projectionist.

"If you're looking for Norman, he went to the break room for coffee!" Sammy calls from below.

"Thanks, Sammy!" Henry yells back, and sets his sketches on the table near the camera. He heads back downstairs, waves goodbye to Sammy and Jack, and leaves the music department to go back to his desk and create more scenes for the studio's cartoons.

He runs into Joey in the hallway; noticing the direction that he arrived from, Joey says to Henry, "Hello, old friend. Tell me, how is everyone doing? Working hard, I presume?"

Henry nods. "Sammy's still composing that new piece, and Jack is in his office. Norman went out for coffee."

This report satisfies his partner. "Great, great! Work hard, work happy! Yes, sir!" Joey puts a hand on Henry's shoulder. "All of these things are the steps to victory, to fame. We are improving, Henry, and the future is in our hands."

The artist merely grins at his business partner. This was the trait that made Joseph Camden Drew truly special: he was always looking to the future, toward the completion of his dreams. However, Henry knew in the back of his mind that this was also a flaw; Joey was known to be an idealist, and he could become controlling if things didn't go as planned. But that was what Henry was there for. He saw details that Joey passed over, and could calm down his co-owner if he started going overboard.

Joey pats the animator's back. "Well, I suppose then that all is good; our workers are working hard to make dreams come true. And that is all we need." He dismisses Henry, who continues on to his desk.

Henry pulls out his trusty pen and grabs some paper. While he draws, he ponders Joey's words; while he too hopes for the best, he can't help but disagree slightly with his partner. The future wasn't completely up to them; the current events could definitely change.

And they could change quickly.

Chapter Text

Joey drums his fingers on his desk, his mind racing and his heart aflutter. Today is going to be a special day--he just knows it. Of course, every day in his studio is a special day according to him...but today, there is a feeling floating through the air, pulsing in his body, and developing in his soul that promises that this day has something in store. Joey leans toward the microphone on his desk and straightens it out, preparing to speak.

Down in the music department, everyone is hard at work on the studio's newest cartoon, featuring Bendy and his wolf buddy, Boris; the workshop's latest show, Fishing Frenzy, had been a smashing success, so Joey had begun pushing his team to produce similarly eminent pieces. Additionally, Henry had created a new character: a cute little angel named Alice. Once a voice actress for her was hired and she made her debut, Joey felt positive that his studio would prosper greatly.

However, the owner had instructed his workers to continue conducting shows with Bendy and Boris while Alice's future voice actress is being decided, which is why Sammy is leaning over his piano, testing for the right melody.

The composer's pointy fingers hover over the B flat note; he presses it down, then moves on to a high D. Every note counts--one wrong sound could ruin his piece. His hand drawls along the keys for a few more moments...and then, suddenly it's there! He plays his melody again: B flat, high D, low D, E flat, low B flat, F, G.

He needs to write this down! Sammy rushes over to his desk and grabs some staff paper. Now...where is his pen? He rummages through his drawers, but nothing turns up. With a growl, he remembers that he left it on the piano, so back he goes.

Finally, with everything where it needs to be, he can start writing his melody. What was it, again? he mentally asks the piano. B flat...D...

"HELLO, MY STUDIO WORKERS!" Joey's voice booms over the intercom, causing Sammy to drop his pen and staff paper; he scrambles to pick them up, and tries to remember what note comes next, while Joey continues to yammer over the loudspeaker.

"A wonderful Tuesday morning it is today! I have no announcements at this time, other than the usual: keep making dreams come true!" Joey says joyfully before the speaker turns off with a *click*.

Sammy's eyes narrow in silent frustration--his boss's morning greeting has wiped the composer's mind. It's not that this occurrence is unusual; in fact, it only happens every single day. Joey just can't take a hint that maybe blabbing through a radio will distract his workers. The music man sighs; that's another tune he'll never get back. He leans back over his piano and attempts to regain his focus, but his mind wanders to something Joey had said.

No announcements, huh? Henry hasn't told him yet, then. About a week ago, Henry had passed out letters to all of his studio workers; in fact, Sammy still has his on a music stand:

Dear my wonderful friends and workers,

I am sorry to announce that I will be resigning from my position of co-owner; I want to spend more time with my wife, Linda, which has been difficult to do ever since Joey and I established the studio. I also plan to create and maintain my own private artist workshop, where I will take commissions. I will officially leave Joey Drew Studios next week, on April 14.

I implore that you do not tell Joey about my plan to depart; I will talk with him separately. I hope and trust that he will continue to lead the studio into successful times.

On a happier note, Joey and I have hired a voice actress for Alice Angel. You will all be introduced to a bright young woman named Susan Campbell quite soon.

In conclusion, I am sorry to leave Joey Drew Studios so soon after its establishment, but I know that you, my friends, will be okay without me. Trust in yourselves and others; dire and stressful situations can often be overcome when you have each other.

Thank you for allowing me to be your leader; I appreciate you all more than you will ever know.

Sincerely,

Henry Stein

Sammy's first reaction to the note was one of confusion and dejection. Surely Henry wouldn't abandon his studio--his dream--so soon after its creation? But then again, Sammy suspects that Linda isn't the only reason his boss is leaving.

Actually, the composer is quite surprised that everyone has kept their lips sealed in front of Joey. The rumors and gossip on Henry's departure were circling the workshop here and there, but if Joey happened to be passing by when a group was discussing that subject, everyone suddenly became silent. Joey himself didn't mind this--he took it as a sign of respect.

Today is April 14, and Sammy has a nagging suspicion that today will be the day Joey finds out about his partner's plans.

As if on cue, Henry strides into the music department for a final goodbye. Sammy rises from the piano and shakes his now former boss's hand, as the projectionist, Norman, emerges from his work area.

Despite only being in his late twenties, Norman has a few traits of the aged, such as the dark circles under his deep brown eyes and his lanky, slouched posture; his hair is black and permanently frizzy (no matter how much he combs it), and he has smooth, shiny dark skin. He is an intelligent man, with a flaw of being overly curious--he always needs to know more, no matter what the stakes are.

Norman too shakes Henry's hand and says in his Southern accent, "I'm sorry to see you go. You were a great boss; I wish you luck with your private workshop." Henry thanks him as Jack rushes from seemingly out of nowhere into the room. Jack has done this strange disappearance and reappearance before, but the other workers' knowledge of where he goes off to is naught.

"M-Mister Stein..." Jack stutters, anxious and out of breath--he had entered at a run. "I - um - sorry - I - are you - ?" The lyricist mentally cringes at himself. He hates when he can't find his words; it happens all too often, both when he writes and when he talks. "I-I just wanted to say g-goodbye. I'm s-sorry I was late." Suddenly aware that everyone in the group is staring at him, he focuses his eyes on the floor as he blushes and wrings his hands, embarrassed.

"It's perfectly okay, Jack," Henry replies kindly, placing a comforting hand on the poet's shoulder. He wishes he could tell Jack not to be so hard on himself, but he also knows that it's not as easy as that; he himself had been known to overwork on projects, so he knew the struggle.

"So, uh, Mister Stein," Norman begins, "is this your last stop? I mean, have you already visited the other departments?"

Henry nods, and removes his hand from Jack. "Yes, it is. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Norman responds, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"Well, then, I suppose I should be going. Thank you, everyone," Henry says, nodding at each person. Jack waves as the animator pivots and starts on his way to Joey's office.

Norman carefully observes each of Henry's steps, and when the artist has completely left the music department, he sneaks along the hallway, following him.

"Where are you--?" Sammy begins, but the projectionist is already gone.

Norman stalks Henry through the winding corridor, peering around the corners surreptitiously so that the drawer won't notice him; his footsteps creak on the wooden floorboards, but luckily, his boss doesn't arrest his travel in suspicion. Finally, Henry arrives at a tall, mahogany door, with a large arch sign above it that declares the room as The Office of Joey Drew.

The projectionist waits for Henry to enter before sliding along the wall and pressing his ear to the door. He just has to hear this.

Inside, Joey looks up from a tax paper and calculator on his mess of a desk at Henry's lengthy figure.

"Well, hello, Henry."

"Hello, Joey," the animator replies, and sighs--he's perplexed on how he wants to word his message. "I have some news."

Joey's eyes immediately sparkle; this must be the news he has been waiting for--the reason for his impending sense of anticipation. He rises to his feet. "What is it?"

"Well...I'll be frank. Joey, I'm leaving." He hands a copy of his letter to Joey, whose face has fallen and eyes have dimmed. Joey grabs the letter and reads it over carefully...then once again... and then just one more time. This can't be right.

"Henry...I...," Joey falters, as he paces around his chair nervously. "Are you sure that this is what you want? This studio was your dream--our dream. Think of all the effort we put into this...it's not too late to change your mind."

"I'm absolutely certain that this is the right decision," Henry insists, as Norman shifts himself so he can peer through the keyhole. "Maybe it wasn't a good idea for me to start so large—I need to downgrade. Besides, once I'm gone, you can do as you please." Henry's true feelings about his partner begin to emerge, and his voice takes a bitter tone. "There will be no me to hold you back. You can hire whoever you please; you can spend the budget however you see fit. You can do anything and everything that you desire, Joseph, and I will not be there to stop you."

The animator pauses to catch his breath, surprised at himself--he didn't know that he had so much bottled up, and for so long. Joey, however, is being bombarded by his thoughts on all of this. Come on, I'm not THAT controlling! Why didn't he tell me about this sooner? Did he think that I would react badly? He settles on asking one of the lesser burning questions.

"So, then, the reason you put down--about wanting to spend more time with Linda--was that just-?"

"An excuse?" Henry interjects. "No. That is one of the numerous reasons I'm leaving. I don't want to worry our employees."

"But you have no problem worrying me?!" Joey almost yells, grasping Henry's letter. "You didn't think that maybe I might want to know that you have decided to completely desert our studio?!" He crumples the paper up and tosses it angrily into the trash; his heart pounds furiously in his chest as he rounds back behind his chair. "Or is it that you just didn't care?"

Norman, enjoying this drama immensely, leans against the door to get a better picture of the scene; he observes that Joey is gripping his chair so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.

"Joseph, you're blowing this totally out of propor--," Henry begins.

"No," his partner replies callously. "No. I'm not the bad guy here. You're the one abandoning your dream. You're the one leaving me to my own devices. You're the bad guy. You want to leave, Henry? Then leave." He turns so the animator can't see the tears welling in his eyes. "Just go."

Henry sighs--this was what he feared would happen. Seeing that there is no possible way to bring Joey to his senses, the artist follows his request and puts his hand on that golden doorknob.

Norman attempts to jump out of the way before the door hits him, but he's too late; the hard wood hits his head with a resounding *bonk*. Henry glances toward the sound and sees the projectionist crouched on the floor--he had been eavesdropping. Tired of arguing, the animator says to his former employee, "Norman, I'll forgive you for this, but I'll warn you that Joey will not take spying so lightly."

"Yes, of course, Mister Stein. My apologies," Norman says, rising from the ground and dusting himself off. "It won't happen again." I won't get caught again, his mind continues.

"Thank you." Henry nods, then goes on his way to his desk to grab his things. As he packs up, his mind spins with all the events of the day, and with memories of good times in his studio. But now, he would leave it all behind.

Henry slings his pouch over his shoulder, walking to the studio's exit; he passes a cardboard Bendy cutout. He stops at it, pondering. Then he lightly touches its head and whispers sadly, "Goodbye, Bendy."

Joey spends the next few hours glooming in his office, staring at the clock; a thousand thoughts whirr through his brain. He thinks he can just run away like that? What about the cartoons? What about our new voice actress? What about me?

He decides that he will go join the studio audience to watch the newest cartoon--maybe that will clear his mind.

Taking a seat in the dark (and somewhat ominous) projector room, Joey's eyes focus on the cheerful dancing demon on the screen. Then, it happens--the gears in his brain start to turn.

What if he can bring this little devil to life? Not just on the screen, as a moving picture...but in reality--physically. Joey grins as he imagines of all the smiles on the faces of children when they can meet their favorite characters. Henry would be so proud...but then again, Joey reminds himself, Henry doesn't matter. What matters now are the final goals.

Bring cartoons to life. Make dreams come true.

Chapter Text

It's a chilly day outside the colossal door of Joey Drew Studios, where a blonde woman stands. She pulls her bolero jacket more tightly around her shoulders in an attempt to fend off the howling wind, then places her hand on the golden doorknob of the studio door; with a *creak*, it swings open invitingly.

Thankful to be out of the cold, the woman steps into the well-lit hallway. Under her white jacket, she dons a bright orange knee-length dress-- it's easy to see that fashion is important to her. She walks in white high heels, and her face is heavily covered with the most expensive makeup she can afford; red coloring lines her lips, and brown eye shadow sets off her hazel eyes. Her shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair is styled profoundly.

In confusion, she glances up and down the immense amount of corridors, not sure which one she should head down, but she soon spots someone who might be able to help.

Sammy is over beside the punch card stand; he ruffles through the card stack until he finds his, then pops it into the machine with a *click*.

"Excuse me, sir-can you help me find Mister Joey Drew's office?"

The composer turns toward the voice of the woman. "Uh, sure," he replies, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

"Oh! I'm Susie--Susan Campbell, Alice Angel's new voice actress," the woman explains quickly, and a smile dawns on Sammy's face.

"I see," he says. "Well, nice to meet you, Susie." He extends a hand, and Susie shakes it. "I can show you to Joey's office."

With that, he leads her down the leftmost hallway, to that sign The Office of Joey Drew; Susie observes that the "o" in Joey's name is detailed with a star in the center, and that the office door is slightly ajar; the pair walk in to see Joey with his head in his hands.

His desk is even worse than normal--papers are strewn everywhere, and the file cabinets behind Joey's desk are wide open with their contents scattered mish-mash across the floor. Sammy sniffs at seeing such an awful dump of an office, but bites his tongue.

Hearing the *squeak* of the door open propels the boss to lift his head. "Ah! Hello, Susie! Hello, Sammy!" he says in a false voice evidently meant to be cheerful--Sammy sees through this act due to the fact that Joey's eyes are puffy and red.

Susie notices, too. Has he been crying? she wonders, but decides to play along in Joey's game of pretending that he is okay. "Hello, sir! I--"

"Yes, yes, of course," Joey interrupts, not knowing what she was going to say. "Everything is all in order; your paperwork is done, and..." he trails off tiredly. Come on, Joey, he commands himself. Keep it together. With a sigh, he sits up with a forced smile. "I see you've met Sammy--Sammy, why don't you show Miss Campbell around? I'd do it myself, but..."--he struggles for an excuse--"I'm busy. Now, I'm sorry to have to ask you to depart posthaste, but I have work to do." He practically pushes the duo out of his office and shuts the door on them; he slouches and drags himself back to his chair, sitting in it with a sad *thump.*

Back in the hallway, Susie gives Sammy a confused look. "So...uh...that was odd. He was much nicer at the interview."

Sammy gives a thoughtful sigh as he contemplates on how he should phrase his answer. "He's a bit...distraught. You see, three days ago, his business partner--and my boss--left the workshop to start his own private business; Joey isn't taking it too well." He leads her to Henry's desk, which has not yet been removed from the building. "This is where he worked--he didn't get an office. But he was an extraordinarily caring and humble man, and I am so honored as to have worked with him." But now he's gone, he thinks as he runs his fingertips on the rough engraving of Henry's name.

"I'm sorry..." Susie says, remembering the blonde man at her interview who had introduced himself as Henry Stein; she places a compassionate hand on Sammy's arm.

"I am, too," is all Sammy says in reply.

There is a melancholic moment of silence.

Susie removes her hand from Sammy. "So...um, what all is in this place? I mean, what rooms are there to visit?"

Sammy smiles, comforted; he counts the rooms of the studio on his fingers as he mentions them. "Well, there's the music department--that's where I work--and the animation department, and the writing department, and the toy department, and--"

"Okay, okay," Susie cuts him off, giggling. "How about you show me the department entrances, but you don't have to go through every single room--I'm sure I'll figure them out as I begin working."

He nods. "All right, then--first stop, the music department. The greatest part of the studio!" The composer slips his arm under hers, and leads her prom-style to the area.

Jack is sitting at one of the desks, his nose almost touching the paper he is furiously dictating on; when he sees Sammy leading a stranger towards him, his mind goes into a panic as he ducks under the table.

"Jack, you don't have to be scared," Sammy tells him, laying a hand on the table.

Easy for you to say, Jack thinks bitterly as he crawls farther under the wooden surface. You, unlike me, are a man of infinite social confidence. He exhales in sadness--it always seems to him that the music composer is superior to him, whether that be from his self-assured stride down the halls of the workshop to his witty comments in the company of others. What had once been admiration from Jack in his beginning work days had hardened into envy; no matter what the lyricist did, Sammy could do it better, which in turn gave Jack feelings of self-doubt and anger at himself. Just once, he would like to prove that he isn't always second to Sammy.

Sammy sighs, realizing he isn't going to persuade the lyricist out of his hiding spot; he turns to his tour partner. "Well, Susie, this is Jack Fain, our lyricist. If you haven't noticed, he's quite shy." One hundred percent maturity there, Jack, his mind continues on. He knocks on the wood in a last attempt to coax the timid man out of concealment--in compromise, Jack sticks his head out from under the desk, his thoughts whirring. He says shy like it's a bad thing...is it really that childish? It probably is, according to him. His anxiety starts to creep into his mind as his green eyes fall on Susie. Does she think I'm weird because I'm hiding? I guess she wouldn't be wrong...who is she?

"Hi..." the poet mumbles taciturnly as his face grows red. She's really beautiful. Oh God, do I look stupid under here? He scrambles to his feet in front of the blonde woman (Finally, Sammy exasperates. He made it awkward for everyone.). "Um...I'm J-Jack-but y-you already know that--sorry--I just--table--uh..." He sighs, angry at himself for sounding so incompetent. "Um, who are you?"

Susie gives him a kind smile to ease him, but her mind remarks, Poor guy. He's so shy, can't talk to anyone. "I'm Susie Campbell, the new voice actress for Alice Angel." Jack mentally facepalms himself. Duh, Jack, you utter idiot. After a moment of hesitation, Susie extends her hand for Jack to shake; when he shrinks away, she passively places her arm back at her side.

Norman, who had been covertly observing this entire episode from up in his projector booth, decides to introduce himself to this fashion-conscious, poised young woman--and give the lyricist a break; Jack sees him stroll down the stairs, and the poet is glad to see that his turn of 'talk to the new employee' is over--he speeds down the hall, on his way to his regular secret hiding area. Thank you, Norman.

Susie stares at the tall man in front of her, and extends her hand again. "Hello, sir! I am--"

"--Susie Campbell," Norman finishes for her. "I heard you from up there." He jerks his head to the projector booth and smirks as he shakes her hand. "Nice to meet you. I am Norman Polk, the projectionist."

"I see! Well, nice to meet you, too, Norman," she answers joyfully. This place is full of such colorful characters! The handsome music composer, the timid lyricist, the mysterious projectionist...wow! She is truly happy to be around so many different people, and her encounter with Joey is completely wiped from her memory. Turning to Sammy, she asks, "Where to next?"

The composer considers for a moment. "Let's go to the animation department, and then I'll take you to the toy department." He links to her again, and they start towards their destination.

Norman smiles and shakes his head as he watches them leave. I know that they've just met, but they're already smitten--how cute.

The animation department is drastically different than the music department in that it is bustling with workers--Susie has to dodge at least three that race past her. The department is also much more cramped, with the desks shoved against each other. The majority of the artists seem to be a joyful, fun-loving crew--they are all chattering and teasing each other playfully, while a teenage boy with light brown hair watches them forlornly. In the center of the room is a sharply-dressed man with neat black hair, keeping tabs on their doings and reminding them when necessary to keep working.

Susie approaches the black-haired man, who seems to be in charge of this particular division of the studio, and once again extends her arm. My hand is going to fall off from all this shaking! "Greetings, sir! I'm Susie Campbell, Alice Angel's new voice actress."

"Ah, yes," the man replies silkily, giving her a rare smile. "I'm charmed; I am Terrence Dail, head artist of the animation department. I hope you will find happiness and success in your career here." He turns to his energetic co-workers, pointing them out and naming them for her. "That over there is Dave, that is Richie, and that is Jacob." The group proceeds to loudly call out greetings to the new worker, and she waves at them.

Another soul sprints into the drawing wing; this one is a slim male with hair the color of caramel, and his bangs are styled in a swirl that flips above his forehead. He has a small mustache above his shiny smile--Susie also observes that he has beautiful long eyelashes.

"Hey, Sammy," he says in a Brooklyn accent, "have you seen my keys?" He notices Susie. "Hiya, miss!"

Susie waves cheerfully as Sammy gives a disappointed sigh. "Yes, Wally--they're on my desk. You left them in my trashcan...again."

Realization dawns on Wally's face. "Ohhhh, yeah. Thanks!" He pivots his brown eyes to the head artist. "Hi, Terry!"

Terrence scowls. "I told you not to call me that."

"Whatever you say, Terry." And before Susie can say anything, Wally bounces off towards the music workshop.

Terrence's expression softens as he looks back at the voice actress. "Nice to meet you, Susie." With that, he grabs some sketches off of his desk and unleashes a dutiful gaze at the teenage boy. "You, um, gofer?" He points to the teenager and searches for a name he can't find. "What is your name again?"

"Buddy, sir," the boy replies diligently, brushing his bangs out of his face. He doesn't even remember my name...

"Buddy, take these to Mister Drew," Terrence dictates, handing the boy the sketches; the latter skips off in the direction of demand.

Susie turns back to Sammy, who is fixated on a speaker above one of the artist's desks. I never thought that I'd miss them, he thinks--Joey had stopped preaching his announcements in the morning the day after Henry left, and though they were a distraction, the composer can't help but expect them again. He is pulled out of his reminiscing when Susie taps his shoulder.

"Oh, uh, that was Wally Franks--the janitor," he explains, gesturing down the hallway the man had ran into; he lowers his voice as he continues, "Bit of a scatterbrain, I think, but at least he gets the job done."

The voice actress nods--it is coming to light for her that Sammy may not think too highly of most of his co-workers. "What about that Terrence guy?"

"He just got promoted to head artist because of Henry's leaving," the music man clarifies. "Definitely the most mature of the group, but a bit boring; much better than those other ones and their shenanigans, though." A pause, and then, "Are you ready to see the toy workshop?"

"Yes!" She hitches to Sammy.

The duo walk into the colossal toy department, and Susie gasps at its beauty. It's a miracle world--toys of every size sit picturesque across the shining floor. Plush Borises, Bendys, and Alices peer at the new employee curiously, permanent smiles sewn on all of their faces; behind them is a giant fountain streaming clear, reflective water, with a sign at the top declaring the room as Heavenly Toys.

It is indeed heavenly! Susie raves, then perceives the only person in this amazing room; his messy red hair is the only thing visible, as his head is lying on the desk and he is sound asleep.

Sammy gives the sleeping person a slight shake, and the latter groans a bit as his eyes flutter open. "Oh, hi, Sammy," he says drowsily, squinting at the composer's companion. "Who's this?"

"Susie Campbell, the new voice actress," Sammy replies. "Susie, this is Shawn Flynn, our toymaster." A big sleeper, too, if you couldn't tell , his mind continues on; he has caught Shawn napping on the job three times throughout his time working at Joey Drew Studios. At the second instance of this event, Henry had happened to be traveling with Sammy, and the animator had merely awoken the toy maker, not making a fuss about it. Since his former boss seemed to understand Shawn's unusual sleep patterns, Sammy presumed that it probably wasn't his place to tell the ever-exhausted man off.

"The job's a bit boring today, huh?" Susie jokes.

"Um, sure," Shawn mutters. In truth, he has a condition: "narcolepsy," as his doctor calls it. But the craftsman has only told three people in the studio about his illness--Henry, Joey, and his one closest friend--and he plans to keep it that way; it's not so much that he is embarrassed by it, but more that it just really isn't anyone's business but his. I'll take an excuse when I can get one.

The voice actress continues to gawk at the sheer exquisiteness of the toy department. "You have such an amazing work environment--I would love to stay in here!" She spins on her heel to view his desk; in front of Shawn is an Alice plush, newly sewn. "What is this?" Susie asks, pointing to a lime-green pile of knitting to the left of this stuffed toy.

"Oh, uh, that's...just something I'm working on for...someone," Shawn replies somewhat bashfully, as he rapidly shoves the pile in question into a drawer. Susie and Sammy exchange confused looks, but decide not to pursue the subject any further.

The toy maker stands up and stretches, and Susie notices that he is about two inches shorter than her--not tiny, but nevertheless still a bit small for an adult male.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Susie," he says, grabbing her hand. "Good luck on voicing and everything."

"Thank you!" Once again, she rotates to Sammy. I can't decide which is more fun to look at: him or this awesome place. So many sights! "Writing department next, if I remember correctly?"

He nods. "You ready?"

"Of course." And down the corridor they go.

The writing department is set up like the animation department, with the desks scrunched against each other, but there is an unmistakable hush in the atmosphere that is a sharp contrast to the always-noisy one in the art wing. Susie searches around for someone who might be the lead writer, but stops after Sammy tells her that, for some reason, Joey never hired one.

"The authors pretty much take care of their jobs without disorder, though, so I guess we really don't need one. Still, I have always found it a bit strange." He sighs. "But that's just Joey's way." He directs her toward the workers. "That one is Madison, that's James, that's Peter, and that is Dorothy." A couple of the writers poke their heads up at their names, while the other two--James and Dorothy--keep centered on their work. "Everyone," Sammy continues, "this is Susie Campbell, the new voice actress for Alice Angel."

There are a few "Hi, Susie"s and "Welcome to the studio"s from the authors, but not much else is said. They certainly are a quiet bunch , Susie thinks.

Sammy taps her shoulder. "Well, that's the end of the tour, unless you want to see the administration department." He grins. "But that's a bit boring, and the only people who work in there are Joey and Grant Cohen, and both of them stay shut up in their offices so much that it's futile to introduce them."

Susie can't help but beam, too. His smile is so infectious, she ogles. "Thank you so much for showing me everything; you're an remarkable tour guide."

He laughs. "Well, I wouldn't say that, but thank you, too. You're a remarkable studio tourist."

They stand in blissful silence for a moment before Susie blushes a bit and they both giggle, realizing that they are staring. "I better get back to work, then," Sammy says as he dismisses himself. "Oh, wait--you work in the recording studio, too. I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other, then."

"I guess we will," Susie agrees, as she strides next to him.

Joey rises from his swivel chair with a melodramatic sigh. The work day has ended, and now he can finally travel the hallways without being stopped to have a question answered or papers approved; of course, those are the normal tasks of a manager/CEO/owner, but sometimes Joey wishes that he could just have some peace and quiet.

Now is the best time to get that very thing, but he has work to do first. He slides down the eerie, dark corridor in silence, eventually reaching a tiny office in the administration department; he pounds lightly on the door using the brass knocker.

"Come in," says a hoarse voice from inside.

The owner shuffles in. This office is much more organized than his--every document and file is in alphabetical order on the metal shelves, the floor is vacuumed so well that not a crumb remains, and everything that can be polished is. Joey directs his eyes to the man in the chair in the center of the room.

Grant Cohen is a elderly human seemingly made of circles, from his round body to the bald spot on the peak of his head. "Hello, Mister Drew. What can I do for you?"

Joey sits in one of the chairs opposite of Grant. "How many funds do we have saved up, Grant?"

The bookkeeper bends over with some struggle and opens a file cabinet, shuffling through the pages inside until he finds the one he wants; he brings it out and reads it for a bit before answering, "After expenses, about $15,438."

The owner nods. "Very well, then. Thank you." He stands up and prepares to leave the room before Grant stops him.

"Sir, can I ask why you ask?"

Joey pivots on his heel and places his fingers at the edge of his muttonchops. "Well, Grant, I don't want to spoil anything...but some things are going to change here." He pauses in the doorway, causing the shadow of the hall to cover his face. "And what wonderful changes they will be."

Chapter Text

Indeed, a lot did change in the days that follow Susie's arrival; the voice actress adjusted well to her new work environment, and especially to her co-workers--but something even more interesting (and strange) came up just a week after her entrance.

Joey had been standing by the door all morning for no coherent reason, and when his employees questioned him on it, he had merely given them a sly smile and answered, "We have some important guests coming." The workers all had their guesses as to who these guests could be: Norman suspected potential candidates for a lead writer, while Sammy and Jack figured that they would be major businesspeople coming to speak with Joey on whatever boring topics businesspeople speak about. Susie feared that they would be inspectors who would check each of the workers to see if they were doing their jobs adequately, and worried how she could possibly make a good impression with such little experience; Shawn thought that they were public speakers his boss had chosen to "lighten up" his crew, like the ones he had hired before Henry's dismissal. The studio gang bounced these theories off each other, never figuring out which was correct--but with a *creak* of the main doors, their questions were answered.

Four construction workers had trudged into the workshop; Joey immediately began animatedly communicating with a muscular, black-haired one who seemed to be in charge. All of the constructors donned pale blue shirts with a silver cursive "GENT" stitched in the left corner pocket.

Since then, the construction workers have spent almost all of their time in a closed-off section of the studio; to prevent his other employees from peeking at the surprise they are building, Joey only provided keys to the room to the GENT members. This action caused a mutual frustration among the studio staff, in Norman especially--despite his ceaseless efforts to listen at the door, the little information he has gathered is not enough to describe what exactly the artisans are intending to create.

Thus, the only actions the projectionist can really do at this point are do his job, surreptitiously stare down at the recording studio below for thrills, and/or contemplate the reason for the GENT workers using the evidence he doesn't have; right now, he is in progress of the second activity. Blended into the shadows so well that the two workers below don't even notice him, he observes whatever drama he can from in his balcony.

Down in the recording section of the music department, Sammy and Susie are chatting earnestly; the composer and the voice actress had graduated from frivolous flirting and now were launching into learning more about each other. However, it's time to work right now.

Sammy is seated at his piano, practicing vocal warm-ups with Susie, who is leaning against the instrument.

"La-la-la-la-la-la-la!" he sings as he presses the corresponding F scale keys, then does the same down the scale. The voice actress copies this exercise, and the two of them harmonize; Susie decides to test Sammy's vocal range by ascending higher and higher--she laughs when he squeaks out D5.

The female states, "You are truly quite an amazing singer; who taught you?"

"My father," he replies. "He absolutely loved music, whether it be Beethoven or jazz on the radio; he was also my piano tutor."

"Aw," Susie coos while clasping her hands, "that's sweet. Did your mother enjoy music, too?"

The composer's smile falters for a moment before he answers in a voice Norman has to strain his ears to hear, "She...passed away at my birth."

He never told us that, Norman reflects. He really must trust her. Then again, he notes that Sammy never seems grouchy or annoyed around Susie; yes, he still makes the occasional snide comment on whatever subjects bother him, but he almost always smiles when he's with her...a bit like a certain eternally-happy Dancing Demon. I guess that makes sense.

"Oh...I'm so sorry," Susie sympathizes, reaching down and placing her hand on his. Poor him, growing up without a mother, her mind continues as she remembers her own parents--her father, a butcher, and her mother, a hair stylist.

"It's quite all right," Sammy reassures her. "I was told that she loved singing with my father while he played the piano," --his face tints pink--"a bit like we are doing now." His fingers lace around hers. "You're an amazing singer, too." This sentence brings a grin to her face; the composer fixates on it. That smile...it's a different kind of beautiful. No melody could ever be that sweet. They sit in amorous silence for a moment, and Norman finally quits spying.

The projectionist leans back and sighs in boredom; yes, Sammy and Susie's budding romance is interesting, but he can only watch them make goo-goo eyes at each other for so long. Where does Jack go at times like these? he wonders, resurfacing a question he considers regularly. One of these days, when he thinks I'm not watching him, I'm gonna follow him to...wherever he runs off to.

But for now, it's back to the old grind.

In Heavenly Toys, Shawn is hard at work knitting the green article he is ever-so-secretive about; he's been weaving it for three weeks now, and is glad to observe that he is almost finished. The toy machine is at full swing, popping out ready-to-be-packaged identical plushes at top speed. The toymaker is watching the rickety elevator shaft that enters through his department through the corner of his eye, and gives a happy jump when he hears the telltale *clunk* of it escalating up the floors.

He scrambles to shove his knitting into a drawer before a smile crosses his face as his favorite janitor exits the elevator.

Wally's heart skips a beat at the site of Shawn--for four months, the janitor has visited with the toy maker while he cleans his floor, and he has fallen in love with him; however, there is reasoning behind why he has not confessed to him.

The maintenance worker is the middle child of five kids--with a brother and a sister on each side. Vivian--the oldest child, and a giver of advice that most of her conversational acquaintances don't ask for--had gotten married about a year ago; at her wedding, the majority of her other siblings had squirmed out of sitting down with her and hearing the "information of life" that she was planning to quite graciously disclose to them. Wally and his younger brother were the ones who ended up stuck with the know-it-all bride-in her spiel about love, she stated to them, "When you two meet your special someones, make sure that you are certain that they love you too before you tell them about your feelings; you'll know when the time is right." This was only a small section of the speech she delivered, but it was also the only part Wally remembers--he had zoned out during the rest of it.

Applying this advice to his relationship with Shawn makes sense according to him; he still isn't positive that the craftsman loves him back, but Wally throws hints about his feelings toward him in the form of compliments and flirtatious gestures (only a portion of which Shawn seems to notice). He'll wait forever for that 'ah-ha' moment, though he questions what it will be like--will he just suddenly know? Or will it be gradual? Of course, there's the prospect that the craftsman doesn't like him like that...but Wally tries to not think about that scenario too often. At the present, he's staying hopeful.

Shawn, on the other hand, is less certain about his emotions regarding Wally; the toymaker suspects that he might be crushing on him, but he isn't sure right now. The artisan does know that he cares greatly for the janitor...he doesn't know how much yet. Besides, if he does, he frets if the other doesn't feel the same way--he's a sweet guy, but isn't that just the way he acts around everyone? What if Shawn is just reading the signals wrong?

Indeed, Wally was the third person Shawn disclosed the information on his narcolepsy to--in return, Wally revealed a secret of his own: he wears makeup (specifically mascara, and sometimes brown-tone eye-shadow if he is feeling bold). The acknowledgement of these hidden facts in turn strengthened the relationship between the two.

Wally constantly attempts to work as slowly as possible so he can spend as much time with Shawn as possible (most of his work schedule is set after everyone has deserted the studio, but he makes an exception for Shawn); whenever they have free time, the two are bound to be together.

As the custodian begins sweeping, Shawn starts conversation. "Top of the morning, Wally. How are ya today?"

Wally makes a neutral noise and shrugs. "Okay, I guess; it's just the same old, same old. More feet walkin' 'round this place, which means more work for me. And Joey's sayin' that he might add to my load-might have me go help those GENT workers with whatever they're buildin'. I swear, if I don't get a raise soon, I'm outta here!" He sighs; a raise would indeed be beneficial to him-he is just managing to scrape by with his current salary...but he doesn't want to worry Shawn with that information.

"Ah, I'm sorry," Shawn responds. I could use a raise, too; hell, we all could. But no--all the money belongs to Joey. "Has he told you what they're making, then?"

The janitor shakes his head as he attacks a particularly bad cobweb in an upper corner with his broom. "Nope--still a secret. But I'll remember to tell you once I find out." The cobweb decides to fall on his face. "Ahh!"

The toymaker giggles as Wally wipes the offending entity off.

"Yuck, I got some in my mouth. If you ever have a desire for something new to savor, Shawn, I do not recommend spider webs." Shawn laughs even harder, all of his body awake--an odd occurrence in most scenarios, but not when he's around his best friend. Wally makes him feel alive.

"Oh my God, are you okay?"

"Me, yes. My taste buds, no."

The two of them struggle to catch their breaths before Shawn adds, "At least the spider wasn't in it," and they burst into giggles again.

Changing the subject, Shawn begins, "Even if you do get your workload pressured, you'll still have something to look forward to next week."

Wally grins. "You're probably the only one who remembers...but I shouldn't be surprised. You're amazing like that." He gives him a wink.

"Thanks..." Shawn answers, vaguely wondering what the wink was for. Is he hinting at something?

They continue to chat throughout their work; when Wally moves on into the next section of the toy department, Shawn follows him and begins packaging plushes into the flimsy cardboard boxes Joey provided for him.

The time flies too quickly for the duo, and soon Wally has to leave for his next destination; he packs up his supplies and steps into the cage of the elevator. The craftsman gazes as his friend travels up, up, up from his level.

Shawn's smile falters as a sudden wave of loneliness washes over him.

Joey prances around the hidden section of the studio in GENT worker territory--his new plan to bring cartoons to life has invigorated him with a sense of pride and purpose.

In the center of the room is what appears to be a bulky metal box with pipes attached to the sides of it; the surface closest to Joey has a curved spout connected to it, which the muscular man from before is currently tightening.

"Thomas!" his boss greets him joyfully; the other mentally groans. "Hard at work, I see! Wonderful!" Joey slaps the side of the box like a friend would slap another's back.

"Don't hit it like that--it's not completely stable yet," Thomas warns gruffly. "A bit like that lift of yours, I might add; I tried to use it yesterday, but it just skipped my floor and kept going up. You can't cut corners like that, J--Mister Drew."

In the week he had worked for Joey, Thomas had observed that the owner wasn't quite stable himself--sure, Joey has an idea...but he doesn't work out all the details in that idea. He just relies on others to figure it out themselves, and if he falls, he wants them to catch him. Gradual dislike for his payer has piled up inside of Thomas, even though Joey hasn't yet wronged him. There's just something I don't trust about him. He's going to do something awful with this, thinking that he's helping, when he doesn't know what he's doing. However, he keeps these thoughts to himself and does his job without complaints.

"Ah, it's fine, Thomas; it was probably just a malfunction or something," Joey says, brushing the advice off. "You can't be careful with everything, you know. If you spend all your time sweating the small stuff, you'll never achieve the big picture." And don't be so pessimistic, either. The future is ours to create. He slaps the box again, causing a pipe inside of it to fall onto the floor with a *clank*. "Oops."

Thomas sighs as he dives below the contraption to fix whatever had fallen apart. Good job, Joey.

His boss beams in an futile attempt to cheer his conversational pal up. "Think about this, Thomas: you'll change thousands of children's lives with this machine. It's a step toward a brighter future...a step in the right direction."

Chapter Text

Another week begins; today, the music department is teeming with busy orchestra workers preparing to perform; a part of their jobs is to accompany their musical pieces with the cartoon to test how they sound. Flutists scurry to deposit the correct number of stands, banjo players struggle to rearrange their music sheets, and trumpeters hurriedly tune their instruments--all of this chaos creates a variety of awful sounds.

Standing tall at the forefront of the room, Sammy impatiently yells over the noise, "Chop-chop, people! We have much to do, and so little time!" He claps his hands to emphasize his words; a ripple of stress surges through the crowd as they attempt to carry out their tasks even more rapidly. The composer emits a frustrated growl. If Joey gave us more time to achieve our deadlines, all this...pandemonium wouldn't be necessary.

After about five more minutes (Five precious minutes we could have been working in! Sammy exasperates), the ensemble are all settled into their places, instruments at the ready. The songwriter calls out to the projectionist, "We're ready, Norman!"

Norman, who had been calmly drumming his fingers on his desk during all this discord, sits up and turns on the already-assembled projector with a *click*.

The wall of the music department transforms into a theater, with Joey Drew Studios's introduction logo bouncing along the screen--this image smoothly transitions into the title of the film, "Bendy, Boris, and Alice in... Garden Gala!"

Sammy lightly taps his baton on his stand in a moderate tempo--*dink dink dink dink, dink dink dink dink*--then mouths, "One, two, three, four."

He lifts the baton, and the orchestra plays a peaceful, serene melody; on screen, it's a cloudy day, and the Little Devil Darling is walking to Boris's house. When he reaches it, he stands on his tip-toes and rings the doorbell repetitively (a triangle plays *chi-chi-chi-chi* to represent this).

The wolf answers the door; Bendy waves cheerfully to him, and beckons him to come outside. The melody changes to a peppy, happy-go-lucky tune.

Once his friend is outdoors, Bendy receives a confused look from him--in response, the devil hands him a book with a plant on the cover. Boris opens the book, but is still visibly puzzled; Bendy grabs a nearby watering can and hands it to his buddy.

The demon leads the wolf to a garden patch, with unique flowers budding throughout--with some difficulty, Bendy pulls a bag of soil to Boris's feet, and pours it. He then seizes a pot with a sunflower in it, and carefully places it into the dirt.

Boris tilts the watering can, and drips of water fall to the ground with *ding*s. Much to the confusion of the friends, the flower droops. Using one of his gloved hands, Bendy attempts to hold it straight; the minute he lets it go, however, the plant sags again. The music again alters, this time to a slow, suspenseful assonance.

The Little Devil Darling frowns at Boris, who just shrugs his shoulders; Bendy is ready to give up when he suddenly spots another friend of his passing by: Alice Angel.

The demon gestures to the heavenly creature, and she bounces over to the duo--a light, airy refrain echoes throughout the department as she gets closer and closer.

"What's going on?" Susie's voice asks out of Alice's mouth.

Bendy dismally points to the failed plant.

"How odd," remarks the angel. "You watered it, right?" When both of her friends nod, she places a dainty hand on her chin. "Hmm.." After a pause, she abruptly perks up. "I know what's wrong!"

She floats to the sky, and says in a sing-song voice, "Oh, Mister Sun! Come out, Mister Sun!"

At Alice's beckoning, the clouds part, and a smiling sun beams down at the trio. A successful tune chimes as the sunflower immediately erects.

Bendy hugs his friends with a large smile plastered across his face; the cartoon ends with *bing-bong-bing* noise, and the credits roll.

Sammy releases the breath he didn't know he was holding as he cuts the band off; the orchestra begins to chatter as they pack up, and the composer starts toward his office.

Sammy's office is a tad bit smaller than Grant's; the walls are lined with a bold, black border. The rough carpet is grayish-blue, and resting on it are Sammy's two favorite instruments-a violin and a banjo. His desk is horizontally aligned with the left wall, and in the center of the room is a fat, ugly pipe.

Sammy shuts the door with a *bang* behind him, and locks it with a *cht*-- he glares at the pipe as he perches in his desk. The tube had been installed three days ago by the GENT workers; apparently, it's part of the machine they are constructing. The music man hates it with a passion.

Sammy rummages his desk for some blank staff paper as the pipe lets out a gurgle.

"Shut up," he snaps at it.

The tube *clank*s rudely in response.

The composer sighs heavily. Just what I need...more distractions.

In the GENT room, Wally peers past his fellow construction workers, who are chatting casually; he is waiting for the right time to sneak out so he can visit Shawn.

Up until now, he could waltz into the toy department during the day, since he worked predominately after everyone else had left; however, Joey had altered his schedule--he now had to join the construction crew during the day, and do his maintenance duties after hours.

Evading notice by his new co-workers isn't terribly difficult; they don't particularly care for Wally--Thomas especially--and thus only sparingly watch over him. The janitor himself makes an effort to get along with the cantankerous craftsman, but to no avail--Thomas is completely convinced that Wally doesn't have any brains whatsoever, and since he's the ringleader of the team, the rest follow suit in his belief.

Wally tries to not let this bother him too much, but it's tough. Between them and Sammy, I'll never get a break. If they would just get to know me, they would understand...

The workers are blocking the exit to the room; from behind the odd machine they have been constructing, Wally sighs impatiently. Could they have found a less convenient place to blab? He normally isn't one for sarcasm, but constantly being trodden on by these guys has shaped dislike within him.

Eventually, the group disperses. With one last glance at the disgruntled employees, Wally stands up and slithers to the door.

What a feeling it is to be free! He hadn't realized just how frustrated he was at being locked up in a musty, airless chamber with his rather irritable company. I'll never take these hallways for granted again! A deep breath of the fresh air, and then he starts to the elevator.

Up in the toy department, Shawn hears the wonderful *clank*s of the lift ascending. My Wally is coming... he muses dreamily, then corrects himself. I mean, not my Wally--he doesn't belong to me.

But you wish he did, whispers another voice inside of him. Shawn doesn't have time to respond to this sudden thought, because the janitor is bounding out of the lift and heading to him.

A bit out of breath, Wally states, "I-I don't know how much time I'll have with you today--I had to sneak away. They'll figure out that I'm missing soon, though." A hesitation...and then, "I can promise ten minutes."

"Let's cut to the chase, then," Shawn smiles, placing a blue bag in front of the janitor. "Happy birthday!"

His friend is stunned for a minute before answering, "Y-you didn't need to get me anything!" Nevertheless, he makes quick work of tearing into the parcel.

As Wally lifts the lime-green sweater with his name in black thread sewn on it out of the bag, Shawn adds, "I know it's a bit loud, but--"

"I. LOVE. IT. Thank you so much!" the maintenance worker interrupts, then in one move wraps his arms around the toy maker's shoulders.

The hug is like a blanket Shawn didn't know he needed--he folds his own arms around Wally's waist. This is so amazing...

The hug doesn't seem to last long enough for either of them; as they finally stop entwining, they observe each other's bright red faces.

Aww! He's blushing...he's so cute when he blushes, Wally pines.

Shawn doesn't think anything at first--he feels a bit dizzy from this whole interaction...but it's a good kind of dizzy. Is there such a thing as that?

"Uh--" Wally begins, attempting to reorganize his thoughts. "Okay, um, so...I won't be able to visit you a lot during the day anymore...because, um--you know--Joey and my job and all." Ugh, I sound like an idiot.

"Yeah..." Shawn replies vaguely, also lost in his own mind. "Oh, um, I could just stay after hours, and help you clean or something."

The janitor feels his face heat up again. "Y-you don't have to-"

Thomas's voice rings from the stairs. "Wally!"

"Ah, that's my cue," the janitor tells his friend. "Seriously...thank you for everything."

"Of course...and I will wait for you after hours. Have a great birthday."

"WALLY!" Thomas yells again.

"Okay, I better go--see you tonight," Wally finishes quickly, winking at his crush as he clutches the sweater. "I'm outta here!"

He dashes to the stairs before Thomas can discover where he was; the latter conveys a confused look to him.

"Where the hell were you? You're supposed to be regulating the pipe pressure!" Thomas scowls. He's trying to get out of work, I just know it.

"Mmhm..." is all he gets in reply; Wally practically floats past him.

"Hello? I'm talking to YOU!" Thomas asserts, snapping his fingers in front of the maintenance worker. "Hey! Wake up!"

Wally is too caught up in dreams of Shawn to answer.

Norman is standing by the one thing that keeps him going throughout a stressful work day-the coffee machine. He inspects the way it dispenses out the liquid, smiling at it as if that will persuade it to pour faster; it finishes its cycle with a *chrtttt*, and the projectionist lifts the cup from out of it. He scans the break room for his usual condiments--he'll only drink the coffee if it is prepared exactly the way he likes it: with a tablespoon of sugar and just a dash of milk.

He hums as he attentively administers the correct amount of each product, then hears some footsteps behind him.

Jack, who had tried to walk as quietly as possible as to avoid any conversation, is perceived by the projectionist; the latter notes that the former is carrying a set of keys.

"Hi, Jack," Norman greets as he picks up his cup and sips it. "Whatcha got there?" Of course, he already knows the keys are Wally's--probably left behind in Jack's office-- but he wants verification. It's so satisfying being right.

"Um, uh," the lyricist mumbles, "Wally's keys. H-he left them--"

"--in your trash can, and you were just about to return them," Norman guesses, an idea forming in his head. When Jack nods, he continues, "Well...you know that Joey just made him join the GENT workers."

Jack can already tell where this is going. What do I say? "Y-yeah..."

Norman goes on in a casual-sounding voice, "So, then, obviously he has the key to that secret room, am I right?" A mischievous expression crosses his face. "Quite interesting...you know, Jack, I'm sure you're curious as to what they're building. Hm?"

The lyricist is silent for a moment; indeed, he is very curious as to what exactly those new employees are creating. He hopes that whatever Norman plans to say next, it won't be what he thinks it is. "Uh...yeah, I guess..."

"Well then...what if we were to,"--Norman pauses for dramatic effect--"I don't know, sneak in there and see what they're up to?" Please say yes, his mind begs.

"Uh..." Jack begins. No, no, no, no, no. "I-I don't think that that would be a very good idea. We could get in trouble."

"Not unless we get caught," Norman points out. "And if we're careful, we won't." I'll just have to slightly push him out of his comfort zone...sorry, Jack.

The offer is definitely tempting, and the lyricist struggles to assemble a reason on why they should not, in fact, enter the forbidden room. "Uhhh...b-but maybe it's supposed to be a surprise. I mean, Joey clearly h-has a reason for not telling us what i-it is."

Norman sighs. "He isn't doing us any favors by not giving us any information on whatever it is...and I doubt he is going to surprise us with anything. Come on, Jack...would it really be that bad?"

Jack is biting his lip so hard he's afraid that it will start to bleed. "I--uh--maybe--um..." Damn it, Norman. "All right," he obliges hesitantly. "We can take a tiny look." His stomach turns at the thought of the taboo deed he and the projectionist are about to perform. But if it makes Norman happy...

Indeed, the projectionist's face lights up at Jack's approval. "Great!" Finally, I get to explore the wonders beyond that door! Thank you, Jack! He seizes the keys from the lyricist and heads over to the door, then halts. "On second thought, you should unlock this while I watch for anyone, since you're shorter and easier to guard.

He hands the keys back to Jack, who proceeds to mentally berate himself for being such a pushover. This is a terrible idea--why can I never just say no? He presses the key into the hole; with each turn, the lock *click*s, while Jack's mind warns, No, no, no, NO, NONONONONO. We are going to get caught. We're going to get in trouble. I'm going to get fired. My job is at risk here! And Norman's, too!

Nevertheless, he pushes the door open with great care, cringing at the *creeeeeak* it makes; he places the keys in his pocket. The first thing he notices about the room is how stuffy it is. Yuck...working in here all day would be torture. The lyricist's heart leaps to his throat as he recognizes three GENT workers--two men and a woman--with their backs to the duo; one wrong move, and they would be caught.

Norman firmly clutches Jack's wrist and draws him into the shadows; his eyes point to a balcony just above the workers--the projectionist pulls the poet along with him as he tiptoes up the stairs, each one causing an eerie *squeak*. Jack does not object to these maneuvers--it's coherent that Norman has done this kind of thing before. I hope he knows what he's getting into...

Don't turn this way, don't turn this way, Norman psychologically pleads to the GENT craftspeople. Thankfully, the workers don't suspect a thing, and the duo manages to slide to against the wall at the end of the balcony without alerting anyone.

Norman crouches down as best as he can and squints between the bars of the balcony's rail; Jack, who is about two heads shorter than the projectionist, hunches next to him with much more ease.

Down on the ground, Thomas is speaking with Joey, and Norman can see that the former isn't very happy about the subject, while Joey appears to be puzzled.

"Mister Drew, I told you that electricity will not be enough for this machine; if we even so much as plugged it in, it would overload the conduction system, and none of your machines would work," Thomas declares. "I advise that you install a separate generator if you plan to use it regularly." I sincerely hope you won't use it that often, though, his mind continues; the mechanism is frightening enough without Joey's volatility in control of it.

Joey considers for a moment. "Is there any other energy source that you could create?" It isn't so much that there isn't adequate room in the studio for a power generator, or that it would be too pricey...I have plenty of space and money. It's just that...there has to be an easier way. Jack can practically see the gears in his brain turning.

"I'm afraid not, sir. Like I said, a generator would be the best option."

Another period of silence, and then the owner has a swift idea. Hopefully, this will work. "Thomas...you're a construction worker, so you know how there are many, many different types of energies out there."

The other frowns and crosses his arms. What is he trying to get at? "Yes...I suppose there are..."

"Right. So, an example of a different energy is like food, for example," Joey continues, pacing along the floor. "Living things consume the food, and receive energy from it."

"If you are suggesting feeding a machine, I can tell you straight away that it's not going to work," Thomas deadpans. In case you haven't noticed, devices don't eat.

"I'm not finished yet!" his employer informs, waving his hands. "Anyway, there's a great number of energies in the world...so I was thinking..."

Just spit it out already! Quit with the hemming and hawing! Thomas mentally cries at him.

"What if...we were to harvest the energy of ambition?" Joey finishes, extending his arms in a 'eh, what do you think?' gesture. I'm a genius, aren't I?

Thomas has to force himself not to facepalm. That's the most ridiculous statement I have ever heard. He takes a breath before answering, with slight acrimony in his voice, "That won't work. You can't 'harvest' ambition; it's not a physical substance."

"But you said you can create life with that ink!" Joey protests. "Surely you could work that little bit of magic into powering the machine."

Ink? What ink? Norman questions. What exactly did these guys manage to do?

"I didn't say we CAN. I said we MIGHT be able to," the craftsman explains curtly. "And it sure ain't magic; it's just a theory."

"I'm not paying you to theorize," Joey remarks callously. "You said that you could form life with it; it really shouldn't be that hard, then, to grant energy from ambition." And we have plenty of that!

Thomas huffs. "All right, then; just how do you plan to 'harvest' ambition?" He pictures Joey strapped in a chair with wires attached to him. Apparently, I'm no longer the expert here.

His boss smirks a bit. "I have my ways..." He clears his throat as he turns to the rest of the workers. "I want you guys to establish some podiums in that next room over there." Joey points to the desired location. "Those will become the energy source for the machine."

The workers exchange confused looks, so Thomas slides over to them and mutters, "Just build them; he can't accept that he's wrong. Once he sees that they won't work, maybe he'll let us do our jobs...the right way." I can't wait until that revelation, his mind goes on.

Joey claps his hands in earnest. "Perfect, perfect! You guys and gals just keeping on trucking, then! You're doing great! Oh, and I should add here that your food dispenser thingies will be here soon." A rumble of approval follows this last statement.

He treats them better than he treats us, Jack detects; it had been a great age since Joey had even attempted to inspire or praise them. What food dispensers?

Meanwhile, Norman speculates on the event what he had just witnessed. There's definitely more to the picture here...but what is it? Life out of ink? Magic? Harvesting ambition? What does that all mean? Never in his lifetime had he come across such a wrenching situation; he pivots his head to his spying partner, whose eyes are wide with inquisitiveness. The projectionist's mouth curls upward. He's enjoying this.

Indeed, the lyricist has a thrill running through his veins, although he still feels a bit sick at the action. I really should not be doing this...I can't become used to it.

Two GENT workers meander to the bottom step of the balcony, and it's clear to both parties on top that it's time to leave. Jack allows Norman to guide him to the exit, and when the duo are safely out of the fortress, he delicately seals the door.

The projectionist and the poet heave sighs of wonder and relief.

"Well, wasn't that fun?" Norman asks Jack as he regains his thoughts.

The lyricist doesn't want to disclose what he truly believes: that the spying absolutely was interesting. He almost wants to do it again. Almost. Instead, he merely shrugs at the ground and replies quietly, "Maybe..."

"You're cute when you're shy," he hears Norman tell him--it's a genuine compliment.

That makes one of you, Jack's brain dictates. Between Sammy's disappointment and Susie's pity for him, he struggles to cope with his anxiety on what they think about him; he highly appreciates Norman's acceptance of his personality. "Um...thank you. For this--uh--adventure thing, I mean."

"Of course. If you ever want to sneak up on someone again and watch them, you can call on me," Norman rejoinders, then realizes how odd that sounds. "I mean, you're welcome." A slight pause, and then, "Oh, I got something to ask you, but I guess you don't really have to answer it if you don't want to."

Jack braces himself for the worst.

"Where exactly do you go off to during the day?" When the poet doesn't reply, Norman resumes, "All right, then. Keep your secrets." I'll find out on my own.

Jack stares up at the projectionist, whose expression is one of slight curiosity...with a tad bit of slyness. He said I don't need to tell him...but I have a bad feeling he'll figure it out soon. "Norman...you are a mysterious man."

"You don't know it, Jack, but you're quite mysterious yourself," Norman responds. With that, he remembers something: I never finished my coffee. He steps into the break room. "See you later."

The lyricist merely watches him walk away, a thousand thoughts flurrying through his already-nervous brain. I'm not that mysterious...am I? What about all that stuff we saw? What was that about? I'm so confused...

The *clink* of Wally's keys in his pocket snaps him back to reality; he pulls them out. Oh, I better get these back to him.

Jack doesn't have to travel too far before he nearly smacks into the janitor, who had exited the hallway of a run. "Uh--," he hesitates.

"Ah! There's my keys! Thanks, Jack!" Wally announces as he seizes the keys, and Jack looks up and down at the garment he's wearing.

"Um, yeah, no problem...I-I like your shirt."

"Thanks," Wally answers. "Shawn made it for me; it's my birthday."

"Oh. Happy birthday, then. H-how old are you?" the poet asks.

"Twenty-six," the janitor conveys proudly, as if no one had ever achieved such a feat as living for twenty-six years before.

Jack nods a bit, hurriedly looking for a way out of the conversation. I've had enough talking for one day. Sorry, Wally. "Oh, uh, nice. Um, h-hope it's a good one," he mangles together before speeding away without so much as a 'goodbye'.

Wally glances down the corridor as the poet races by him. "Oh, bye then, I guess." Huh...I suppose I was wrong. Two of them! That's a new record.

Jack settles into his desk in the music department with a sigh--his brain is exhausted from all of the day's events. With Norman, Joey, the GENTs, and me all in it, this place has too many mysteries.

Is it even possible to solve them all?

Chapter Text

Despite the secrets the studio hid, life still went on; in fact, an inkling of these mysteries were brought to light in the following week.

Jack found out that the 'food dispenser thingies' Joey had mentioned were actually 'Tasty Eats' vending machines; oddly, all that they contained were Briar Label Bacon Soup cans. Sammy had questioned how exactly the workers were supposed to consume the soup if bowls and spoons were not available, and Wally had come up with the solution: drinking the soup straight from the can. The lyricist was and is still confused on many facets. Why do we need these? How long are the GENTs going to be here?

The GENT workers and Wally were informed of Joey's plan to 'harvest ambition'; the boss had them construct the podiums, which he explained were like counterparts to batteries, although he didn't provide details as to how they would operate. These daises were then wired to a lever that would activate the machine. Thomas continued to be irritated with Joey's scheme. This isn't going to work; he's wasting his money and our time.

Unfortunately, as often as he puzzled over it, Norman could not infer why the machine was being built, how ink was involved, or even his boss's intention for how to operate it. I need more information...

That vital information, in fact, stays between Joey and the GENT workers--on this rainy Tuesday morning, the former announces to the the latter that they will attempt to start the machine that day.

"We don't have enough ink yet to begin using it for its purpose," Thomas warns Joey. "So...if your plan does work," --Which it won't, his mind adds--"we won't be able to...do what we are going to do with it. You'll just have to be patient."

"I can be patient!" Joey assures him. "Yep, definitely!"

I sincerely doubt that, Thomas thinks, but bites his tongue.

Joey nods proudly and heads toward his office; for the first time in months, he speaks into the intercom.

"Hello, everyone!" rings throughout the workshop. "I would like an individual from each section of the studio to bring an object that represents their work area to my office--except for the Writing Department. I've got you guys covered. Thank you."

Bewilderment floods the employees at this vague statement; however, it is an order, so they have to follow it. A line soon forms at Joey's door: Sammy, Wally, Shawn, Thomas, and Terrence.

"Enter, enter," Joey beckons joyfully as he opens the door.

Sammy struts in first, a record entitled "The Lighter Side of Hell" in hand; he delicately sets the object on his boss's desk.

"For what reason exactly are we doing this?" the composer asks, a hint of pique in his voice--Joey's announcement and demand had interrupted an important musical piece he was working on.

Joey gives him an unfathomable smile. "It's for a little something I'm working on. These here objects will...appease the gods. Keep things running, you know."

He receives a blank stare from Sammy. That...doesn't make the least bit of sense, the music man ruminates as he turns--with a inconspicuous glare at Joey--and strides out.

Wally enters in next, placing a wrench before Joey in silent puzzlement; he quickly makes his way out and stands against the wall behind the line, in hopes of having a bit of time to talk with Shawn after his delivery.

The toymaker deposits a Bendy plush on the desk, his tired eyes glancing over Joey's figure. I don't want to get involved in whatever you're planning, he mentally tells him, then trudges back in the hall to chat with his best friend.

As Thomas makes his way inside, Shawn questions Wally, "Why is he included in this? The GENTs aren't part of the studio."

Wally shrugs, wincing a bit as he does so. "Wish I could tell ya. Joey just told him to bring something, too."

"Are you okay? You seem as exhausted as I am," Shawn inquires, his voice deflecting a mixture of amusement and concern.

"Yeah...I'm okay. Carryin' heavy things around all day just makes me sore is all; really, I'm fine."

"All right, then," the craftsman replies, but Wally can see that he isn't entirely convinced. "Well, I'll see you tonight." The two head their separate ways.

In Joey's office, Thomas plants a gear on the desk. "I'm telling you, Mister Drew, this is not going to work."

Joey smirks. "You doubt me, Thomas." I hope it works...yes, it will. Keep believing, Joey, and everything will come together.

The construction worker huffs and swings back to the hallway.

Lastly, Terrence arrives in with an inkwell. "I hope this may suit your needs, Mister Drew." Whatever they are, shimmers through his mind; he isn't one to question, though. It's none of my business...just do your work, Terrence. Just do your work.

"Thank you, Terrence." Joey grins, packaging as many of the objects into his arms as possible--he has to leave the inkwell, the record, and his own item for the Writing Department behind.

Thomas is waiting for him in the podium room; Joey positions his articles on three of six daises, and heads off to retrieve the last three.

The inkwell and record are rapidly placed upon their corresponding stands, but Joey halts for a moment to gaze lovingly at the book he chose for the Writing Department--his own personal narrative and animation guide, The Illusion of Living.

The owner and author reminiscences to a time when he and Henry had been working as interns for a small animation studio; this is where he had first found the idea for the autobiography. The boss of that particular studio had spent three years writing his own book, and Joey had 'rearranged' quite a few passages from that one to use in his own.

It wasn't plagiarism--he will never admit that. He had merely 'tweaked' the book a bit...made it a bit more Joey Drew.

He hadn't originally told his business partner about his project, and definitely not where he had received his 'inspiration' for it--he had already imagined Henry's response. Henry would say in a calm, but not necessarily accusing voice, "Isn't that a bit insensitive, Joey?"

Just like he did when, back in college, Joey had 'adjusted' someone else's artwork to use as his own.

And he had asked it the time Joey had suggested copying a plot line from a different studio's cartoon.

Insensitive...

That isn't fair; he is NOT insensitive. He just takes other people's ideas and makes them better...a win-win situation for all parties involved. There is no insensitivity to it.

Yet another reason I'm glad he's gone, Joey ponders vengefully, carefully laying the book, with its black cover and fancy silver script, on the stand. No one to tell me that what I do is wrong.

A pause, and a glance at his primary construction worker. Well, except for you, Thomas. But you'll see soon enough...Joey Drew is rarely wrong. "All right, Thomas. Switch it on!"

The GENT employee sighs aggressively, but lowers the lever with a *chuck*.

A minute passes, and nothing happens. Thomas smiles as Joey's confident grin begins to slide. Schadenfreude.

"You see, Mister Drew? It didn't work. Now--"

"Shush," Joey silences him with a gesture. "I might be on to something here..."

Thomas has a great urge to scream angrily. Why can't he see that HE IS WRONG?!

To the confusion of Thomas, Joey rushes over to the GENT room; he arrives back with a plug wire, which he attaches to one of the podiums.

"NONONONONONO!" Thomas yells hurriedly, running to stop him--but it's too late: the plug is inserted with a *cht*.

The lights of the studio flicker off, drenching the workshop in darkness...then, after about three seconds, they turn on again. A thumping noise emerges from the machine room, and Joey makes a loud noise of happiness.

The two of them travel to the machine, Joey in a spurt and Thomas at a doubtful trudge. Indeed, the contraption is up and running.

Joey turns on his heel to Thomas. "Ha! Look who was right!" He dances around a bit and sings while pointing at the construction worker, "I just haaarvested aaaambition! And yoooou said it couldn't be doooone! IIII was right and yooooou were wrong!" I AM A GENIUS! Take that, Henry!

Way to be a braggart, Thomas considers bitterly.

The owner gives a hearty laugh before stopping to catch his breath. "I-I did it, Thomas. I created the energy of ambition."

"We...not you..." Thomas corrects under his breath.

Joey slaps Thomas's back. "Yes, sir, just leave it to Mister Joey Drew! Now, let's get this baby working!"

"We can't, remember? No ink," Thomas growls.

"Oh...yeah." Damn. "Well, the minute we get that ink, Thomas..." Joey pauses. "We're gonna make dreams come to life!"

Sammy swaggers out of his office and almost smacks into his favorite worker, who had just exited from the recording room.

Susie giggles, twirling a piece of her hair. "Hello, handsome."

"Hello, angel," Sammy replies smoothly. "Whatcha doing?"

"I just finished recording for the next cartoon," the voice actress answers. "Now I'm going out for a smoke. Wanna come with?"

Sammy nods and follows the female out the studio doors.

The rain from before has stopped, leaving the air smelling musty and the grass dewy.

Susie reveals a pack of cigarettes and hands Sammy one; she then grabs one for herself and a lighter. The composer leans down so she can light him.

After a draw, Susie asks Sammy, "So, what do you think Joey has planned with that stuff you had to bring with him?"

The music man shrugs moodily, wafting his cigarette around. "I don't know...and I don't care. I'm so sick of his bullshit at this point." He clearly doesn't know what he's doing.

Susie's hazel eyes turn on him. "What if it's a good thing, though? Maybe whatever it is will be beneficial for the studio." Ooo, I wonder what it could be!

Sammy draws meditatively. "I doubt it; Joey wouldn't know beneficial if it bit him in the nose."

"Sammy..." Susie begins. "Can I suggest something?"

The composer's light-green eyes meet hers. "Yes...of course..." I'll listen to whatever you say, my angel.

She hesitates for a moment. "Maaaybe...you could try to put some faith in people?" I want them to see the Sammy I see.

His response is a sad smile. "Susie...not everyone is as heavenly as you are; there are a lot of jerks out there who will use any means necessary to achieve their ends, even if it means hurting others. You can't trust everyone." He takes a puff. "It's a cruel, cruel world."

Susie frowns. But surely not everyone in the world is like that...I mean, aren't most people decent? However, she decides to change the subject. "Sammy...is it normal to be afraid of rejection? I mean, I feel like if I do something too wrong...I don't know...Joey will kick me out."

Her conversational partner chuckles a bit. "No, I don't think he'll go to that extent; yes, he's a bit impatient, but I don't think he'll let you go that easily." And if he does...I'll have some words with him. "You're stuck with us." He nudges her playfully.

Greatly comforted, Susie brings up another question for the composer. "You are honestly so confident...it's radiant. How do you do it?"

He shrugs. "Well, I'm human just like everyone else; I just don't let my fears get in the way of my life, I guess." It comes naturally, his mind jokes.

"Fears, huh? The great Samuel Lawrence has fears?" she coos.

He nods, but there's something hesitant about the action. "Uh, yeah. You know, just the normal things...failure, tight spaces..." Ah, I suppose I can tell her. "Okay, so maybe not all normal ones; promise me you won't laugh at this one."

"I promise," she vows, wondering what it could possibly be.

"Okay...um...well, I really, really, really hate lizards. They're creepy."

Susie attempts and fails to obscure a giggle.

Sammy looks hurt. "You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," she asserts, letting out her final snicker. "But why are you afraid of lizards? They're harmless!" Her mind grants her an image of Sammy shrieking on top of his desk at a tiny reptile.

"If you really must know," he wavers, "when I was five--I don't know how--a lizard snuck into my house and crawled in my bed. So I go to bed that night, and I feel something slimy squirming on my chest, so I open my eyes...and there is this giant lizard ON MY FACE, STARING ME RIGHT IN THE EYE. Needless to say, I was scarred for life. I won't even get close to lizards now...they'll probably bite my fingers off, or something." Nasty, awful, gross buggers...

Susie smirks. "I'm pretty sure lizards don't eat humans."

"I'm pretty sure they do!" Sammy retorts. "They're so disgusting with their little sticky feet and weird little tongues...ugh." He shudders and turns to her. "But please don't tell anyone--it'll ruin my reputation as Sammy the fearless composer."

She giggles again as she smashes her cigarette in the ashtray. "I promise, and I mean it this time."

"Thank you." He follows suit to her action, and the two head back into the studio.

From the projector booth, Norman observes the duo as they stride in, laughing and flirting. They get along so well. He himself is waiting for Jack to emerge from his office and run off to wherever he goes, but it hasn't happened yet. I think he knows that I want to know...

After Sammy and Susie say their parting words and the actress slips away, the projectionist speaks up. "You should ask her out."

The composer turns to him. "Huh? What are you doing here?"

"Uh, doing my job," he responds semi-amusingly, gesturing to his camera. He's caught up in his Susie la-la land. "I work here, too, you know."

"Right...yeah..." the music man responds vaguely. "You said something about me asking Susie out?"

"Yeah. You two obviously are meant for each other; I can tell that you're just dying to date her. So ask her."

"Huh..." Sammy contemplates; he smiles at a mental image of Susie and him enjoying themselves at a restaurant. "Maybe I will."

Norman nods, then asks, "Have you seen Jack?"

The query snaps Sammy from his daydream back to reality. "He's in his office, I think. Why?"

"No reason."

"Mm..." the musician muses. There's definitely a reason. "Well, have a good day, Norman."

This phrase is a bit unexpected coming from the usually griping composer. I could get used to this in-love Sammy; he's nice. "You, too."

The projectionist watches Sammy march away, then continues on his attempt to mentally coax the lyricist from his office.

Come on, Jack...don't let me down.

The workday is drawing to a close, and Wally and Shawn are making their cleaning rounds; despite the former's constant assurances that he really doesn't have to help, the latter insists.

Tonight, though, both are drowsy and lethargic--however, Shawn still wants some answers as to Joey's odd behavior; he figures that it has something to do with the machine Wally had told them they were constructing.

"So what was the whole episode this morning for? With the items and all?" he asks, rubbing at a gray spot on a window with a cloth.

"Well, Joey had this idea to start the machine with those things--he's calling them the "Products of Ambition" now--and I guess it all worked, though I don't have the foggiest idea as to how," Wally replies, yawning a bit. "Now he's practically exploding with the urge to use the thing...which means I'll have to be in there with it after hours, too." His voice takes a cranky turn. "I don't know how the hell he expects me to get all my jobs done!" Wally, do this! Wally, do that! Wally, mentally and physically exhaust yourself so I can get what I want!

Shawn glances at the janitor in pity. "You poor thing...he's working you to death." He scoots a chair over to him. "Here, sit down...I'll rub your back and try to loosen your muscles a bit." I know what it's like to work in that kind of pain.

"You really don't have to do that..." Wally answers, but nevertheless sits on the chair. Shawn's hands against his back send delightful shivers up his spine. "Thank you..." I love you, Shawn.

"Of course." The toy maker smiles at him.

"I-I'll rub your back, too; I know that you go through these kind of aches everyday." He tilts himself forward a bit so Shawn can reach his shoulders. "But yeah, as I was sayin', Joey's pretty pumped to use the machine. I still don't know what it's supposed to do, though...and Thomas sure as hell ain't gonna tell me."

"I want to have some words with this Thomas guy," Shawn dictates. "He obviously can't see how wonderful you are." He doesn't know what he's missing.

Wally is happy that he's facing away from the toy maker, as his face goes bright red. "Heh, I'm afraid to say he probably won't listen to you, either. He's grouchy." Honestly, who can blame him? He works with Joey all day. "I'll do your back now."

The two switch places, and Shawn feels great relief during the massage. "Last n-night was rough...I woke up in the middle of it with paralysis." Sleep paralysis was another side-effect of his narcolepsy; basically, his muscles all tightened up, and he couldn't move, but he was still awake. It always went away after a while, but the whole ordeal was nonetheless frightening.

"I'm so sorry..." his friend replies, running his fingers through Shawn's red hair a bit in an effort to comfort him. "I really wish I could say that I know what it's like, but..."

"But you don't, and that's okay," Shawn finishes for him kindly. "I would never wish it on you, or anyone--it's nice to have support through it, though." He hesitates, then lays his head on Wally's shoulder.

The janitor blushes profusely.

"Ah, sorry, was that too weird?" the toy maker apologizes, lifting his head.

"No no no no," Wally assures him, flustered. It was the opposite of weird; please keep doing it. "I like it--I mean, you can do that. It's fine."

Ah, shit, I made him uncomfortable. Way to go, Shawn, the craftsman berates himself. "I'm sorry...I'll just stop...sorry about that."

"No, I--uh..."

There's an awkward pause.

"Um...maybe we should get back to work," Shawn finally says, dying to fracture the tension.

Wally agrees, and the two begin cleaning again.

The sun slowly sets, giving the studio an ominous atmosphere. After organizing the final room, the duo arrive at the double door entrance.

"Um, thanks for everything. Really, " Shawn tells his friend.

"It's my pleasure," Wally replies.

There's another silence, then Shawn hugs Wally--an extremely welcome gesture. They stand like that for a moment before the toy maker lets go (No, please don't do that..., Wally wants to say) and heads out.

"Goodbye," the craftsman remarks sadly.

"Goodbye..." the other responds; it's coherent to both parties that neither wants to depart.

As he observes Shawn's steps, Wally moons, Don't leave me, my love...

Chapter Text

As Thomas had expected, Joey endured much difficulty over staying patient through the next three days; however, the holy Friday ultimately arrives, and the truck of ink parks outside. The studio owner and the GENT worker stroll out to collect their crates.

"You know, Thomas," Joey begins as he grasps a box, "I didn't think of it before, but it's a bit ironic that an animation studio didn't have enough ink--I mean, it's the primary component to drawing! Bit silly that we didn't have it before, huh?"

The construction worker's response is a noncommittal grunt. Maybe if I don't say anything, he'll shut up. Thomas has also had to endure pain throughout the last week, mainly in the form of Joey's constant nagging and questioning.

However, Joey has a special talent of holding a conversation with himself. "But it's all here now! And we can finally use that wonderful machine of mine!"

Thomas drops his taciturn demeanor. "It's not yours, it's mine; I'm the one who planned it and built it." The crate of ink in his hands lands on the ground with a *thunk!*. "You're just the consumer."

"I don't appreciate you disrespecting me," the businessman retorts, releasing his own crate just as violently. "As long as you're under my roof, I'm your boss...not your 'consumer'." The two had been rubbing elbows since day one, and Joey was sick of it. He'll learn to honor me if I have to reprimand him every two seconds. He has absolutely no right to treat me the way he does. I'm the leader. Joey casts aside these vengeful thoughts for a moment and pushes to crack a smile. "And your boss is telling you that we are going to use that machine this morning."

No...not yet... Thomas firmly instills. "No, we wait until after hours to use it. It's too..." He searches for the correct term. Dangerous? Unpredictable? Too much like you? "We don't know exactly if it will work, and that might put your other workers in peril. After hours. Take it or leave it."

Disagreement shimmers through Joey's mind, but he reciprocates, "Fine. But no changing plans on me...I want this done tonight. Our dreams get further and further from our grasp the longer we wait."

Will he stop with the whole 'dreams' thing?! Thomas's brain objects.

It's not OUR dream! It's only his!

The GENT worker takes a couple deep breaths (in...out...in...out) to calm himself down. "Let's just get this truck empty; we'll talk about the rest tonight."

Oh, we'll do more than talk, Thomas. Just you wait and see. Joey smirks at the worker's retreating back.

Much to Norman's dismay, Jack had not emerged from his office on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday; this added to the projectionist's suspicion that the lyricist is purposely evading him. But he isn't about to give up yet. I'll figure you out one day, Jack.

Today, Jack is currently being crushed under a mound of writer's block. He stares in anguish at the blank paper in front of him--it seems to be mocking him. Maybe if I can just get some peace and quiet, I could work, his mind commences as he revolves his head toward the ever-noisy music department. But that's hard to come by here.

He has the idea of sneaking off to his hidey hole when he remembers Norman. Maybe at this point...he's forgotten about me? Jack tries to convince himself, but knows better than that; he rises from his desk and grabs his sheet. Eh...whatever. He'll find out eventually; he's probably just dying to stalk me.

Nevertheless, Jack attempts to be as clandestine as possible while he slithers along the corridors; up in his booth, Norman spots the lyricist against the wall out of the corner of his eye. Ah, Jack! My refuge! he mentally praises him melodramatically as he skulks close behind.

The poet's eyes scan for any sign of the projectionist; not seeing any sign of him, he continues on until he reaches the end of the hallway. A flight of shallow stairs awaits him.

Norman tiptoes behind Jack--every once in a while, he heads down a different section of the hallway as to not arouse any skepticism from the passersby, eventually ending up in the shadows about three feet from the stairs.

The steps *creak* as Jack hurriedly descends them; after a pause, Norman too travels down them.

The projectionist pivots at the corner of this unfamiliar territory and takes it all in. Firstly, there is an foul stench that he cannot place about the area; additionally, a river of grotesques colors floods down the center chamber of the room. The area itself has a tall ceiling supported by colossal pillars.

Sewers...these are the sewers, Norman pieces together. Why in the world would Jack want to be down here? The projectionist glances straight across from him: over the gross estuary--Norman shudders as he thinks of what is in it--there are two solid wooden beams, leading to the passageway on the other side. In a hollow place in that side's wall is a desk...and Jack.

Jack expresses a tiny grin as he notices Norman peering at him from the shadows on the opposite side of the river, then frowns. Oh God, he probably thinks I'm disgusting now. But...I guess there's nothing I can do about that at this point. He pivots in his chair to face the projectionist; it registers with the latter that he has been spotted, and he is quick to round the corner again.

"N-no...don't go..." Jack calls to him. "I can e-explain, I p-promise."

Norman lurks outward. "I'm not judging you, if that was what you were thinking; my ego's just a bit bruised from being caught." His eyes follow the boards as his mind produces a terrible image of them breaking.

"Oh...okay...thank you." Jack sighs. "Um, you can g-go across those...t-they're a l-lot sturdier than they seem." His stalker hesitates, then carefully steps on the end of the board; indeed, it holds up. Norman makes quick work of scurrying over to the other side.

The two pairs of eyes meet in silence.

"Um...so, uh, I-I figured you would follow me d-down here," Jack discloses. "I mean, um...okay, uh, the reason I come here is because I like the quiet, a-and since no one really ever wants to, um, stick around here...yeah..." Ugh, that sounded stupid!

Norman nods and surfaces a warm smile to help calm Jack. "That makes sense."

The lyricist shuffles nervously, then asks in almost a whisper, "You don't think I'm weird for this, do you?" His heartbeat quickens as his mind declares, Yes, yes he does.

"What? No, of course not," Norman replies. "It's just your little quiet spot. Like...a sanctuary, kind of. There's nothing weird about it." It's actually a really smart idea.

"T-thanks..." the poet responds, relieved. "B-but please don't tell anyone...please?" His mind flurries with images of what Sammy or Joey would say and do if they found out.

"I won't. I promise."

Norman's reward for this vow is a shy smile from Jack. Okay, I didn't notice this before, but he is really adorable, the projectionist realizes. Like, I honestly want to hug him right now.

Jack turns away in bashfulness, and Norman recognizes this as a signal that the lyricist doesn't want to be looked at--he glimpses at his desk instead. On it is the paper Jack had been concentrating on before, as well as a stack of music sheets; Norman also observes many chocolate bar wrappers strewn across the workspace. Chocolate and Jack go well together, I think--they're both sweet.

"Jack?" he asks suddenly.

"Y-yeah?"

"Uh, weird and somewhat spontaneous question...can you sing? Like, you don't have to do a whole song or anything, but like a verse or two? Unless you're not comfortable with that--if that's the case, it's totally fine. You don't have to." Bleh, I sound like I can't decide what I mean.

Jack is silent for a moment before answering, "I-if I could s-sing, it would be okay in front of you...'c-cause I trust you and like you. But...I can't sing, because of m-my stutter."

Wait, he has that all the time? Not just when he's nervous? Norman wonders. I mean, it doesn't matter either way...it's just interesting. "Oh, okay."

As if he read the projectionist's mind, Jack adds, "I have i-it all the time, but it gets worse w-when I'm nervous, and I would definitely get r-really nervous if I h-h-had to perform in front of people." I sound like a broken record. "So I just stick t-to the writing p-portion. I-I know how ironic that is." A lyricist that can't sing...I really am a pathetic disappointment.

The poet recalls a time he had heard Sammy sing in the recording room; Jack had thought and still thinks the composer has a beautiful voice. That's something I'll never have, he envies. Why do you always have to be so perfect, Sammy? He instantly regrets the thought--it isn't Sammy's fault that he knows how to do everything right. But I'll never be like him...

The projectionist snaps him back to reality. "So, uh...thanks for expecting me, I guess." Am I really that predictable?

"Y-y-y-yeah...um...thanks for keeping m-my secrets a-and everyt-thing."

Norman creeps back over the boards--more confidently this time--then shifts back to examine the lyricist. "Wait, one more question."

Jack lifts his head.

"How do you take your coffee?"

Huh? "Um...with lots of sugar. Why?"

Norman yields an unfathomable grin. "No reason. Have a great day, Jack."

"You too..." He slouches in his chair. Even after that conversation...he's still mysterious.

I wonder what he thinks of me.

After another stressful workday of rushing to new deadlines, the employees of Joey Drew Studios are more than happy to go home at the end of the day.

Wish I knew what that was like, Wally pines as he watches Sammy depart out of the double doors. They complain about their nine-to-five shifts, but at least it always ends at five for them! No Joey screwin' up their schedules, sayin', "Hey, I've changed my mind, you have to stay after hours tonight so I can fiddle with this machine thing without getting in trouble." I should be with Shawn right now! I swear, if Joey keeps this up, I'm outta here!

He heads over to the machine room, where Joey and Thomas are already in full discussion as to how the machine works and how they will be using it.

"Basically," Thomas explains, gesturing with to the contraption with an inkwell in hand, "we use this normal ink--we'll call it 'static ink'--and put it into the machine. In theory, it may bring cartoon lifelike qualities, since cartoons are drawn with it. Essentially, living ink." He strolls over to a skinny slot on the side of the machine. "This here is where I will input a picture of the cartoon we intend to 'bring to life,' so that the machine knows what to create." Thomas stalks over to Joey and glares at him, pointing a finger into his chest. "Under no circumstances are you to use this without my permission and supervision. I don't care if you're the boss; this is MY machine, and you will adhere to MY rules." Whether you like it or not, his mind adds.

A thousand complaints bounce around Joey's brain at this direction, but he fizzles them out. "Fiiiiiine." I can do what I want--I'm the captain of this ship. Not you.

The janitor has both doubts and fear toward the idea of bringing cartoons to life with this contraption. How is that even possible? And why do we need living cartoons, anyway? Isn't animation enough? His eyes scan the machine; it almost seems to him that it is warning him, "Beware...stay away...I'm hazardous..."

Joey harshly pushes Thomas away, preparing his happy-go-lucky voice. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get her running!"

Thomas and Wally share worried looks, and for the first time both make an agreeable connection. This guy is crazy. However, Joey IS the boss; Thomas forcibly grabs Wally's arm and leads him to an odd apparatus in the corner of the room.

"Your job is to keep an eye on this gauge," the GENT worker directs, poking the glass protector of a dial on the appliance. "It references the ink pressure. If it goes over 45, you unhook this safety switch over here." He gestures to said switch. "If it is getting low--like at 15 or something--you tighten the bolt over on this side. 20 to 40 is the happy medium. Understand?"

Sorry, what? "Umm...if the pressure goes over 45, I tighten the bolt?" Wally guesses. You explained it too fast.

Thomas scowls. "NO. Are you even listening? If you do that, you'll burst every pipe in this damn place! You unhook the switch if it goes over 45!" Stupid janitor...honestly, I've met dogs smarter than he is.

"Right, okay," Wally agrees, trying to loosen the situation's agitation. "Over 45, unhook the switch. Less than 20, tighten the bolt. Now can you please release my arm?" You have an iron grip.

The construction worker thrusts him away, muttering about the lack of common sense in the world.

Joey is hopping slightly in anticipation, not even acknowledging the feud between his workers. Oh, this is so exciting! Just think...I'm about to have a real, live Bendy!

"I have a question for you," Thomas speaks up. "Just where exactly do you plan to keep these cartoons at if they indeed do live?"

"Ah, I'm glad you asked!" Joey bounds out of the room for about five minutes, and returns dragging a tall, black, metal cage that *screeeeee*s against the wooden floor.

A pause ensues as his workers observe the cage.

"You plan to keep them in that?" Thomas finally asks incredulously. That's a bit inhumane.

"Well, not all of them in one cage. Duh," Joey sasses. "I have more."

You're missing the point here, Thomas mentally contends.

I'm confused...where did he buy that at? What kind of store sells those kinds of cages? emits from Wally mind.

"Ugggghhhh, enough standing around and staring!" Joey whines. "Hurry up!" This time, there's a steely edge to his voice. You people are SO SLOW.

Thomas rounds the machine one more time to ensure that all preparations are in order. "All right...let's get this going," he eventually sighs. I have a terrible feeling about this.

He slips a picture of Bendy into the slot and signals to Wally to flip the lever.

"Eeeeeep!" Joey skips in celebration around the room, sounding like a little girl.

"Will you shut up?" Thomas grumbles under his breath. The Ink Machine emits a sound similar to a groan of despair, and ink begins to flood out of the spout.

All eyes land on this flow--Thomas and Wally's anxious and foreboding, and Joey's bright and excited.

Out of the puddle on the ground emerges something shaped a bit like Bendy...but it isn't truly him. His eyes are covered by dripping ink, as is the rest of his tall, skinny body. One of his hands is the traditional glove, while the other is composed of sharp, black claws; a bowtie hangs askew on the creature's chest. His smile, instead of warm and cheesy, is pointy and frightening.

"Bendy" stares at the humans gazing in awe at him, and shakes the loose ink off of himself. Two minutes into the world, and all he knows is the agony and pain that creeps within his veins and his existence.

"Gah--," Joey begins painstakingly. "Why--? He...?" This isn't my Bendy! "What did you do to him?! Why is he so..." He rapidly searches for the right word. Ugly? Scary? Inky? "...drowned?"

"Hell if I know!" Thomas replies bitterly. "I told you this wouldn't work!" But nooooo, Joey Drew knows ALL THE ANSWERS.

"No, you said you made living ink, and that it would bring cartoons to life!" Joey snaps back. "Perhaps you forgot to mention that it would do THIS to them?" He frantically waves at "Bendy."

"I DIDN'T KNOW THAT IT WOULD!" the worker roars. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO CAME UP WITH THIS SHITTY IDEA ANYWAY!"

Joey lunges toward him. "OH, YOU WANT TO BLAME IT ON ME NOW, HUH? DIDN'T I HEAR YOU MENTION THAT IT'S YOUR MACHINE?" He pokes Thomas in the chest like the latter had done to him before, mocking him. "YoU'Ll hAvE tO fOlloW mY rUles, 'cAuSe I'm tHe OnE wHo cReaTed thIs FuCkiNg tHinG! BuT if sOmeThiNg gOes wRonG, yoU'rE the oNe liAblE, JoEy!"

Wally backs up from the clash nervously. "Uh...guys?"

Both eyes shoot sparks at him, simultaneously answering, "WHAT?"

"Um...what exactly are we suppose to do with him now? Bendy, I mean." I don't like the way he's glaring at me. Indeed, the creature's head pivots and follows the janitor's movements.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe you should ask Thomas!" Joey snarls. "After all, it's his machine!" I'll put that ugly inky thing in his office! We'll see how he likes that!

"It's your cartoon!" the construction worker retorts. You've only mentioned that twenty-thousand times!

"Both of you, knock it off!" Wally commands. "We aren't going to figure out a solution if you two keep bickering!" PLEASE STOP GLARING AT ME, BENDY! I'm not the bad guy here! he mentally directs to the drowned demon, who is creeping closer to him by the second.

"I'll take care of this," Joey huffs, opening his cage and switching his tone to a voice that one might use if they were addressing a baby or a puppy. "Here, Bendy! Come on, little demon! Get in the cage!"

The demon stares blankly at him.

"Come on, do it for me!" the owner urges; Thomas sighs furiously.

"Move it." The GENT worker shoves Joey out of his way and takes hold of Bendy's horns--the demon screams/gurgles in animosity and panic. "GGGGRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"Don't treat him like that!" the creator objects.

"Oh, you're one to talk," the other barks. "You're the one who suggested putting him in a jail cell!" Why did I even agree to work for you?!

It's clear to Wally that he needs to step in again. "Maybe if we place some ink in the cage, he'll be attracted to it and follow the trail," he ponders out loud. It's worth a shot. The janitor scans the room for an inkwell, and it doesn't take him long to find one--he slides over to the desired object and picks it up.

Thomas and Joey pause their quarrel to scrutinize the ink as it hits the floor with a *bloop!*--Wally pours it past them and positions the inkwell into the cage.

"Bendy" contemplates for a moment, then stands up with some difficulty and trudges along the ink path; the humans hold their breaths.

Eventually, the demon stands straight above the inkwell--Joey takes this opportunity to slam the pen's door with a *cht!*.

Wow...that worked? Wally relishes.

Huh...guess Wally does have some brains after all, Thomas admits mentally. Mayyyybe I was too quick to judge...

"Great job, Wally!" Joey congratulates. "Clearly, you're much more useful to this whole scenario than SOME person is."

"I don't appreciate your digs at me, Mister Drew," Thomas grumbles, then lowers his voice and turns to the other. "You did good, Franks."

The janitor swells with pride. Finally...approval!

"Well, that's a wrap for tod--," Joey begins.

"Wait, are we just going to keep him here?" Thomas interrupts.

His response is an vile leer from his boss. "Oh, Thomas...he'll be placed in your office. After all, he came from your machine."

Thomas draws himself up...then exhales. He's not getting into another argument with this arrogant man. I'll never win. "Fine. I'll keep an eye on him." More than you could ever do.

Joey frowns a bit at not provoking a better response from the construction worker, but carries on. "All right, then. We'll test him later and see why exactly he ended up...like this." He seizes two bars of the cage and lugs it along, carefully monitored by Wally and Thomas.

After Bendy's cell is solidly floored, Joey dismisses Thomas and Wally--both are glad to finally leave.

The boss's eyes fixate on the odd, nightmarish cartoon in front of him. "Well, Bendy, I guess it's just you and me. Don't worry, we'll find out why you're drowned. You know, I'm gonna call you the Ink Demon...it suits you."

The Ink Demon just stares at him.

This is a one-sided conversation...obviously he can't think, Joey realizes, then turns away with one final glance at his creation.

As the office doors costively shut for the last time this night, the demon is gradually drowned in darkness.

Chapter Text

Joey informed Wally and Thomas that they would be "testing" the Ink Demon after hours on Monday--he figures that this might bring forth some possible explanations as to why Bendy is...drowned. Both workers have their doubts on the whole situation, but as Joey had questioned them, what else are they supposed to do with him?

Everyone else, however, is blissfully unaware of the inky creature lurking in Thomas's office. On the bright and sunny Monday, Susie waltzes into the music department with a pep in her step.

"Someone is happy today," Sammy calls out to her.

"Something great happened on Saturday!" she replies excitedly. "But I don't want to spoil the surprise...what time is it?"

Surprise? Sammy checks his watch. "8:56."

Susie claps a bit. "Good, good, good!" She practically twirls over to a small radio and picks it up, setting it gracefully in front of the composer. "It should be airing soon!" With a *click*, the radio switches on. Oh, I hope he thinks I did it well!

Wow...did she get an interview or something? Sammy ponders, smiling proudly. She deserves it.

"Good morning everyone!" booms a male genial-sounding voice over the radio. " I hope you're having a wonderful Monday! Welcome back to Loud and Lucky Larry Live! Now, folks, on Saturday, I had the pleasure of meeting and interviewing one of the best upcoming voice actresses." Susie squeals a bit.

"You may have heard of her...she's become quite popular among the children. In fact, one might even call her angelic..." Loud and Lucky Larry pauses dramatically. "It was one and only Susan Campbell! And yours truly got to talk with her about life and times at Joey Drew Studios!"

"Wow, that's gre--!" Sammy starts before Susie hushes him with a flap of her hand; her sparkly red fingernails create a blur in the air.

"So today, folks, I'll be playing the recording from Saturday!" A *click* is heard. "All right! Here we go, ladies and gentlemen!"

A pause, and then a scratchy-voiced version of Larry says, "Hello, Miss Campbell! How are you this fine morning?"

"Great!" Susie's voice replies out of the speaker. "How are you today, sir?"

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Larry cheerfully responds. "Now, let's cut to the chase. How do you enjoy working at Joey Drew Studios? It must be quite interesting."

"Oh, it is indeed!" she confirms. "So many colorful personalities! Especially the music composer, Sammy Lawrence!"

Susie flushes a bit as she peers at Sammy, anticipating his reaction--she's relieved to see that it's a smile.

"I really do love Alice's character," recorded-Susie continues. "I think this is the first cartoon I've voiced that I feel a true connection to."

"All the better for you to become her!" the host comments. "If you want to play the character, you must be the character!"

"Very true, Larry," the voice actress replies.

"Beautiful, beautiful," the other continues--Susie had noticed that he had a habit of repeating words for emphasis. "I must say, Miss Campbell, it's quite clear that you have talent! Especially for a relatively new voice actress! And you are perfect for the role...absolutely perfect."

"Aw, you're making me blush," Susie giggles. "Really, you should be thanking Mister Drew--he's the one who suggested me to be Alice's voice in the first place."

"Ah-ha! That leads us into our next question!" Larry announces. "You have, of course, met the acclaimed Joey Drew...now, tell your fans...what is he like?"

There is a significant pause--Susie had hesitated, debating what exactly to input. "Well, uh, he is quite the man...he keeps us all on our toes, you know? Very ambitious and inspirational and intelligent, too. He always has a surprise for us."

"Would you say that you like him?" the host presses.

"Hmm...yes, I would say that I do," Susie had responded, trying to ignore the memory of him on her first day. "He's a bright man that I look up to." It was the fear of what Joey might say to her that provoked her to add that last comment--she definitely did not want to talk trash about her boss.

"Interesting..." Larry muses. "Do you have any advice for any children who may be listening, Miss Campbell? Maybe a few girls out there who aspire to be like you?"

Susie knew what she was supposed to say. "Dreams come true. Don't ever give up." Although those were the words she knew Joey would want to hear, she couldn't help feeling like a fake. Like a clone of something he wants me to be.

Larry claps his hands. "Yes, yes, you heard it here, folks! Dreams come true! Indeed, indeed. Now, Miss Campbell, I'm sorry to say that is all the time we have, but prepare to listen to yourself on Monday!"

"Thank you for having me," the voice actress replies.

"Thank you for coming," Loud and Lucky Larry had declared, and another *click* is audible--it's back to live recording. "Ah, what a woman," Larry asserts, much less staticky this time. "Interviewing an angel! That's a once in a lifetime opportunity! Now, onto Chad with the weather."

As a mumbling Chad delivers today's forecast (sunny with a 10% chance of rain in the evening), Sammy speaks up. "That was great! Congratulations!"

"Thank you!" I'm so glad that he liked it! It's almost as if his opinion is worth more than anyone else's. Susie swoops the composer into a hug; he's a bit taken aback at first, but wraps his arms around her once he realizes what she's doing.

"You know, I really liked the part where you mentioned the dashing Sammy Lawrence," he teases as she releases him; her response is a red blush. Something else lingers in the music man's mind that tells him she wasn't entirely honest about Joey, but he pushes that out.

Now's the time to ask.

He shifts a bit in his seat. "Um, Susie?"

Her hazel hues shine luminously upon him. "Yes?"

She is so beautiful... "Okay, um...I just want to ask you...would you like to--?"

"Susie!" Joey's enthusiastic voice interrupts, causing Sammy to jump--he hadn't observed the boss slink into the music department. "Can I steal you for a moment?"

She pivots to face him. "Oh, uh...sure." It's okay, Susie, you're not in trouble, she reassures herself. I mean, he doesn't seem mad... "Sorry," she quickly adds to Sammy. "I'll see you around."

"Yes...of course..." the composer replies, glowering at Joey. He has to ruin EVERYTHING. Sammy sighs at their retreating backs.

As Susie accompanies him down the hall, Joey begins, "Amazing interview, Susan! Perfect! You know, that Loud and Larry guy is big in the radio biz! And you caught his attention with your stellar performance!" He smirks. "And great job putting in a good word for me." Lord knows I need it, his mind continues. I hope Thomas heard the part about me being extremely intelligent and ambitious and not grumpy like he is.

"O-of course," she answers vaguely, slightly flustered. Oh, good, he's satisfied.

"I loved the bit on "Dreams Come True," too; after all, it is our motto!" the owner blabs on. "Say, Susan...why don't I reward you for this? Would you like me to buy you dinner tomorrow?"

The voice actress feels her face heat up again. Dinner with the Joey Drew? It's...a miracle. "Ah, you don't have to do that..."

"But I insist. My treat, Miss Campbell."

Susie is positively spinning from all this flattery. "Oh...well, then, yes!" Wow! I guess dreams do come true! Suddenly, she feels a bit guilty for thinking that she was just another clone of Joey's logic. Maybe it really is as simple as he says...

The other nods and claps once--Susie is reminded of Larry. "Great! Then it's set! Tomorrow at Joe's Fine Dining at 7:00...Alice!"

There's a pause as Susie continues to glance at him wondrously. "Oh, you're dismissed."

The voice actress starts back to the music department and meets Sammy again.

"So what did he have to say?" the latter questions. If it was anything bad... He chooses not to finish the thought.

"He said I did absolutely splendid in my interview!" Susie enunciates. "And he invited me to dinner tomorrow." She takes a moment to catch her breath. "H-he even called me Alice."

"Oh..." is all Sammy says in reply. That's not fair! He rapidly strives to regain his demeanor. "Well, congratulations!"

"Thank you!" She hugs him again, but this time it's shorter--her mind is brimming with ideas of what she should wear at her and Joey's meeting. "Okay, so what did you want to ask me?"

"Uh..." Sammy hesitates--a rare occurrence for him. "Never mind...it wasn't really that important." Joey...stole Susie...why? Why is he like this? he thinks, filled with jealousy--yet he tries his best to be as visually unemotional about it as possible.

"Oh...well, then, see you later." The voice actress gracefully exits.

And once again, my angel flies away, Sammy languishes, getting back to his work again.

Wally intends to inform Shawn that he will once again not be able to meet him after hours--he's even donning his Shawn-made sweater for the occasion; after another close escape from the GENT workers, he steps into the rickety elevator.

Joey is ruining my love life.

When the lift signals to him to get off with a *sqeeeeaaalll*, the janitor follows its order; he glances over the toy department to find Shawn asleep at his desk.

The worker smiles lightly as he approaches the toymaker, and strokes Shawn's hair. He's so cute when he's sleeping. But...I need to tell him, and I don't want to wake him up.

An idea forms in his head. Wally promptly seizes some paper from nearby (It's everywhere in this place! Honestly, if that Ink Machine ran on paper, it would be pumpin' twenty-four-seven!), a pen, and a few plushies--he scribbles a note on the paper and arranges Boris, Alice, and Bendy plushie into a scene with it. Pride at his creation emits from him as he sneaks back to the elevator.

About twenty minutes later, Shawn awakens to Plush Bendy staring at him. Oh...hi there, I guess. He lifts his head with pain and observes the other two sitting on either side of the stuffed demon--he perceives that Bendy is holding a note in his tiny plush arms. The craftsman squints to read it.

Shawn blushes upon seeing the heart, and takes a moment to witness the scene Wally had created for him. Aw, he did this all for me? His heart beats amorously. I should probably reply...

Shawn doesn't have to search too far before he locates a pen. Huh? This isn't mine...where did it come from? He answers his own question: Wally.

The page is flipped with a *wooshk*--the toy maker writes on the back of it, and grabs a piece of tape (which he does have on hand). He sleepily plods across the toy department to the elevator, and hits the floor-level button--it depresses with a *cht*.

In the middle of the journey, the elevator groans--*hhhhnnnnnnnn*--and abruptly halts, much to Shawn's confusion; he kicks the side wall of it, and it starts up again. Eventually, the toy maker arrives at his desired floor.

He slinks out of the lift toward Wally's closet and tapes the note on the door, giggling like a little girl. He's going to love this. The craftsman slithers back into the lift and heads back to work.

An hour passes before Wally visits his closet again, and is pleasantly surprised to find the note on his door.

I love that man so much, Wally pines, hugging the note against his chest; he perceives Thomas's footsteps in the ambience.

"Franks? What are you doing?" the latter asks, leaning against the wall. "You're supposed to be regulating the pressure." Quit this nonsense of running off when you're supposed to be working.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be over there in a minute," Wally replies, folding up the letter and placing it in his pocket--Thomas notices his voice has changed to that dreamy tone again.

Why does he do that? he wonders.

The janitor bounds over to the construction worker. Soon as we finish this stupid science project, I'm outta here!

Jack is minding his own business as usual at his desk in the sewers when he spots a certain someone prowling in the shadows towards him.

Norman. It's both a hope and a fact.

The projectionist, carrying two cups (one in each hand), smiles as he steps upon the boards. "I hope I'm not intruding on you or anything; I just brought you some coffee. With plenty of sugar."

Jack fails to suppress his own grin and blushes a bit. "N-no, it's fine. Y-you can come v-visit me when y-you like; I-I trust you."

I'm glad that he likes me, both parties think simultaneously as Norman sets the coffees on the desk.

They sit in silence for a moment, savoring their beverages.

Norman is studying Jack without realizing it. He is just so cute...how come I didn't notice it before? He tints pink at the thoughts, then goes on to count the freckles on the lyricist's face. One, two, three, four, five...

Jack doesn't turn away as he normally would. For some reason...I like when he stares at me. It's...reassuring, kind of? I mean, it's not the creepy or angry or pitiful kind of look. He lifts his head to observe Norman's warm brown eyes. I feel...safe.

...nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two... "You have exactly twenty-three freckles, Jack." The projectionist pauses. "Okay, that was a bit random and weird. Sorry 'bout that."

Jack giggles (Even his laugh is adorable! Norman reflects). "I-it's okay."

"Hey, wanna know something interesting?"

"Hm?" Jack sips his coffee.

Norman's eyes gleam mischievously--the same way they had when the projectionist had convinced the poet to help him spy on the GENT workers--and he clasps his hands. "Okay, so you probably know that Sammy and Susie are mad about each other."

The other nods, wondering where this is going. Are they officially dating now? Leave it to Sammy to be the first one to gain a sweetheart; Jack had been sure that Shawn and Wally would be the studio's first couple--it is common knowledge among the workers (apart from the GENT employees and the two involved, of course) that the janitor and the toymaker like each other.

"All right," Norman continues, "So I'm up in my projector booth, and Sammy is just about to ask Susie out, when suddenly Joey comes in and beckons for her. She comes back after a bit and tells Sammy that Joey invited her to dinner. Can you believe it? You should've seen the look on his face--he was just writhing in jealousy."

I can believe it. Jack would have probably cried had it happened to him. "M-Mister Confident isn't so c-c-confident a-anymore, is h-he?" He slaps his hand over his mouth.

Norman raises his eyebrows--that is an unusual statement coming from kind Jack.

"I-I-I-I didn't m-m-mean th-that!" the lyricist sputters in embarrassment. "I-I mean...um..." His face goes bright red. "I...uhhhh..." Ahhh! Now he thinks I'm a jerk! Stupid, stupid, stupid me!

The projectionist wants to tell the poet, It's okay, Jack...it's okay, but is silent so the latter can collect his thoughts.

"Um, w-what I mean is..." Jack sighs. "I-I-I envy S-Sammy. A lot." The floodgates of his mind open as he rambles on, "H-h-he is just s-so confident a-and really self-assured a-and e-e-everyone l-likes him a-and I-I know I-I'm being a b-baby a-about it b-b-but I-I will n-never b-be like t-that!" He's on the verge of crying, but he doesn't want to furtherly embarrass himself. Nononono, don't start tearing up, Norman is watching, nononono!

"Jack." Norman lays a hand on the lyricist's shoulder. "You don't have to worry. Sammy has flaws, too." He gives Jack that cordial smile. "You want to know what I think?"

The poet looks up at him. "T-That I'm p-pathetic? J-just admit it." I'm a terrible, awful, stupid failure.

"No," his friend asserts firmly. "You are anything but pathetic. I think you're better than Sammy will ever be--he doesn't know what it's like to be humble, and all he ever does is complain. But you, Jack, are one of the best people I know. You don't need to have the spotlight on you, and you're extremely wary of others' feelings." He places his hand on Jack's. "Don't ever think you aren't enough...you're perfect just the way you are." It hurts me to see you put yourself down like that...

Jack sniffs a bit--he had let the waterworks loose during Norman's speech. "T-thank y-you..." I wish I could believe you... "T-thank you for e-everything...f-for the c-coffee a-and listening to m-my rant a-and...a-all of t-that..."

"It's my pleasure, it really is," Norman assures him, then realizes he still has his hand on Jack's--his cheeks turn rosy as he lifts it off. "Sorry." He didn't pull away when I did that...did he like it? No, Norman, that's not the point. "Are you okay?"

"Y-Y-Yes..." the lyricist stutters--he watches the doubt swirl in his companion's eyes. "I-I'm okay...I-I just needed t-to get that o-out there." He acknowledges Norman's blush, causing himself to redden--Jack attempts to hide his crimson cheeks by lifting his cup to his mouth again.

There's more silent tranquility before the projectionist speaks up, "You know, I really like this...it's like a break from the world. Honestly, you had a great idea, coming here--can we...um...do this regularly? This little coffee and quiet thing? Or am I getting in the way?" I hope I'm not being too invasive...

To his relief, Jack nods. "Y-yeah...we can." Our little dates...I mean, not that! They aren't dates! They're just...private rendezvous. His stomach suddenly feels fluttery. "Coffee and quiet...t-that would make a g-good title for a-a s-song." He reaches over and grabs a piece of paper, then fervently scribbles down the idea.

Should I leave? Norman wonders. "Um, I'll just leave you to work then...I feel like I've overstayed my welcome."

"You haven't," Jack whispers--a part of him wants...no, needs the projectionist to stay. Please...stay here and be my friend. He sighs again. I'm overthinking all of this...

He just doesn't want to hurt my feelings, Norman decides. "No, it's okay--I have to get back to work anyway." He pauses. "Same time tomorrow?" Pleeeease say yes!

"Yes." Jack hits Norman with that sweet smile--it drives the latter wild.

He's sooooo precious...I might have a heart attack or something at this rate! The projectionist can't help but beam back, with a smile he kept only for a few people. "Well, I'll see you then." He wavers across the wooden makeshift bridge and glimpses once again at Jack, feeling awkward but jubilant at the same time. "Bye."

His friend waves, but Norman lingers beside the stairs--he almost doesn't want to leave. No, Norman, go do your work. He'll be fine...you're being clingy. He ascends the steps and tries to think about something, anything else.

Nevertheless, his brain is still swimming with Jack, Jack, Jack when he reaches his projector. I'm obsessing over him; I need a distraction. The projectionist scans the music department--Sammy is still composing his music, albeit rather forlornly; he lifts his head at the entrance of Norman.

"What are you looking at?" the composer snaps--it's coherent that he is still upset about Joey and Susie. It's not fair! I finally get the chance to ask her, and Joey Drew has to swoop in and do it first!

But those thoughts suddenly stop: jealousy turns into slight worry. What if she falls for him? What will I do?

He attempts to remain as cool about it as possible.

"Don't you have something else to be doing?"

Norman backs up. "Um...yeah...I'm just..." He fails to produce an excuse. "Sammy, are you okay?"

"What do you think?"

The projectionist doesn't reply. Maybe I should just leave him be... He already wishes he was back with Jack.

He's so interesting...I'd rather watch him all day than work. Even if I do get paid for the second one! He giggles to himself softly, then becomes aware of the piercing glare Sammy is yielding upon him. "...Sorry."

The music man snorts and turns back to his instruments.

Come back, in-love Sammy, Norman mentally begs. You weren't nearly as moody. Despite his efforts, his thoughts revert back to Jack.

He's like a song stuck in my head.

The end of the day is fast approaching--Joey, Thomas, and Wally meet up in the median's office to discuss what to do with the inky...abomination they had created.

Joey had thought in advance to bring an inkwell, which he is currently gesturing with as he talks to the Ink Demon. "Hi, Bendy! Today, we're going to find out just why you are like this...and hopefully fix you!"

Ink Bendy gurgles as he gropes for the inkwell with his gloved hand.

"No, you can't have this yet," the owner declares. It's a surprise tool that will help us later!

Thomas speaks up. "No promises on fixing him--you need to find out the problem before you try to implant a solution." He is still fuming from Friday, but is keeping his anger under wraps--he longs for his wife, Allison. I wish she was here...she would know what to do. With both the monster and the inky thing.

Wally isn't exactly leaping for joy at this whole episode, either. Please just let this be resolved quickly...I don't know how much of Joey and Thomas jumping down each other's throats I can stand.

The GENT worker shoves Joey out of the way. "Let me handle this." I know what I'm doing.

"Why should I? You're the whole reason he's like this in the first place!" the other retorts. "I'm this close"--he separates his finger and thumb about a centimeter--"to firing you, so I suggest you don't provoke me any further." And I will fire you. Don't think that I can't do all of this by myself. It's my machine.

Thomas scowls, the anger bubbling inside of him--but he stops himself before he overreacts. "Fine." Ruin it, Joey. Actually, no--that's impossible. You've fucked up the plan so much that there probably isn't much more you could do.

Joey smirks. I'm finally getting through to him! "Good." The cage door is swung open with a *schreeeech*--its captor stumbles out, immediately heading towards the inkwell. Joey places the object on Thomas's desk, and the Ink Demon follows it. "That'll serve as a distraction while we do whatever we're doing."

Or we could have just left him in the cage, Wally has on the tip of his tongue.

Thomas forces himself not to think anything.

"Now then," Joey continues while pacing to the creature, "We'll just do this..." He just barely touches Bendy's head.

The Ink Demon screeches and pivots violently. "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" The hand with the claws swipes across Joey's face.

"AHHHHHHHH I-IT BUUUUUUUURNS!" the owner cries--indeed, the living ink feels like fire on his face. "OWWWWWW! WHYWHYWHYWHY?" He covers his face.

"I don't think he likes being touched," Thomas reveals to no one's benefit--his voice is calm with a touch of spite. He had it coming to him.

"THOMAS! WALLY! I'M DYING HERE!" Joey yells in excruciating pain. "DO SOMETHING!" WHAT IS IN THIS STUFF?!

"Oh, you're fine," Thomas sneers, but Wally races to his boss and pulls him back from Bendy.

"Are you--?" The janitor halts mid-sentence once Joey removes his hands from his face. Holy shit. "--o-okay?" His voice has become shaky.

The businessman takes a moment to catch his breath--the burning has started to subside. "Y-yeah...I think so." He runs his fingers against his face. "Is it...bad?"

"Uhhhhh..." Wally hesitates. "Maybe?" Yes. It's bad.

Joey senses the dishonesty in his voice. "Let me see." He trots to the doorknob--shiny enough to reflect him--and uses it as a mirror. His jaw drops.

Across his face are three black scars dug from Bendy's claws, running downhill from the left side of his physiognomy to the corner of his chin; Joey isn't even sure what to think.

He pivots darkly to Thomas. "You...this is all your fault!" What have you done to me?! The anger builds up, which raises Joey's pitch higher. "YOUR MACHINE MADE HIM DO THIS-" --he points to his face-- "-TO ME! HIS CREATOR!"

The net holding back all the animosity in Thomas snaps. So that's the way he wants to play? "I'M NOT THE ONE AT FAULT HERE! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO TOUCHED HIM--AND NOW THIS MACHINE BECAME MINE ALL OF A SUDDEN?!"

Meanwhile, Bendy is calmly caressing the inkwell, not paying the least bit of attention to the feuding workers.

It was only a matter of time, Wally comprehends. They always end up arguing. "Both of you, stop! We aren't going to find out why he's like this if you two KEEP SCREAMING!"

The two pairs of eyes--one blue, one brownish-green--meet his.

"He's right," Thomas gruffly admits to Joey; the latter huffs. "Hey, I mean it--no more fighting...for both of us."

Why should I listen to you? Joey's brain objects, but he bites his tongue. "All right, then. Why is he so inky, since you know all the answers?"

"I have a theory," Thomas replies coldly. "All living things need to have one thing: a soul." He sighs. I don't want to give that man any ideas, but... "I believe that since Bendy didn't have a makeshift soul or something similar...his formation didn't go right. And that is why he is like...this." He limply gestures to the creature. I never thought I would ever doubt what I was saying, but here I am.

Wally and Joey digest this.

"So all we need to do is put a soul in him," Joey conveys. "And then he'll be okay." Huh...I expected a more complicated explanation. "Easy enough, then--I have plenty of souls here!"

"What? No!" Thomas protests. "You can't use your workers' souls! That's crossing the line!" He's insane...

"What else would I use?" Joey deadpans. "What do you suggest?"

There is no reply.

The owner leers. "That's what I thought."

"Okay, question," Wally speaks up. "If we convince someone to...let us use their soul for Bendy..." His stomach turns at the thought. It's not gonna be me...or Shawn. I'll make sure of that. "...then how exactly are we going to put it in Bendy?"

I say scrap the whole damn idea, Thomas asserts--but he knows he'll never convince Joey to do that.

A rare moment of hesitation slides over Joey. "Umm...we'll figure that out later." It will all become clear. I know it will.

He can't keep stalling like that, the GENT worker wants to say.

But how will we figure it out? The janitor is still puzzled.

"Don't worry about it...I'll take care of it. We'll be done for today," Joey replies. All this information is too much to grasp for all three. "Wally, you can leave--Thomas, I have one more question for you."

As the maintenance worker slips out of the office, Joey approaches the grouchy construction employee. "How come, when you touched Bendy's horns, the ink didn't do THIS to you?"

Thomas smirks. "Simple." He lifts a hand. "I had gloves on. Safety first, Mister Drew." It serves you right.

The owner's eyes narrow as he frowns. Smug bastard. "Get out of my sight."

Thomas stomps out. I don't trust him...he's too...volatile.

Once again, it's Joey and Bendy; the latter is still nuzzling against the inkwell.

"Well, Bendy, I guess that's it. I know you didn't mean to hurt me...you couldn't help it. But don't fret--I'll get you a soul!" Even if it takes a few sacrifices.

He picks up the inkwell and tosses it into the cage--the Ink Demon chases after it, and Joey shuts the door behind him.

"Goodbye, Ink Demon." The room door *click*s, and Bendy is once more blanketed in darkness.

He tilts his head against the cell's entryway--it *creeeeeak*s open.

Joey had forgotten to lock it.

The Ink Demon crawls out into the office, leaving his inkstand behind; there's so much to explore out here. The black liquid oozes from his head as he slams it against the office door...and after about five minutes or so, the exit latch breaks.

Bendy is free.

Chapter Text

The markings left from Bendy's claws on Joey's face bring about a brand-new problem--one that needs to be solved before his meeting with Susie. On Tuesday, the owner approaches Wally and Thomas at the studio entrance and questions them on ideas for an answer.

"Concealer," the janitor immediately suggests. "To cover the scars, I mean."

"I don't have any concealer," Joey counters.

Just let them show, Thomas thinks callously, crossing his arms. Admit that you did something stupid and now you're stuck like that forever, all because you wouldn't listen to anyone else.

Wally hesitates before answering, "Um...give me two minutes." He dashes off down a corridor.

Joey raises his eyebrows at Thomas, who is deliberately avoiding his gaze.

"Hey. Look at me," the former demands. "Look at all the damage you caused." I should just fire you now. But he can't...he still needs Thomas to find out how to place a soul in the Ink Demon. But as soon as we figure that out, I'm taking over this whole operation.

Thomas's swamp-colored eyes blaze over Joey. "I believe you mean, look at all the damage you caused. I'm not the problem here."

Before Joey has time to snap back, the maintenance worker's steps echo back to the duo; he is carrying a tube of peach-colored liquid, which he hands to Joey. "Here." Please don't ask any questions...

The businessman scans the label of the bottle: Clara Bow's Liquid Concealer. "Where did you find this at? Did you just happen to have it on hand?"

Wally doesn't answer, but instead tugs at his collar and blushes at the ground.

He wears makeup, Thomas realizes--he peeks at the janitor, suddenly noticing the cosmetic details. He's got guts.

Joey frankly doesn't care: he's merely glad to have something to hide the scars. He squeezes the tube, and the concealer squirts into his open palm--he vigorously rubs it on the injured areas. "Did it work?"

There are still faint black lines along his profile, but they are not nearly as palpable or unsightly as before.

"Yeah, I think it hides them well enough," Wally confirms. Hopefully Susie doesn't look too closely.

Thomas gives a noncommittal grunt. You can't hide your scars all the time, Joey...they'll show up when you least expect it. "If we're done here, I'm going to go check on...Bendy." He stalks down the aisle.

There's a pause before Wally changes the subject. "Uh...so...Mister Drew?" He wrings his hands. "Would it be possible to maybe edit my schedule? Like...can I have my after hours shift back?" Can I have my Shawn back?

"I'm afraid not," Joey replies almost immediately. "We need to dedicate that time to Bendy and the Ink Machine." Huh, that would make a good title for this whole adventure.

Oh, so Bendy's more important than me now? Wally envisages, then sighs. Obviously, in Joey's mind, he is. It was worth a shot, though. "I understand..."

The brooding GENT worker abruptly reappears, panicked. "Mister Drew...we have a problem." A big one, too.

"Spit it out," the owner snarls. A pipe burst or something?

Thomas glowers at him. This is all due to your incompetence.

"Bendy has escaped."

Sammy is staying locked up in his office this morning, brooding over yesterday's events.

Susie can't possibly like him...I know she said that in the interview, but that was a lie. Right? I mean, I'm so much better than him in infinite ways! Maybe I need to be more direct with my feelings, so she sees that I'm after her? Or is she just playing hard-to-get? I wouldn't even have to worry about this if it hadn't been for him! He exhales all this confusion and misery out. Just focus, Sammy.

However, this proves to be difficult, as he is finding it quite a feat to even play his compositions without forming a new worry.

While he strums the banjo, he frets, Would she notice if I changed my style? She likes fashion, so perhaps if I wore something different, she would realize that I'm perfect for her. But what if she is too busy staring at Joey to even give it a thought?

As he fiddles with the fiddle, the acrimony and dread consume him further. Joey doesn't deserve Susie; she's too good for him. She's too trusting...and he's too untrustworthy. Maybe I can sabotage something that would make them cancel their date? But what would I damage? The composer considers this entire plan for a moment as the instrument screams in A minor. No...that's too petty. Besides, if she ever found out that I was the cause of...whatever I did, she'd be extremely disappointed in me. And I'd rather not have that. He doesn't even consider what Joey would do if he found out. But then what should I do?

During his flute solo, the music man comes to a conclusion. I guess I can't really do anything but hope she doesn't like him like that. Perhaps I'm overthinking all of this, and she still is dedicated to me despite him. I hope that's true. He recalls what Susie had suggested over their smoke.

"Maybe...you could try to put some faith in people?"

Sammy ponders this point. Perhaps she's right. Maybe I need to put some faith in her.

She won't let me down.

Out of nowhere, the pipe in the office gurgles.

Sammy's green eyes shoot daggers at it. "You shouldn't have anything to say about this."

The conduit communicates its disagreement with an exhaustive *rrrrrrrrggghhhh*.

"Shut up," the composer dictates. What the hell? I'm talking to a pipe...I really am losing it.

On cue, someone knocks on the composer's office door--*thunk thunk thunk*.

"Come in," Sammy beckons.

The voice actress pokes her head through the door. "Hi! I was wondering where you went!" I didn't see your handsome face greeting me... "Who were you talking to?"

"Just hiding in here." He attempts to smile, but Susie can sense that there is something wrong. "I was talking to...that thing." The songsmith jerks his head to indicate the pipe. "All it does is *clank* and *srrrr* and *grrrrriiiisssipppllll* once a day, every day, all day long."

She giggles at his demonstrations of the noises. "Ah, but why are you in here? Having trouble focusing?" The voice actress gracefully ambles over to the composer.

He is silent, which bewilders her. There's definitely something off here.

"You could say that," Sammy eventually responds. The only thing I can focus on is you. However, he doesn't want to place any more attention on this. I don't want her to worry. "Are you prepared for your and Joey's...date?"

He fails to obscure the slight covetousness in his voice when he states the last word; she acknowledges this, and the reason for his superficial standoffishness becomes coherent.

He's jealous, Susie realizes.

And he's trying to hide it. That's adorable! She flushes magenta and grins. He likes me!

"Hello?" Sammy waves his hand in front of her face. Damn, am I really that boring? I bet she thinks Joey is so much more interesting. He forces himself to go back to believing her fidelity. No, Sammy--stop thinking like that. Have faith in her.

The starlet is snapped back to reality. "Oh, sorry about that--I zoned out. Yes, I'm ready for our meeting," she replies, placing special emphasis on the final word. "It's not a date."

Sammy is quiet once more, drilling a hole with his eyes into the gray carpet.

She lays her hand on his. "I don't like Joey like that...and I'm pretty sure he isn't interested in me, either. He's just happy that I advocated for him during the interview." She pauses to watch his reaction, but he continues to stare at the floor.

I guess I'll have to play my trump card.

Susie's hand lingers up Sammy's arm. "Besides...I'm into someone else. A musical someone else." She bats her eyelashes at him in a hint.

His heart pounds in his chest. Oh, thank God...she likes me. All that worrying for nothing. The composer strikes a casual-cool pose by leaning back on his desk. "Oh, really? The angel has a crush on a musician?" he teases. "Is it a celebrity crush? Jimmie Rodgers? Louis Armstrong? George Gershwin?"

That's the Sammy I know, Susie muses, tittering and playing with a strand of her hair. "No...he's much more acquainted with me than those guys are. I would say I actually have a chance with him."

The music man smiles. "I think you would have a chance with any man." For a moment, he pivots on asking her out right this minute...but decides not to do it just yet. I mean...she already has the thing with Joey tonight, so it's hardly appropriate to set up a date now. Maybe I should wait until next week, just to be safe.

The duo continue to chat for about a half-hour before the voice actress remembers that she has a recording to get to.

"I'll see you later, handsome," Susie says as she departs, fluttering her fingers.

"Bye, angel." Sammy waves. We are so cheesy.

He stalks over to his piano--their session has awoken the inspirational fire within him. As his fingers drum upon the white and black keys, the musician has one phrase in mind.

"Thinking of You."

Up in his projector booth, Norman is fixated upon the clock. One twenty-six. It's almost our time...

Normally, he would be focused on the drama among the members of the music department...but someone else is stuck in his mind.

I'm thinking about him way too much...it's like an infatuation. I need to stop; I don't know him well enough to develop a crush.

Meanwhile, a certain flustered lyricist is racing to the projectionist, a cup of coffee in each hand; he arrives at his destination out of breath.

Norman perceives Jack at the other side of the stairs of his booth. "Oh, uh, hi." Did I somehow summon him? his brain jokes before he notices his friend's huffing. "Are you okay?"

"Y-y-y-yeah...I came on a run. And I-I guess I-I'm not really s-sure why." Jack hands the projectionist one of the coffees. I'm always in a rush...both mentally and physically. "Sorry..."

"Ah, don't be sorry. If anything, I should have been the one in a hustle...apparently my clock is off by a few minutes." He glances at the time-keeping object. You have failed me, he mentally jokes at it. How could you? I trusted you... "How late was I?"

"Nononono," the poet hurriedly clarifies. "Y-you weren't late or a-anything...I-I j-just thought that...um, since you a-always come t-to visit m-me...t-that maybe I should t-travel t-to you i-instead. L-Like a c-change of s-scenery." You do so much for me...now I should return the favor.

"That's extremely sweet of you," Norman remarks. He's always putting others before himself...what an amazing guy. He grins as he observes the blush sprawl on Jack's cheeks. And so humble...

The lyricist is a bit uncomfortable in the spotlight; he sits on a nearby barstool and changes the subject. "Um...okay, so w-what's n-new with you?" Why do I always have to sound like an idiot in front of people?

The projectionist shrugs. Hmm...let's see here...I've been obsessing over you for the last five-ish hours. "Not much...just the same-old, same-old. I'm not super interesting like you are."

Jack goes bright red. "I-I-I'm not in-t-teresting..." He rubs his sweaty palms on his pant legs. It's boiling in here. "I-I'm a-actually really, really b-boring. I-I just w-write a l-lot." Duh, Jack. Say something worth saying.

He just doesn't understand how awesome he is, Norman comprehends. "Well, I think you're immensely intriguing."

The lyricist displays the ghost of a smile, which he expeditiously covers with his cup--he is in the process of taking in the music department when something odd catches his eye.

The something is black and slimy-looking, slithering along the wall; it cocks its head toward the poet and flashes its sharp, ostentatious teeth at him.

Jack releases a noise somewhere between a squeak and a shriek as he jumps from his seat.

"What is it?" Norman questions him. You look like you just saw a ghost.

The lyricist points at the strange organism--Norman pivots to glance at it...and goes silent.

What...is that thing?

The black viscous thing skirts against the wall as it moves left with its skinny legs.

Norman has to get a closer look; he turns back to his friend. "We should follow it."Why is that...abomination lurking around the studio?

Jack is torn between two choices: agree with the projectionist, or escape as fast as his legs will carry him. It looks dangerous...and he'll pursue it no matter what the stakes are. But I can't let him get hurt! Do I dare put myself in harm's way and go with him?

He already knows the answer.

Yes. Because I'll be safe if and when I'm with him.

"O-okay...we can d-do that. B-but...p-please stay n-near m-m-m-me." He definitely does not want to face the monstrosity on his own. We need to protect each other.

"Of course," Norman replies casually, grabbing Jack's hand. "I would never leave you."

Is he brave...or just cool under stress? Jack wonders. Probably both.

The lyricist lets the projectionist guide him surreptitiously through the corridors--as they approach closer and closer to the creeping horror, the former's hands quake in fear.

Norman clenches tighter. Don't fear, my little songbird. A mental pause. Wow, that sounds romantic. No, Norman, stop thinking like that!

The Ink Demon skulks about the corridors, leaving inky trails behind him, until he reaches a certain door--the art closet. He slathers himself against it with a *blop* and grazes along the hinges.

"What is it doing?" Norman wonders out loud--he and the lyricist have their backs to the wall and are snooping around the corner.

"I-I-I...think i-its trying t-to get i-inside of i-it," Jack answers; as he scrutinizes the misshapen cartoon, it comes to light for him that the creature is made of ink.

More sounds bounce in the ambience--this time they are footsteps.

"There he is!" Thomas's gruff voice rings out; Norman peers around the edge and observes that the GENT worker, Wally, and Joey are heading towards the detestation, each with an inkwell in hand.

Thank God we finally found him, Thomas's mind continues as he waves the inkwell at the Ink Demon, not noticing the duo against the wall. "Hey! Come here, Bendy!"

The businessman rudely shoves the construction worker out of the way. "Yes, my little devil darling! Come to Joey!" He'll probably listen to me, since I'm in charge. I'm like his father!

Tired of all this nonsense, Wally merely wants the Ink Demon to listen to one of the two and follow them--he doesn't even bother beckoning for the frightening creature. Are they actually vying for attention from him?

Of course, Bendy trails after the human that isn't yelling at him; he stumbles over to the janitor and hangs over him lankily, wordlessly asking for the inkwell.

"Wow, I guess he likes me," Wally states to Joey's and Thomas's disgruntled faces. Not that I really want that.

"Now that we got him, lead him back to the office," the owner directs. "Your dream came true, Wally: you can have your after-hours shift tonight--you'll need it to clean up all this inky mess. And besides, I have a meeting to get to, so we won't be doing anything with him today."

Excuses, excuses, Thomas thinks bitterly, clutching his own inkwell in aggravation. I can't stand this man.

The maintenance worker, however, is the happiest he has been in quite a long time. I get to see Shawn! He fights back the urge to break into a dance--but nevertheless, he hops out of there, hoping to see Shawn again.

As the trio exits with the monstrosity in tow, Norman finally speaks up.

"What do you think that was all about?" Definitely something fishy going on here. He recollects on the phrase Joey had mentioned earlier: "ink machine". Did they create that...thing they're calling Bendy with an 'ink machine'?

Jack shrugs; he doesn't want to think about all of this. Why can't we all just work in a secure, safe environment, without all the scary inky things?

The answer is simple: Because Joey.

"Maybe we should leave in case one of them returns and figures out that we know about that thing," the projectionist suggests--he has a nasty suspicion that the organism they had named 'Bendy' was supposed to be kept under wraps.

The lyricist nods, but the duo barely step forward before they are greeted by another soul: Susie.

"Oh, hi, Norman and Jack," she begins, skipping toward them. "What are you two doing wandering around he—?"

She recognizes that they are holding hands and gasps in wonder. Aww!

"Are you two a couple?" That is so cute! Were they having a little romantic meeting here?

Both parties flush red as they rapidly unlink themselves--Norman cogitates quickly to come up with an explanation.

"Nonono, we actually don't know each other that well...we were just...um..." Spying? Eavesdropping? Pretending? No reasonable excuse formulates. "Um..."

Jack, too, is in doubt as to what to input. Comeoncomeoncomeon...think of something! Why won't the words come?!

Oooh, it's a secret relationship! Susie gathers from the lack of an answer. "It's okay, I won't tell anyone." Maybe I should set them up on an official date to make them more comfortable. Alice will play Cupid for the projectionist and the poet! She giggles and waltzes away.

Dumbstruck, the other two stand in confused and awkward silence for a moment.

"What just happened?" Norman asks.

"I-I don't know..."

Another embarrassing pause.

"Our coffee is getting cold," the cameraman remembers out of nowhere.

Jack almost laughs at this sudden comment. "Y-y-yeah...you're right. We s-should head b-b-back." Let's pretend that whole episode didn't take place.

They meander back to the projection booth, both of them endeavoring to ignore the new thoughts bombarding them.

I've never thought of Norman like...that, Jack muses, but I suppose it makes sense. Maybe that's why I feel so...okay around him. Like nothing can hurt me. But he did mention that we don't really know each other that well...is it too soon to see? Can people just skip past the 'friends' part and dive straight into the 'dating' phase? It's times like this he wishes that he was more social--perhaps he would know the answers to these burning questions if he had that trait.

Meanwhile, the projectionist contemplates, Now Susie thinks we're an item. I mean...that would be great, but it's not true.

I wish it was like that. Yes, I don't really know about his past...but that can be solved. I'll ask him. I'll find out. A spark of hope ignites within him. Maybe we could actually be a couple someday.

No, I have to stop thinking like this...he probably isn't even remotely attracted to me like that. Like I said, I'm not interesting. And besides, I might be taking this crush-- or infatuation-- or whatever-- too far.

I need to wait until he's ready. Keep myself open-minded to the idea that he might not be comfortable dating me...that we might just have to stay friends.

Back in the music department, the pair finishes up their beverages with little conversation: they are too immersed in their own minds, and realize that the other also is.

When their "Coffee and Quiet" time has ended, Jack gets back on his feet and scans Norman with his dark-green irises.

"T-thank you for t-this. H-hopefully that...thing we saw i-isn't g-g-going to be a p-problem..."

"Hopefully. Thank you for taking time out of your day to come here," the cameraman replies. I highly appreciate your visits.

Jack beams shyly at the ground before scurrying away to the sewers to work again.

His latest task is to compose lyrics for a song for Alice to sing in the newest cartoon. Focusing on his writing is a struggle, though, as his brain keeps wandering to the calm, understanding projectionist.

I'm just a lonely poet without him...sitting here at my desk.

I'll never give up hoping that he'll still come along...

Out of the blue, there's inspiration! He reaches over his desk to grab his pen and scribbles a single phrase onto his paper.

"I'll Be Your Angel."

The rest of the workday went well for Wally due to his optimism granted from finally being able to see Shawn--the clock hands finally *tick* to the five o'clock position.

The toymaker and the janitor practically run to each other, meeting in the middle of their paths at the music department.

Subtle hinting forgotten, Wally sweeps Shawn into his arms. I've waited so long for this moment of bliss. "I missed you."

Shawn, at first taken aback at the hug, discerns the gesture--wrapping his arms around the maintenance worker, he responds, "I missed you, too." It's been a quiet Heavenly Toys without you.

They release each other, but Wally's hands travel down his crush's arms and meet his fingertips.

The toymaster blushes a bit, clasping Wally's hands.

They stand like that for an enchanted instant before the janitor remembers what they're supposed to be doing.

"Right, um, we have a lot to do," he begins--his mouth can't seem to form the words correctly. "There's a lot of ink from when Bendy escaped...and we have to clean it and stuff. Bleh, you know the drill." Caught up in the toymaker's aquamarine irises, he mediates, He has such beautiful eyes...I won't be able to focus at all today, I just know it. With eyes like those, anyone could get distracted.

"Yeah..." Shawn replies vaguely. Actually, can we just stay like this the entire time? It's nice...

However, they gather the essential cleaning supplies and get to work; at one point, Shawn struggles with a rather irritating ink spot--no matter how much he rubs it, it doesn't wash off.

"You need help?" Wally asks, and receives a nod; he heads over with his mop and attacks the said ink spot, but the stubborn stain absolutely refuses to leave. In fact, it decides to crawl up on the wall to avoid the cleaning instrument.

Huh? How did it do that? the craftsman questions, giving a confused look to the janitor, who shrugs.

Readying his mop, Wally prepares to strike the splatter again--but just before he does, it moves farther up on the surface.

So that's the way you wanna play, eh? the janitor challenges it. Well, two can dance to that jig. He slips out of the room, arriving back with one of the chairs from the music department, which he places under the spot.

"Be careful..." Shawn warns, situating himself behind the chair and helping Wally climb on it.

"Don't worry, I got this." The custodian unsteadily clambers onto the seat of the piece of furniture.

Holding his mop like a spear, Wally points it sharply at the blot--he gets in a couple of hits before the ink once again slinks upward.

Damn. He isn't about to give up yet, though; he positions his foot against the wall in order to reach the spot.

Noticing how unstable his friend is, Shawn motions kindly but firmly for him to return to the floor. "Just forget about it--I don't want you to fall."

"No, I allllmost have it," Wally replies confidently, finally stretching far enough to pounce his mop head on the spot. "Ha! Gotcha!" He vigorously abrades the ink stain, and it subsequently disappears. I should win the Best Janitor Ever award for this move! "I got it, Shawn!" he calls...then stumbles as he removes his foot from the wall.

"Shit!" He frantically waves his arms in an attempt to balance himself, but to no avail; he dips downward and shuts his eyes to brace for the impact.

But the impact never happens, as he lands in Shawn's outstretched arms--the toymaster holds him up and helps him to his feet.

"Oh, thanks," Wally expresses as he opens his eyes. My hero!

"Of course," Shawn responds. "Did ya really think I was just gonna let ya fall?"

"Nah, you are so much better than that. I think my life flashed before my eyes during that--like a near-death experience," the other jokes. "I'm gonna sue Joey for creating the Ink Machine, and say that I had a 'near-death experience' cleaning up from it. The lawyers won't be able to deny it!" Maybe I should actually do that...

The craftsman laughs. "Well, I'm glad you're okay."

"Only due to you. I probably woulda broken my neck or something if you hadn't caught me." For the second time this day, he hugs the toymaker.

"You're quite affectionate today," Shawn acknowledges. "I mean, not that you aren't usually, but today you're really..." 'Lovey-dovey' is the first word that comes to mind...but that's not what I mean. Right? "...mushy?" He phrases it like a question. "Is that the word I'm thinking of?"

Wally takes it that he is being too clingy--he lets go of the craftsman. "Sorry..."

"No, no, you're fine. It's a good thing!" Honestly, I need your hugs to get me through this life.

The janitor blushes pink. He's just saying that...I keep finding excuses to touch him, and it's making him uneasy. "Yeah...right. Um, let's get back to work."

Luckily, the duo manage to tidy up the studio without running into another conundrum...and the time to leave arrives all too soon.

They approach the entrance doors, and Wally has a moment of déjà vu.

Here's the point where we leave each other rather reluctantly.

"I'm glad we could do this again," the toymaker begins. "It feels like forever since we've seen each other." And it probably will be an even longer wait before we can meet again, his mind reminds him.

"Yeah...maybe Bendy will run off again, and we can spend after-hours sprucing up again," the custodian replies. Am I wishing that he will? I mean...yes, it was a mess trying to find him, but in the end, I got to see Shawn!

There's a tranquil pause before the two bid each other adieu.

Shawn walks over to his car at a relatively slow pace--it seems as if his legs don't want to go that way...as if they are saying, "Hey, go back to Wally, and stay there forever." In fact, a phrase from a popular play that fits the scene quite well comes to the toymaster's mind.

'Parting is such sweet sorrow.'

The work routine has at last finished, so Joey and Susie arrive at their official meeting spot: a fancy restaurant named Joe's Fine Dining.

The eatery is relatively miniature in size, with a royal blue color scheme about it; the majority of the dining area is composed of booth tables, and three gold-tone chandeliers hang from the dark-oak ceiling. In entirety, the atmosphere emanates an aura of exquisiteness and sophistication.

The businessman holds one of French doors open for the voice actress; he has changed into a money-green suit provided to him by Buddy's mother.

Susie is donning a silver-sequined peplum dress, complemented with dangling chandelier earrings and brown-tone eyeshadow.

As they slide into one of the vinyl-coated cerulean seats, the former starts, "Wonderful that you could make it, Alice!"

What would have happened if I couldn't have made it? Susie wonders, then notices, He's still calling me Alice.

I like it!

Additionally, she perceives three very slight, but nevertheless still apparent black marks on his face. What are those? However, she isn't about to ask him that.

"Of course!" Susie replies instead. "Thank you for inviting me!"

"You deserve it," he answers. "Such a spectacular interview!" Joey Drew Studios is going to prosper greatly from it!

A tired-looking waitress arrives at the table. "May I take your order?"

After placing their food orders (Joey, filet mignon with peppered asparagus, and Susie, a green salad topped with lobster pieces coated in vinaigrette), the entrepreneur continues, "Not only are you setting yourself up for fame, you bring the crowds to us! The studio's angel has fans!"

A spark of an idea ignites in his head.

Susie is Alice...Alice is Susie...

He pushes the thoughts aside for the time being as he goes on, "Think of the thousands of little girls out there, Alice, that you are inspiring! Future voice actresses in the making! You" --he points at her-- "are making dreams come true." As I would expect from all my employees, but apparently they don't understand that. Do they ever wonder why I plaster Bendy all over the walls, on every poster, every board? Because he's our logo, our mascot! And they need to follow his philosophy!

The waiter returns back with their orders as Susie responds, "It feels good, knowing that I'm helping the world by just doing my job." She twirls her fancy fork between her fingers.

"Yes...it does, doesn't it?" Joey echoes...but the starlet notices that his voice has shifted slightly.

There's something malicious under there...or maybe I'm just imagining it?

Don't worry about it, Susie, she commands herself. Just enjoy the moment.

Most of the dinner is eaten in silence, with the exception of a few sentences from Joey about the same-old 'you're doing great, dreams come true, etc.'

As much as she tries to focus on his declarations, Susie keeps drifting off mentally. I wish Sammy was here...

Furthermore, she continues to be bothered by the slight acrimony she had detected in his dialect. It was probably nothing...right? Should I be worried?

Eventually, the dinner ends--the voice actress and the businessman rise from their seats, with the latter scribbling in the black check binder to pay for the meal.

"Thank you for everything," Susie obliges.

"Thank you for the kind words during the interview!" Joey responds joyfully. I'm going to rub those all up in Thomas's face, just wait and see!

Exiting Joe's Fine Dining, the starlet reflects on the events of the day.

Making Sammy un-jealous...

Finding out about Norman and Jack's...relationship?

And now this.

She approaches her car, pondering over the infliction in Joey's voice that had been gnawing at her.

He really does seem kind, though...

I want to trust him.

And I do.

Chapter Text

The next six days fly by with little issue—Joey had instructed Wally and Thomas that they would not be experimenting with Bendy for the remainder of the week. He had mentioned that he had formed a "great idea" over his dinner with Susie, and that he needed time to work out how exactly he was going to go forward with it.

He's stalling again! Thomas's mind had objected, but he had followed orders without complaint...like he always does. I'm sick and tired of this job. One of these days, I'm gonna snap.

Thankfully, weekends exist--all of the workers, tired of rush! rush! rush!, were quite pleased to go home and rest.

That is, except for a certain composer.

Sammy had spent his weekend dreaming up his plan to ask Susie out, from what words he would say to where he would take her.

I have a plan, and no one is going to ruin it.

Indeed, the composer enters the studio this Monday with a strut to his step--and his peers notice. With a smirk, he continues on...but not to his office. Instead, he travels straight to where he knows Susie will be: the recording room.

Start with some small talk, he instructs himself for what seems like the millionth time. Then slide in a few words about romance or a date...and then ask her.

And hope she says yes.

As the music man rounds the corner, however, he realizes that the voice actress is not present. What? Where can she be?

Calm down, Sammy...maybe she's talking to someone else or something. She'll be here soon.

He awkwardly stands in the doorway for ten minutes—although to him, it feels like an eternity.

Maybe I should go look for her? That appears to be the best solution to this unexpected calamity.

The songster paces down the corridor, his eyes scanning the interiors of the rooms he passes--but no Susie.

Is she at home sick?

He eventually rounds to the break room, and to his surprise, the musician finds the woman he has been searching for.

"Oh, hi, Sammy!" the voice actress calls out to him--she is sitting on one of the wooden chairs at the leftmost table, tapping her fingers to the beat of a catchy swing tune that a record is spinning out in the background.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sammy blitzes over to her and sits down. "You had me worried, because I couldn't find you; I thought you were gone or something."

Susie giggles. "Yes, I was hiding from you," she jokes. "Nah, I'm just taking a break--even angels need rest!" It's so sweet of him to worry about me!

The musician breathes in and out in an attempt to calm the butterflies that have taken flight in his stomach. Come on, Samuel--what the hell happened to your confident self? Do it already!

"So...Susie?"

The starlet is immersed in the music in the atmosphere--and suddenly has an idea. "Hold that thought..." A pause as she stands up and clasps his hands. "I know it's a tad...unusual for the woman to ask the man...but will you dance with me, Sammy?" Say yes, and I'll ascend to heaven.

Caught off guard, the composer halts before affirming with a "Yes." That's even more romantic than what I had planned--she never ceases to amaze me.

He too rises and swoops her into his arms; soon, the duo are flowing gracefully across the floor. The diva leans her head against Sammy's shoulder, and the tune guides the dance.

They continue their slow, peaceful sway until the end of the song, then the voice actress asks the musician, "Do you know how to jitterbug?"

Sammy's face reddens as he nods and smiles. "I presume you know how to, too?"

"Yes..."

They release each other and settle into the dance's positions--she places her hand on the middle of his arm and slides it down.

The pair launch into a series of twists, turns, and spins, with the female laughing childishly the entire time.

However, the rhythmic melody ends all too soon, so they have to quit; Sammy, now sweating from all the movement, huffs and stumbles back into a chair--almost crashing into the wall in the process.

Bleh, that wasn't graceful at all. She's a marvelous dancer... "That was...wonderful. The angel really knows how to spin."

Susie beams; she had been rather unsure of herself during the episode, but is glad to see that she did well in his sight. "Aw, thank you! You're really skilled at it, too!" Handsome and talented...he's the package deal!

Sammy decides to heed the ever-present nagging from his mind: ASK-HER-ASK-HER-ASK-HER-ASK-HER! Catching his breath, he begins, "Okay...so what I was going to say before..."

The voice actress's hazel hues light up curiously.

"Um..." he continues nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Would you like...to go on a date with me?"

The musician suddenly realizes with horror that he never came up with a plan for if she happens to reject him. I need her to say yes...

She gasps softly and winds her arms around him. "Yes!" Ha! I knew he would ask! Honestly, Susie had been preparing herself for this moment. It was only a matter of time!

OhthankGod, Sammy resolves in one scrambled phrase. "Thank you for saying yes; I was extremely worked up about this," he admits. "So, is there any specific place you would like us to go?"

She ponders this for longer than he expects, and for a moment, the composer is troubled that she is reconsidering her acceptance of the date; however, she soon speaks up and eliminates this worry.

"Can I bounce an idea off of you?"

"Um...yes, of course..." Did I do something wrong? He forces himself to remain as outwardly calm as possible.

Another delay ensues--and this time, Sammy can't read the voice actress's expression, which in turn worries him more.

No. Stop freaking out about every little detail, he tells himself firmly.

Meanwhile, Susie is debating whether she should continue on with her plan. I did promise that I wouldn't tell anyone...but if it's just him, that would be okay, right? Besides, it would be good for them to go out in public, so that they're more comfortable. They won't feel the need to hide.

I'll go for it.

"Okay...so I came across something surprising yesterday--I was walking along to the recording room, and I passed by Norman and Jack..." She stops just to be dramatic "...and they were holding hands."

Sammy raises his eyebrows. Okay, great, but what does that have to do with us?

"They were really awkward about answering when I asked them what they were doing--and after thinking about it for a moment, I realized that maybe they were having a secret date or something." The starlet drops her voice to an excited whisper. "I think Norman and Jack are a couple." They make a good one, too--they're so cute together!

The melodist reflects on the day the projectionist had questioned him on Jack's whereabouts. I suppose that makes sense--he wouldn't give me a straight answer as to why he wanted to know. "That's interesting...but why are you—?"

"I'm getting there," she interrupts, leaning on the back of the chair. "I was just thinking"--she twirls a strand of her blonde hair within her fingers--"what if we were to make it a double date? Like, we would each get our own tables, but we would be at the same restaurant with them; maybe it would make them more comfortable with themselves. We could be...an example of sorts."

Her companion is silently shocked for a few minutes. That...definitely isn't what I had planned...but I would hate to see her disappointed...

"I...guess that would be okay," Sammy finally responds. "Just as long as we do get two tables." While it would be fine in most cases to be all together, it's still a date--meaning that he doesn't want to share. Just her and me.

The voice actress nods. "We will, I promise." Her hand lingers on his, and he takes it.

"That also means that we'll have to set it up so it works for them, too," he reminds her.

She rises, letting his hand slide off of hers and run down her arm. "You're right; I better go get that all worked out."

As she marches down the hallway to the projector booth, the doubts of this plan begin to creep in. What if they don't want to come with us? Am I rushing things for them?

No...I'm doing the right thing; I'm poking them out of their shells.

Who knows? Maybe they'll even thank me later!

Confidently, she leans against the wall and glances at the tall, secretive projectionist. "Hi, Norman!"

Of course, the cameraman had perceived her promenade in--although he hadn't expected her to talk to him, as she was usually joined at the hip with Sammy. Wait...what if this is about what she saw, with Jack and me? He hopes that she forgot about it--and adopts his skill of keeping his cool. Let's think rationally here: it's completely possible that it's not about that. Instead, he answers calmly, "Hello, Susie."

She displays a clever smile that arouses his curiosity.

What is she planning?

"Sooooo," she sing-says, peering at a light-orange fingernail, "I was just thinking...since you and Jack are...a thing..."

Oh no... the projectionist mulls.

"...I was merely wondering...would you two like to go on a double date with Sammy and me?" She twirls around in a 'now, isn't that just an amazing idea?' gesture.

Norman isn't positive as to what to say. I can't tell her that we aren't a couple...she's got it fixed in her brain that we are...

But I know Jack probably won't be comfortable going out in public...

Not to mention that he possibly doesn't like me like that...

I would kind of like to do it, but only if he wants to do it, too...

"Umm..."

"You two can talk it out together," Susie assures him. "It'll be much more romantic for you to ask him than for me to bring it up." She imagines a sappy scene between the projectionist and the poet. Romance is beautiful!

The projectionist hesitates before replying, "Okay...I can ask him. I'll get back to you as soon as possible." But what will I do if he says no?

"Great!" Susie conveys pleasantly. "Good luck!" And with that, she flutters away. I'm a matchmaker!

Norman sighs to himself softly. What am I going to do?

The cameraman still doesn't have a plan when he arrives in the sewers with the coffee at two o'clock.

There doesn't seem to be any way around it...

Seeing that precious grin cross Jack's face gives as Norman traverses over the boards gives the latter those familiar warm and fuzzy feelings.

I'll just stick to the conversation, and then ask him--but I'll make sure that he knows that he can reject it. I don't want to sound forceful.

The lyricist, on the other hand, is both jubilant and anxious at the entrance of his friend; last week, the two had agreed to exchange information on their pasts.

The projectionist had disclosed that he, like Sammy, had lost a parent--his father had been in the military, and the news that he had been killed in action reached the mother and son when Norman was five.

Jack had sympathized, "I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," Norman had replied. "I don't really remember a lot about him, anyway..."

Additionally, it turned out that Norman had embraced his curiosity and habit of spying as a child when he had hunted down and retrieved a thief who had stolen a woman's purse--an act the lyricist deemed extremely brave.

The cameraman had continued that the reason he had accepted the projectionist occupation at Joey Drew Studios not only because it paid well for a rather simple job, but also because of his work environment.

"It's just the nature of us projectionists to seek out the dark places," he had explained to the puzzled poet. "Sure, they'll say, 'That projectionist, sneakin' around--he's just lookin' for trouble.' Well, trouble or not...I see everything."

Jack finds Norman extremely fascinating. He says he isn't interesting...but I don't think he realizes how captivating he really is.

However, this time it is the lyricist's turn to reveal his own story--he's a tad bit hesitant, but remembers that it's Norman he's talking to. He'll accept me no matter what.

The poet recognizes worry in his friend's eyes as the latter sits down. "Are you okay?" he asks, suspecting the projectionist's answer.

"What? Oh, yes...I'm okay," Norman responds blankly, but Jack can tell that the reply is a bold-faced lie. He's generally honest about his feelings...so maybe he just doesn't want to talk about whatever is eating at him. I mean, he has the right to privacy.

Despite his efforts, the projectionist is bombarded by anguish about asking Jack out. No. First, we talk about his past, and then we'll figure that out. Stay calm.

The duo engage in small talk for a few minutes before Jack tells Norman that he is ready to talk.

"You don't have to disclose anything that you don't want to," the projectionist assures him.

"No...it's okay. I-I trust you." He inhales deeply before continuing. "Okay...so I lived with my parents in Pennsylvania--my d-dad was a freelance writer, a-and my mom was a cook. We weren't exactly r-rich or anything, but we got by."

"I had a b-b-b-brother named Aaron...and for a long time, I got along with him." He reflects over his sibling's personality prior to what Jack calls 'The Change.' He was so carefree and joyful...

"But after A-Aaron moved out...things changed; he j-joined a street gang, a-and it was like he was a completely d-d-different p-person. Suddenly he had all these b-bruises and scars from f-f-fighting...and we t-thought he may have--" The lyricist halts, not wanting to say the word. "--h-h-hurt some girls in very, very bad ways." His voice shutters as he continues, "A-a-a-and when we t-tried to g-get him back on track, t-towards a better p-path...h-he said we w-were controlling him t-too much...and that w-we didn't own h-him...and h-he went out and b-basically t-t-tarnished the f-family's reputation." Jack takes another deep breath to calm himself down. It's okay. He's not here. You're safe.

"So w-we moved here, t-to N-New Y-York, in hopes t-that maybe we could g-get our l-lives back together...and I t-think that's when I-I stopped s-s-socializing with people and d-developed my stutter." I didn't want to become like him. "A-a-and we tried our b-best to pretend we had n-normal lives...and we haven't heard f-from him s-since. So...that's h-how I ended up here," he concludes, then lays back exhaustingly--it was...almost ingratiating to get that all out of him.

Norman doesn't say anything for a moment, processing this information--eventually, he speaks up, "I'm so sorry...it's awful that he would do that to his own family." I really wish I could relate...but being an only child, he truly cannot. "Can I hug you?"

The poet expresses a comforted smile as he rises and whisks over to the projectionist, wrapping his arms around him; Norman cloaks him under his own arms, blushing slightly.

He is such a sweetheart...

After a blissful moment, the two untwine...and the poet rests his hands on the projectionist's.

The former's heart accelerates in his chest. "T-T-Thank you..." This...is really nice.

"You don't need to thank me," the cameraman replies. "Really...I like learning about you--you're a darling."

A crimson wave appears across the lyricist's cheeks and nose, causing Norman to vex that he had been too direct in that last statement--but both parties are comforted when Jack unleashes his smile.

There is a dreamy silence only broken by the projectionist's restless thoughts. It's okay...I can do this.

"Um...so, Jack..."

The writer's dark green eyes meet the other's--the former notes that the uncertainty he had witnessed in the brown hues before has returned.

"Uh..." Norman is frustrated at himself for not knowing what to say. "Okay...so, Susie and Sammy kinda sorta want to set up a double date with us..." Actually, I suspect it was probably more of Susie's idea than his. "...and so...I guess what I'm saying is...do you want to go on a date with me? You can say no." But if you would, please, please, please say yes.

Jack doesn't respond at first, each anxious thought spinning through his mind more worrisome than the last. A double date? In public?! With people?! And Sammy is going to be there?!

In nearly any situation, the lyricist's reply would be a solid NO.

But...these aren't regular circumstances, and a tiny--and powerful--part of him wants to say yes.

Because I'll be with Norman...and he's like my stronghold.

What could there be to fear with him around?

Actually, he can come up with numerous answers to that question--but Jack chooses not to focus on those. If he is beside me, I'll be okay.

"Y-y-y-y-yes. I want t-to go with y-y-you."

The projectionist releases a sigh of relief he didn't know he had been holding. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" Ugh, that sounded a bit desperate. "Okay...so what days work for you? I can't do Wednesday night, but other than that, I'm free."

"I'm free any day." Wonder what it's like, leaving one's house and going somewhere.

"Then does Thursday at 6:00 work for you?"

The poet grins and nods, which of course creates a flurry of ecstatic emotions in Norman. Such a precious smile! I must protect it!

The rest of the Coffee and Quiet time goes placidly, with both workers attempting surreptitious glances at each other and giggling.

An hour flies by, so the projectionist gathers the mugs and treks across the boards--he reminds himself to get back to Susie about the date.

In the end, it is decided that Thursday at six will work for everyone...

...and now it's merely a matter of holding out until then.

Wally was thrilled to hear Joey's flimsy excuse for not working with the Ink Demon; it gave him the freedom to have his old schedule, and--even better--his Shawn.

The janitor makes quick work of arriving at the toy department to find the craftsman asleep in his desk once again.

He said I could wake him up... Nevertheless, Wally is a bit hesitant before shaking Shawn slightly.

"Umnhhh?" the toymaker stirs. "Is it already time to go?"

"It's me," the other whispers.

Oh! Wally! Shawn lifts his head--with some difficulty--and faces the maintenance worker. "Hi...sorry, I think I nodded off at--" He yawns. "--I don't know, 4:30 or something..."

"Ah, I don't wanna make you force yourself to clean or anything," Wally tells him patiently. "And nothing really great happened, so I don't have much to say anyway. You can sleep if you want, and I'll wake you when I'm done."

"You...don't have...to do that..." the toymaker attempts to reply, but howbeit lays his head back on the desk and closes his eyes.

Sweet dreams, my love, Wally mentally apprises him, and continues on to do his work.

It is a serene scene for the penultimate event of the day with the janitor's calm humming in the atmosphere and Shawn snoozing in the luxurious plush room.

The same effect takes hold of both of them when it's time to depart, but something else suddenly strikes the toymaker as he roves over to his car.

He's so nice to me...

I don't know what I would do without him...

A glance at the studio doors...

I think...I might be in love with Wally Franks.

One final person remains in the workshop: Joey Drew.

He had remained locked up in his office, not so much working as dreaming up his plan he had conveyed to Thomas and Wally.

What if...I could convince Susie to place her soul into Alice?

The businessman has a suspicion that it might work well--indeed, Susie loves her role as the heavenly creature. Just a bit of...pushing from her boss to become the character.

Think of the popularity she would get! And the fame I would receive! A real, live angel...

...sent from above!

Chapter Text

Tuesday and Wednesday come and go with little disturbance--both studio couples are euphoric (but meanwhile rather nervous) for their date.

While everything goes moderately smoothly for the duos, the case is not the same for other studio workers.

Daniel "Buddy" Lewek had been hired as a gofer by Joey and Henry just before the latter's dismissal, and although the young man definitely has suspicions regarding his current boss, he does his work efficiently and without gripe.

Though it would be nice if people could remember my name, he thinks, remembering the slip of Terrence--or as Buddy is ordered to call him, Mister Dail.

"You, gofer...what's your name again?"

Despite the fact that the event happened months ago--Terrence had managed to remember the boy's name since then--it continues to bite at the aspiring artist. I wish I could be promoted...maybe I wouldn't be so pushed around. Indeed, the few of the eternally-grouchy workers can be thorns in the gofer's side with their demands, Sammy especially; however, Buddy reminds himself to be satisfied with his conditions--it would be what his mother would want.

And I'm doing this all for her.

His current task is to deliver a stack of papers to the accountant Grant; he scans the sheets to perhaps decipher what they may contain, but it's all a mess of numbers.

So much math...I'd hate to have his job. I bet Dot would understand all of this. Dorothy, or "Dot," is an intern writer at the studio, and one of Buddy's few friends in the place.

The gofer arrives at the financial department and locates (with some difficulty) Grant's office. With a *creeeeeak* of the door, he peers inside.

The flustered auditor is muttering to himself absentmindedly while scribbling furiously on a paper. "Doesn't add up...taxes..." I tried to warn him...

Stepping foot into the office, Buddy mumbles, "Um...Mister Cohen, sir?"

Grant lifts his head and fixes his glasses, finally noticing the delivery boy. "Oh, um, Buddy. Yes?"

He remembers me! "These are for you." The gofer hands the stack to the accountant, who sighs.

Not this again... "Ah, thank you." He lowers his voice and begins talking to himself once more. "I told him we couldn't afford to keep paying them like that...but no, it's 'they won't stay if I keep their salaries low, that Connor is just looking for a reason to quit, you're worrying too much, we have plenty saved up.' As if he knows..." Seeing Buddy's confused gaze, the bookkeeper realizes he is ranting. "Oh, sorry. You're dismissed." I'll have to set up a nice long meeting with Mister Drew.

Buddy awkwardly stumbles out of the office. Wonder what that was about.

No, Buddy, mind your own business. You have work to do...or as Mister Drew puts it...

'Bring dreams to life.'

It's five o'clock--Thomas, Joey, and Wally meet in the Ink Machine room, where the middle one had informed the other two that he would disclose his "master plan" to them.

The owner paces along, enunciating his words with numerous dramatic gestures. "So, we have the Ink Machine...and we have the souls."

Thomas wants to stop him right there. What the hell is the matter with him? What kind of madman would be willing to use his workers like that?

The janitor is rather discontented at this whole scenario--he had gotten used to seeing Shawn after hours, but that right has once again been revoked from him. All because the dreamer had another dream! If he keeps doing this, I'm outta here!

"And," Joey continues, "we have a talented individual who just might be willing to place her soul into a living Alice! All I have to do is talk to her...motivate her into the right direction."

No, that would be the VERY WRONG direction, Thomas mentally argues, and he tells Joey so. "Besides, you will never convince her to do that--she's not stupid. Just forget about this...idea you have; we've got enough on our hands with Bendy." His mind drifts to how the inky creature has acted throughout the past days. He's quite calm usually, but the minute you touch him, he goes into a flurry.

I wonder why.

Meanwhile, Wally is only loosely paying attention to his boss's oration--Joey had made him start thinking of Shawn, and now he's stuck on that subject.

The toymaker had seemed to come to a revelation over the last three days (though the janitor's knowledge of what it could have possibly been is naught), and Wally had noted that his friend was quite nervous lately.

Something is worrying him...I wish he would tell me what it is. I hate to see him so agitated like this.

"Wally!" Joey directs, dragging the maintenance worker out of his thoughts. "Help me out here!"

"Huh?" the other answers vaguely. "Oh, um, no...it won't work. Like what Thomas said, Susie isn't gonna fall for that. And we have our hands full with the Ink Demon...and stuff..." he trails off.

"Hmp," the businessman grumps. "It's not a matter of 'falling for it'; she would sacrifice herself willingly." And based on what I've observed, she would be more than glad to take the role.

Thomas steps menacingly in front of Joey. "You asked for our opinions, and we said no. End of story."

The owner turns away. They aren't believing enough! If they would just trust me, they would see that it would work!

I'm always steering the boat, as a leader should. I guide our destiny, keeping the big picture in sight.

All they have to do is trust in me...

...but apparently that's too difficult.

"Fine. Go home, both of you. Forget I said anything." I'll take care of this myself.

The GENT worker and the janitor stand there, dumbfounded.

We actually convinced him?! Wally thinks incredulously.

Meanwhile, Thomas contemplates, Forget you said anything? No problem--been doin' that from the beginning.

"Go! Out with you! Now!" Joey waves them out.

All three parties exit the building--before they head their separate ways, Thomas and Wally share puzzled looks.

The construction worker kicks a gray pebble on the ground and pivots to glare at Joey. He's planning something...I can feel it.

However, this is approximately the hundredth time he has had that suspicion. I'm used to it by now...

Besides, what can I do about it? He'll shut me down in an instant.

Wally, on the other hand, has mentally left this subject--he's back to worrying about Shawn. Maybe I should call him when I get home.

Joey warily observes each person drive away before getting into his own car and heading home.

He enters his medium-sized apartment--the walls in his living room are an orange-red that blends well with the green carpet. On the walls are abstract paintings and an old-fashioned-looking clock, as well as a "Dancing Demon" poster--additionally, there is a desk in the rightmost corner of the room with sketches plastered upon it. To the left of the area is a bulletin board with reminders and notes pinned across it.

However, the businessman travels straight past this room and heads into his kitchen; here, there is an island counter in the center, a refrigerator, and windowed cabinets lining the wall.

So they think I can't do it, the man continues to gripe. Well, I'll show them. She'll become Alice...whether she wants to or not.

He turns toward his cabinets and subconsciously peers inside, still grumbling mentally, until he realizes what he's staring at.

The cupboard door is opened with a *squeak*, and Joey reaches for the object inside:

Château Mont Exquisite Wine.

The beverage was given to him back in 1917--nine years ago--when Joey was twenty-one. He was advised to "let it set," because wine gets better with age.

If he is honest with himself, he had forgotten about it--especially after Prohibition had been implemented.

But it's still legal to have it in your possession...

And obviously I'm not going to sell it or anything...

Might as well put it to good use.

He opens a different cupboard and pulls out a tall glass, then carefully fills it up with the crimson-red liquid.

I deserve this.

The businessman lifts the glass to his lips and sips it.

Wow. They were right...this is great.

As he continues to drink it, the effects of the alcohol begin to set in, giving him a soothing, calming...and rather reckless feeling.

I should do this more often!

I feel like I can do anything!

Nothing is out of my reach!

After he pours himself another glass, Joey places the bottle back in its cupboard; he turns to his small kitchen window and glimpses at his reflection, savoring the grape flavor.

The businessman wipes his face, and Window Joey copies this movement--some of his concealer comes off, revealing the bold, black scars.

He doesn't care.

Why would Tommy and Wally ever doubt me?

I know what I'm doing...

I'll show them.

The couples agreed to meet at a restaurant called "Sardi's"--this was Susie and Sammy's idea, as the other two had heard of the place but had never been there.

As he exits Norman's car--the projectionist had acceded to picking him up--Jack can immediately discern that this establishment is an ornate one. The building has a maroon theme to it, with the title of the restaurant written in white, curly script.

The lyricist glances toward Sammy and Susie, the former of which is currently bragging about his car.

"She's a Nash Touring," he explains to his date, running his hand along the silver exterior like one might pet a puppy.

Jack's eyes scan the composer's and the voice actress's outfits. Apparently, they had planned them together--Susie is donning a sparkly purple flapper dress, while Sammy is wearing a tuxedo with a matching purple tie.

Once again, the poet envies Sammy; looking over Norman's and his own casual clothes, he feels extremely out of place.

I guess we missed the memo that we'd be going somewhere fancy...

The only way Jack had prepared for the date was by dabbing on some Pour Un Homme...but now he sees that it wasn't enough.

Is this one of those super high-class places that'll reject you if you aren't wearing a suit? he worries.

Meanwhile, Norman is rather unconcerned about the elegant atmosphere, but he can see that his date is anxious; the projectionist throws him a comforting smile.

Please don't worry, songbird...

Of course, the cameraman's heart is aflutter at the thought that he is actually on a date with Jack, but he attempts to keep his composure.

Do it for him.

After a bit more chatter from Sammy, the duos enter the restaurant; along the walls of the place are various frames of art by famous artists--Jack recognizes da Vinci's La Bella Principessa on the leftmost façade. The area itself has the same red coloration as the outside, with narrow black tables. The room is lit by tiny circular bulbs that are strewn along the window panes, giving the entire space a tranquil atmosphere.

Sammy and Susie step earnestly forward, while the other two linger slightly behind them; the lyricist tries to focus on the hum of the radio in the background in order to somewhat alleviate himself.

Next to Jack, Norman detects the cologne. He smells nice. A mental pause. Okay, that sounded a little creepy.

A waiter in a white suit walks toward the group.

"Two tables, please," Sammy directs almost immediately, while mentally congratulating himself for choosing this place to have the date. She's very impressed--I can tell.

Indeed, the starlet peers at the restaurant in awe. It's so pretty! Almost as much as Heavenly Toys!

The waiter leads the couples to two black marble tables, set up so that Norman and Susie are on either side, with Jack and Sammy back-to-back.

The lyricist drums his fingers nervously, staring a hole into the table. People...everywhere...

"Jack," Norman whispers.

Anxious dark green eyes meet steady brown ones.

The projectionist hesitates slightly before laying his hand on the lyricist's.

"It's okay. I'm here."

Jack smiles slightly, but Norman can still spot the uneasiness shifting in his eyes.

Meanwhile, the composer and the starlet are engaged in elated conversation.

"This place is magnificent!" the female reflects. He has such a great sense of style! "How did you find out about it?"

"Well, it is pretty well-known," he replies smoothly, "and of course I want the absolute best for my angel."

Jack fights back the urge to roll his eyes at this cheesy line. How come it's so easy for them to relax and enjoy themselves?

Wait, I should be paying attention to Norman, not them...

I've already failed...

As if he read the poet's mind, the projectionist says, "Don't mind them--this is you and I. We're a different story." Even if Susie is trying to put us on the same page.

That's...a really good way of wording it, Jack ponders. Wish I could phrase my sentences like that.

The dinner carries on quite smoothly--or at least until Sammy spills his soda onto himself.

The musician swears under his breath as he hurriedly grabs some napkins and wipes his white tuxedo shirt off. Susie, if you would, please forget that this incident ever happened.

Norman has to giggle as he sees the smirk cross Jack's face.

However, once that particular scene has passed, the composer regains his confident poise; and once again, Jack and Norman are left feeling as the inferior couple in this situation.

He keeps comparing himself to them, the cameraman worries, picking at his horseradish-flavored potatoes. How can I convince him that he's better?

Eventually, after much waiting for Sammy and Susie to finish up their conversation, the pairs are ready to leave.

As each get into their corresponding vehicles, they have one question in mind:

What will the rest of the night bring?

Sammy parks his car outside Susie's house and escorts her onto her porch; she turns gracefully toward him at her doorstep.

"I had a great time tonight," she begins. "Thank you for everything. I'd love to do it again." Dreams do come true!

"I did, too," he agrees. "And you're welcome." Such a charming woman...

Suspense hangs in the air above them for an awkward moment.

Come on, just do it, Sammy pushes himself.

"Um...Susie?"

"Yes?"

A moment of silence as he leans a bit closer to her.

"Do you kiss on the first date?"

The starlet bats her eyelashes coquettishly. "Hmm...only if the first date is with a remarkable composer named Sammy Lawrence."

She too inclines towards him...and lets his lips meet hers.

For an enchanted moment, they kiss--then release.

Red-faced Sammy thinks, Wow...that was amazing! And much easier than I thought it was going to be!

Susie smirks. "How was that for a first kiss?"

"Yes..." is all he gives for an answer, and she giggles.

"Have a great night, Sammy," she beckons him, wrapping him up in a hug before she whisks inside.

The composer merely stands there for a blissful moment.

Yay! I did it! I win! We win! The angel is mine! And I'm hers!

He stumbles off of her porch, almost falling over at one point--his legs have turned to jelly.

I never knew Cloud Nine was a place on Earth...

At the same time, Norman stops outside of Jack's apartment.

Should I escort him? the former wonders before noticing that his date is already opening the car door.

I thought I would feel good about this...but I think I may have forced it onto him too much.

Have I ruined it before it has even begun?

The cameraman shoves the worries aside as he catches up to Jack at the lyricist's door.

Projectionist and poet stare at each other in puzzlement of what to do next.

"Um...I—" Jack attempts to begin. JUST SAY THE WORDS, his mind screams at him. "I-I-I-I liked t-that. T-t-thank you." Please just read my mind, he mentally begs Norman. You'll see that you don't have to worry.

You were the best part.

"Yeah...of course." Norman smiles slightly, scratching the back of his neck.

There's a hesitant moment for the writer before he decides to go for it. "C-c-can you l-lean d-down?" Don't-be-nervous-don't-be-nervous-I'M-VERY-VERY-NERVOUS-AHHHHHHHHHH!

Huh? Albeit being a bit confused, the cameraman crouches down to be eye-level with Jack.

The latter's heart pounds as he hastily plants a kiss on his date's cheek.

Norman goes bright red as he stands back up--on the outside, he's calm...but inside, he's screaming like an overjoyed little girl.

"S-s-s-sorry..." the lyricist apologies. I should have asked him if he'd be okay with that before I WENT AND DID IT. Why am I so stupid? And now he's gonna think I'm insensitive...

"Don't be sorry," the projectionist hurriedly reassures him. "It was good—better than good—I mean—um..." Damn, now I'm losing my words...but I love what he does to me! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Jack grins shyly. He doesn't hate me for it...

"Heh...um...h-h-have a good night, N-Normie. I-I-I mean N-N-Norman! Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry!" Ugh, why am I so awkward?!

He called me Normie! He is SO cute! EEEEEEEEE! the cameraman mentally squeals--but keeps his mature aplomb. "You too, Jack."

Jack starts into his house while Norman practically flies back to his car.

THAT WAS AWESOME! the latter mentally yells in the safety of his vehicle.

I needn't have worried so much...

Maybe...

Maybe everything will work out okay for us.

Chapter Text

Three more days pass, leading to a fresh new Monday.

In the music department, Sammy and Susie are immersed in a carefree chat.

"...so I said to her," the composer continues his story, "'You have the flats mixed up.' And she kind of squinted at the paper, then said, 'Ohhhh, you're right.' So I said, 'Yeah, I know I am.' We both laughed for a bit, and when she played it again, it sounded fine."

"That was sweet of you to help her," Susie responds.

He shrugs. "Eh. It's what I get paid for...just doing what I do best."

Much to the surprise of his peers, a great change had come over the musician--he has become considerably more social and less likely to complain about or snap at his coworkers.

I actually feel good for once...

Weird.

He mentally moves on to the next subject...the action he has been waiting for:

Asking the voice actress on another date.

And this time it should be easier, since I did it once.

Right?

He clears his throat and leans back in his chair nonchalantly. "So...my angel?"

Susie blushes. "Yes?" I love it when he calls me that!

"I presume you enjoyed our little...social engagement on Thursday?" He smiles knowingly.

She giggles. "Why ask such a silly question? You already know the answer is yes--I was with you!"

"Right, of course," he replies, still using that playful tone. "How inane of me. So then...I daresay you would be willing to go on--?"

"Susie!" calls Joey's resounding voice; once again, the owner has sneaked up on the two. "Sorry to interrupt this little moment here--"

No, you're not, Sammy thinks bitterly, his pessimistic attitude beginning to return. Why does he always have to barge in?

"--but I would like to speak with our Alice here," Joey continues, ignoring the visually frustrated instrumentalist and pivoting to Susie. Time to turn on the charm. "Miss Campbell...after hours, would you please meet with me in my office?"

Susie scans the businessman's grinning face, realizing how indecipherable it is. That smile could mean anything...

Ah, but why am I worrying about that? It's not like he'll do anything bad!

After all, he put me in this wonderful position!

Where would I be if it weren't for him?

But the memory of his sudden shift in tone at their last meeting suddenly breaks into her mind.

I'm sure that was nothing, she tells herself--nevertheless, she peeps at Joey's face again. Those lines are still there...

No, Susie. Stop thinking like that.

You have to trust him.

"Sure!" she reciprocates joyfully. "But can I ask why?"

Joey struts along for a moment in a 'I-know-something-that-you-don't' manner; this perturbs Sammy.

What is he planning? the latter speculates indignantly. There's something sinister brewing in that eccentric mind of his...

The entrepreneur lowers his voice so Sammy can't hear him. "Well, let's just say I have an...opportunity of sorts for you." His blue eyes shine in feigned kindness. "It's actually a bit of a secret...like an experiment. But I'll reveal, Alice, that if you follow through with it...you'll make so many more dreams come true. Even more than you are now."

He draws himself up to his full five-foot-eight height, watching the confusion swim through her hazel hues. "It'll all make sense later...that is, if you so choose to agree to its conditions." Joey steps toward her. "And of course our angel would help us, right?"

Inside his mind, however, the businessman fears what he is doing. Is this manipulation?

No, he decides. I'm helping dreams come to life. It's not wrong. I'm not the bad guy.

I'm the hero.

The owner remembers Wally and Thomas. I need to prove them wrong.

All they have to do is believe!

And once they find out I made Susie into Alice...

Well, seeing is believing.

Meanwhile, Susie debates this entire concept. Why is he being so mysterious about it?

Maybe it's a surprise! A promotion, maybe?

But what does he mean by 'conditions'?

No, I have to stop questioning him! He's shown me that dreams can come true...

Besides, how bad can it be?

"Yes. I'll stop by after hours," she finally agrees.

Joey gives her that unfathomable smirk again. "Thank you. I'll see you then."

Sammy's light green irises follow his boss's footsteps until the latter is out of earshot. What did he say? Why is everything such a secret with him? "Susie...I..." He sighs and searches for the right words. "Just...please be careful."

The voice actress is puzzled at this dictation. "Huh? He's not going to do anything bad. I think whatever it is will be a good thing!"

The composer is definitely not sure about that; he tells her so. "I don't know...something about how he acted wasn't right." He clasps her hands into his. "I don't want you to get hurt. Promise me you'll be cautious." She trusts him too much...maybe I should go with her, just in case. But what would I do if I got caught?

Get fired, probably.

The starlet replies, "Okay, I promise. But I think you're stressing about this too much..." Maybe he's jealous again. Yes, that would make sense...

He exhales once more, not knowing what to say to that--he decides to change the subject. Take my mind off of him. "So, um, on what I was talking about before...would you like to go on a second date?"

She smiles brightly and hugs him. "Yes!"

That was easy! "Great, thank you. How's Friday?"

"That works out fine for me."

That phrase releases a weight off of his mind. "Then it's settled." He releases her. "Good luck at your and Joey's...whatever." Ugh, I don't want her to go, though!

But I'll never convince her...

She thinks he knows what's best for her...

"Thanks!" Susie stands up; elegantly, she strides away from her date. Don't worry, my love--I've got this.

Sammy is still vexed, however, as he observes her dainty walk.

What is Joey going to do to my angel?

Jack is in his office, tapping his paper with his pen--he should be focusing on lyric composing, but instead he is fixated on the clock.

He'll be here soon...whose turn is it to bring the coffee?

I think it's mine...I suppose I should get that, then.

He scoots off his chair. Besides, it's not like I'm doing anything. Lately, the lyricist has been in a writing slump; despite his attempts to force himself to create something, he can't seem to get in the groove of it. Why does this happen so often?

I feel so useless...

The poet shuffles into the break room, glancing around the room in hopes that he won't be captured into a conversation with anyone--to his relief, no one is around. After grabbing two styrofoam cups and placing one under the spout of the coffee machine, he observes the brown liquid *plinksrrrr* into the container.

Since their date, the projectionist and the poet have been stuck in a type of relationship limbo--they're more than friends, but less than lovers. Jack frets that if this continues, their friendship may suffer.

I don't want to taint what we already have...

But...

What if this is a good thing? Maybe we're meant to go farther.

Like it's our destiny or something.

Fate is not exactly the poet's favorite subject; he figures that if everyone is destined to go one way or another, what's the point in choices?

And if it is real...then does that mean that no matter what his family could have done differently, Aaron still would have selected the path that he did?

The lyricist shoves the memories of his brother out of his mind.

I don't have to be like him.

He thinks back to Norman--elated emotions sparkle throughout his body.

Well, destiny or not...it feels right.

After depositing the correct amounts of each ingredient in the coffees, the writer seizes the cups and scrambles back down the corridor.

Wait, we never worked out where we are going to meet.

Umm...

He decides to head toward the projection booth and ask--but luckily runs into his friend on the way.

"Hi," Norman says, grinning giddily. "Fancy meeting you here." Was that funny? Or did it just sound stupid?

Jack smiles, which the cameraman takes as a good sign. "H-h-hi. Um...i-i-it's my turn to bring this, right?" He lifts the containers in his hands slightly.

"Mm, I think so. I mean, you already have it, I guess." Wow, way to state the obvious, Norman.

"Okay, g-good. Where do you want t-to go to?" the poet presses.

He's stuttering a lot less, the projectionist notes. He must be getting used to me...maybe I can quit worrying so much then. "We can do your office this time, since we haven't really been there." A hesitation. "Just, um, let me grab something--I'll meet you there."

Somewhat puzzled, Jack continues on to his office and sets the coffees on the table. What does he need to get? No, never mind--it's none of my business.

After a couple of minutes, Norman arrives at the room, blushing slightly; the lyricist catches a glimpse of something he is holding behind his back.

"Um..." the projectionist begins nervously. "I realize that it's a bit of a cliché...but I brought you something." He withdraws his arms to reveal a red box of...

Chocolate! Jack discerns joyfully--he eagerly puts his hands on the package. "Thank you so much!" He feels himself blush as he lets go of the chocolate box and clings to Norman instead.

The small wave of magenta crossing the cameraman's face spreads. Maybe I'm not as bad at this romance thing as I thought...

Eventually, the projectionist and the poet release each other and settle into their chairs--Jack delightfully opens the chocolate box and insists on sharing the contents with his friend.

"Y-y-you know, I've been t-thinking," he starts, letting the sweet taste linger on his tongue. "If S-Susie is so rapt on bringing c-couples together, then I t-think she should send W-Wally and Shawn on a date. I b-bet they wouldn't say no."

"That's true...maybe I'll have to hint that to her," Norman acknowledges. "I mean, technically I brought her and Sammy together--I'm the one who suggested that he ask her out." He sips his coffee meditatively. "Speaking of which, Sammy's a lot happier than I've seen him in a while. I think Susie is good for him."

"S-She is really nice..." the lyricist esteems. Though just as confident as her boyfriend...I guess that's a good thing. Two self-assured people together...never having to worry about anything...

They carry on in their chatter, and the subject turns to the GENT workers.

"So what do you think they're gonna do with that 'ink machine'?" Norman questions. "I mean, it seems like Joey bought it, and now it's just sitting around." He recalls the inky Bendy-like abomination he and Jack had witnessed earlier. "Do you think it made that...thing we saw?"

"It would m-make sense," his friend discloses. "I think w-w-whatever it was...whatever it is," he corrects himself, "it is made of a black substance... I-I think it's i-ink." I really don't like the looks of it though...it's scary.

"But what is it supposed to be?" the other wonders. Wow. I've been so caught up in my love life that I haven't been thinking about this.

I need to know. Bad things will happen if I do not figure this out.

Perhaps it's time for another...stalking.

Jack detects the mischievous flicker in those brown eyes--he reaches over and places his hand on Norman's.

"If y-you're thinking about s-spying again...I-I'll come with you. I-I-I'll go with you...we'll p-protect each other." But also because you've incited a curiosity in me.

We need to find out why Joey is pulling the wool over our eyes.

The projectionist beams. He's such a sweetheart! "Thank you...songbird."

Jack flushes at the mention of a pet name. "I-If I let you c-call me that, you have to l-let me have a n-nickname for you."

"Deal. I presume it's Normie?"

"No...s-s-something more c-creative than that," the poet muses. "How about...flicker? B-because projections flicker, and y-you kind of g-get a flicker in your e-eyes when y-y-you are thinking a-a-about spying." He laughs timidly. Is that too weird?

Norman leans closer to Jack. "I love that." He's so talented and creative and precious and kind and everything! "Um...can I do something? Something like kiss your forehead? Just for a second?" Or is that going too far?

The lyricist nods, and the cameraman swiftly pecks him under his curls while mentally screaming in ecstasy.

This action throws Jack into a fit of giggles; he's more joyful than he has been in quite a long time.

I really, really like this...him and I.

It doesn't need to be fate...we're automatically drawn to each other. And I feel safe around him.

Like I don't have to hide...

I'll be his songbird, and he'll be my...flicker.

And together...maybe we'll figure out the mysteries of this studio.

It's 3:40 p.m.--Shawn is down in the toy department, attentively fixing an eye of an Alice plush.

Joey gave me a lot of this angel whatchamacallit...but it ain't selling! What am I supposed to do with it? Wish he would tell me that.

Might have to melt it all down in the end to rid myself of it...

He punctuates his stitches with a sigh--then to his glee hears a marvelous noise: the *clank*s of the elevator.

Wally!

The toymaker hurriedly fixes the neckline of his shirt and skips over to the lift, immediately shrouding the janitor in his arms when the latter emerges.

"Oh, good afternoon to you, too," Wally laughs, hugging the craftsman back; he had grown weary of pining for his crush and had decided to visit despite his work. If they need me, they'll have to come and get me.

I don't know how much more of this all-work-no-Shawn I can stand.

Once Shawn is finished hugging--or as Wally regards it, cuddling--the maintenance worker, the latter examines the former. "Where's the fancy party?"

"Huh?"

"You combed your hair, and you're wearing a collared shirt. You hate collars!"

"Oh..." The toymaker blushes and wrings his hands. "I...did it for you. Do you like it?"

Wally hesitates. He did it for me? "You want the truth?"

"Please." It's a no, isn't it? Shawn's mind deadpans.

"Well...no," the janitor finally answers. "It's not...you. I like your hair all messy." He runs his fingers through the red mane to return it to its normal untidy state--delightful shivers travel down the toymaster's spine. "You don't have to change for me; I lo--I mean, I like you just the way you are."

"Aw, thank you," the other responds semi-anxiously. Gah, why am I so nervous? I've been in love before...why is this time different?

"Shawn?"

The aquamarine eyes focus on the concerned browns. "Yeah?"

"You're worrying me." Wally takes the craftsman's hands in his and rubs his thumbs against the other's fingers. "You've been really agitated as of late...what's wrong? Did something happen?"

It's really that obvious? Shawn comprehends. Shit, now I've got him all in a dither about me. "I'm okay, really--please don't worry. Just stressed with work is all."

"Have you been sleeping enough?" his crush presses. I just want to make sure my Shawn is okay.

"Yeah. Wallace, I'm fine. I promise."

The janitor considers that since the toymaker used his full name, he must be serious. "Okay, I believe you. But really, if anything is ever botherin' you...please talk to me." I want you to be happy.

"I will," Shawn vows, caressing the other's hands. "But enough about me—how are you?"

Wally pauses. "I'm good...I guess. Joey's puttin' my schedule in flux again—he's got somethin' planned, but he ain't tellin' Thomas or me. Says he's got this meeting right after hours, but that it won't take long, and we'll be lookin' at Bendy again. I don't know why he can't be straightforward with all of this." He sighs a bit, then smiles at his crush. "But I'm happy since I'm with you. You're the light of my life." And the whole reason I still work here.

The craftsman goes red and draws closer. I... "Really?"

Wally leans his forehead on Shawn's. "Yes."

For a moment, both blushing parties sit like that—head-against-head and hand-in-hand—until they're rudely interrupted by the *click*ing lift.

"Wally!" calls a voice, but it isn't Thomas; when the elevator finally reveals the source, the maintenance worker recognizes her as one of the other GENT workers, though he can't place a name.

She halts at the sight of the two, becoming aware that she is interfering with something. "Oh, um..."

Already time to go? Wally mentally whines. I haven't even been here ten minutes! "I'm coming." He releases Shawn, who holds his beloved's hand as long as he can before the former ambles away. "I'm sorry," the janitor whispers. "I'll visit you again soon, I promise."

The two construction workers walk into the lift, the female at a saunter and the male at a reluctant shuffle.

As the elevator noisily descends, the woman speaks up. "Is that where you always sneak off to? To see him?"

Wally nods.

"Ah...so then...are you two--?" She gestures loosely with a couple of her fingers. "Is he your boyfriend?"

A smirk crosses her co-worker's mouth.

"No..."

The smirk gets wider; it is visible, even in the dimly-lit elevator.

"...not yet."

The day churns on, finally leading to closing time; Susie bids her date goodbye as he packs up.

"Please remember what I said," Sammy reminds her somewhat desperately. I hate to leave her...

But what can I do about it?

The starlet gives him one last goodbye kiss on the cheek. "I will. But like I said, you don't have anything to worry about. It's not like you'll never see me again." It's really cute when you get jealous, but you're taking it too far. Please don't fret.

I can't convince her, Sammy is forced to accept. "Well...good luck, and have a good night."

"You too." She watches him walk away, then hums as she makes her way to the businessman's office.

The door is slightly ajar when she arrives, but nevertheless she knocks. "Mister Drew?"

"Come in, come in," Joey beckons from inside; she follows the order. "Please, take a seat."

The voice actress does so--although the owner can sense slight suspense about her.

She's about to get the opportunity of a lifetime.

"What is it?" She finally asks the question she has been pondering all day.

"I'll cut to the chase," Joey discloses. "I know how much your Alice part means to you, Susie--believe me, that little angel means the world to me too. All of my characters do!"

He pauses dramatically.

"You see...I've got this little idea--or as I say, a dream--that we may be able to bring those characters to life. Our fans would be able to talk with them, shake their hand...and bask in our success."

The owner lowers his voice the same way he did around Sammy.

"Now, onto this little...project of mine. I have cultivated a plan to make that dream a reality; call it a ceremony or a ritual. And if it works--which it will--then you'll be making so many dreams come true.

"What do you think?"

Susie eagerly listens to this whole speech, lightly noting the businessman's emphasis on "will."

It sounds like the tone he used at the restaurant...

No! I can't keep thinking like that!

I'll never get anywhere if I continue to be suspicious of him.

"Can you tell me more?"

Joey rises from his chair and paces around his office. I've got her hooked!

"As much as I would love to..." Joey begins, with a tone of a mysterious yet intriguing storyteller, "I think you'll have to perceive it yourself to understand. See to believe." He pivots to her. "If you could put aside time tomorrow after hours, I'd be glad to let you witness the contraption so eloquently created." Another dramatic pause. "What do you say...Alice?"

The starlet's heart pounds excitedly in her chest--she doesn't even consider the possible details to this plan. "Yes! I'll be here! I want to see." Sammy didn't have to trouble himself! I told him it would all be okay!

He nods, more to himself than to her. "Great. Just one more thing, then."

She inclines forward curiously. "Yes?"

"You must not tell anyone about this little plan of mine," Joey dictates. "It's a surprise...and we wouldn't want to spoil it, would we?" Otherwise we'll have Thomas 'You-Have-Absolutely-No-Clue-What-You're-Doing-Joey' Connor on our case.

The voice actress hesitates. "Can I please tell Sammy, since he's not involved?" Just to soothe his worries about all of this?

"No," the owner answers almost immediately. "It's best if no one else knows, and that includes him." He wavers for a second. "When it all is finished...then you may tell him." But by that point, he'll have figured it out himself.

Because seeing is believing.

Susie agrees to keep the scheme under wraps, and Joey dismisses her.

"Have a nice day, Alice."

"You too!"

He gazes at her as she leaves, then enters the corridor to Thomas's office. That went along quite well.

And Tommy said I couldn't do it! Shows what he knows!

Onto the next task, then.

He appears at the GENT worker's door; inside, Thomas is adhering a Dancing Demon poster to the wall near Bendy's cage.

This isn't going to work, the construction worker grumps. 'Exposure'...what a bunch of bullshit.

"Um, so what exactly are we trying to do here?" Wally asks from the corner.

"I'll be glad to explain," Joey speaks up. "I came up with a solution to our little soulless Ink Demon here; while we may not have a soul for him--"

Yet, echoes his mind.

"--we do have resources, and we're going to use them. We'll expose him to the posters and projections of how he's supposed to be, and maybe he'll understand, 'Oh, that's supposed to be me,' and begin to operate like a Bendy should...instead of being a helpless blob. Exposure is key--seeing is believing."

I've said that quite a lot today.

The janitor has doubts on this. But he doesn't have a mind to think with! "Um, then what should I do?"

"Set up a projector," the businessman commands, "and put it over by him--just don't block the poster. We need to surround him."

Wally frowns, but does what he is asked to. Okay, I'm not gonna be the one to tell him that this ain't gonna work.

The projector is switched on with a *clkt*--suddenly, the Little Devil Darling himself is prancing along the wall.

The Ink Demon turns toward the Dancing Demon and stares.

"See? I told you so! He's already starting to comprehend that that's him on the screen," Joey enunciates. Can't they trust me? They know I'll be right in the end. "That's all we'll do for tonight. Just leave him here."

"Hey, wait," Thomas breaks his silence. "What am I supposed to do with all this in my office--the projector, I mean? It's in the way." Kind of like you.

Joey simpers obnoxiously. "Deal with it--you're the one who knows it all. Figure out how to manage it yourself." Ha! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!

The dark glare emerging from the construction worker's face is palpable--so much that Wally asks if they're dismissed just to shatter the atmosphere.

"Yes," Joey answers simply, still smirking at Thomas.

The GENT worker storms out of the building, followed by Wally.

I'm a fifth wheel here, the latter thinks.

The owner smugly watches his employees depart before stepping outside himself and heading home.

They haven't seen anything yet.

Back in his kitchen, Joey immediately opens the cupboard and withdraws his wine bottle.

I deserve this after all I do.

The entrepreneur realizes that there's only about a third of the bottle left once he's finished pouring his glass.

Where'd it all go to? I only had a little bit each day.

Maybe you're getting too carried away, says a voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Henry.

Shut up, Joey retorts. I can quit when I want. It's not like I'm addicted or anything.

He sips his wine and lets the warm sedative flow through him.

This is nice...why did I never think of this before?

I should get some more...

But there's something standing in the way of that goal.

Oh...right. Prohibition.

That would mean if I were to buy more--which I'm not saying I'm going to--it would be illegal.

But I'm not that desperate.

He shakes the glass slightly--the last few drops of red liquid swirl around the circumference.

I'll have to enjoy it while it lasts.

Joey tilts his head backward and practically inhales the rest, gasping a bit when he lowers the cup.

Soon, I'll have a real live Alice...and hopefully a working Bendy.

Then Tommy will see.

And he'll believe.

Chapter Text

The next day, Susie strolls into the recording room, closely scrutinized by not only Sammy, but also by Jack and Norman hidden surreptitiously in the projector booth--the latter two hope to gain at least a tidbit of knowledge on the...rather strange happenings of the studio.

And according to them, what better way to find out than by spying?

"So how'd it go?" the composer asks his beloved. Tell me every little detail.

"Um..." she wavers. What do I say? "It went well."

A pause ensues as Sammy waits for her to expound--when she doesn't, he questions, "That's it?" She's not willing to go any further with it?

What exactly did he tell her?

"It was like he said--an opportunity for me," the voice actress hurriedly clarifies. Please don't ask any more questions...

"Yes, but what kind of 'opportunity'?" he presses, stepping closer to her. "You can tell me."

She is again silent--Norman digests this whole episode. She's being awfully secretive...why?

He eyes Jack, who shrugs.

"It's a surprise," Susie finally answers, enunciating every syllable. "You'll just have to wait and see." I'm sorry...I would tell you everything if I was allowed to.

The musician frowns. "So you mean to say you accepted this...possibility he offered to you?" What is it? I have to know! Pleeeease tell me! he mentally begs.

I suppose I can disclose that much. "Yes...well, kind of." She lowers her voice--Jack strains his ears to hear her. "We're going to go over more details after hours tonight. But I promise that it's a good thing. Please don't worry about me."

That...tells us nothing, Jack ruminates, looking over at Norman's curious eyes.

My flicker is alight again.

"W-We're staying after hours, I-I presume?" He smiles at him, already knowing the answer.

"But of course. You know me so well." The projectionist beams back. I--we--need to know what she's getting at.

Jack doesn't reply; he is focused on Norman's face--specifically his mouth.

Suddenly, the poet has a strong urge to kiss the projectionist.

Like a real kiss...not just on the forehead or the cheek...

My lips on his.

It's a beautiful thought.

Wait, is it too early for that?

Ah, I don't care anymore!

Norman observes the lyricist's expression for a moment. He looks so peaceful...what's he thinking about?

Jack ever-so-slightly leans closer to his crush and shuts his eyes; the latter finally figures out what's happening.

He's going in for a kiss!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

The projectionist follows suit to his love's actions.

Closer and closer...

The two are about an inch apart...when the moment is ruined by a frustrated yell from Sammy.

The cameraman and writer snap back in surprise.

"What was that?" Jack asks what they are both wondering. It sounded...bad.

And it interrupted our...moment...

Norman takes his beau's hand in his. "Let's go find out." I'll kiss you later, I promise.

The duo treks toward where they think the noise came from; they are led to the art closet, and in front of it is a certain composer drenched in ink.

Susie appears behind him. "What happ--oh..."

"I go to grab something, and the whole damn works spills on me!" Sammy gripes loudly--a few of the workers from the art department emerge to see what's going on. WHY THE HELL CAN'T THINGS GO RIGHT TODAY?!

His eyes fall upon the ink-covered floor, then travel up himself, then shoot toward the crowd he is drawing in.

"You!" He points callously to Buddy, who shrinks back a bit. "Clean this up! Now!"

The gofer raises his eyebrows. It wasn't my fault! But nevertheless, he does what he's told--he rushes out to grab cleaning supplies. I can't afford any arguments...especially not with him.

"Samuel," Terrence speaks up strictly. "Please calm down--this is not something to throw a fit over."

The musician directs a sharp glare to the head artist while Susie withdraws a cloth and begins wiping some of the ink off of her date.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

His expression softens as he peers back at her. "Yeah..." The bitter but slight taste of ink lingers on his tongue--one of the ink bottles that had landed on his head had broken, spewing ink on his face. Yuck.

The composer suddenly becomes aware of a burning sensation on his neck and cheeks.

What? Ink is supposed to be cold! Not stingy!

"Give me that cloth," he demands, and Susie hands him the material; he briskly wipes off his face and hair, the irritation subsiding dramatically as he does so.

From the corner, Norman and Jack exchange puzzled and doubtful looks.

"I can't do much with your shirt," the voice actress tells the composer. "It might be permanently stained." I'm sorry about this, darling.

"That's fine..." Sammy growls, although it's coherent from his tone of voice that it is most definitely not fine. With another fierce glower at the gofer at his feet, he stalks off; Susie follows him.

The poet and the projectionist stand there, dumbfounded.

"Uh...t-that was a thing," Jack finally declares. He didn't need to lose his temper over some spilled ink.

"Yes...it was."

An awkward pause.

"Um...so are we s-still on for t-tonight, then?" the lyricist questions. Gah, that makes it sound like a date.

I mean, I guess it sort of is...like a creeping-around stalky sort of date.

"Hm? Oh, yeah," Norman replies. "We're gonna find out what Joey and Susie are planning..."

His eyes take on that mischievous shine again.

"...no matter what it takes."

As the day goes on, Buddy finds time between hassling with requests from his superiors and avoiding the ticked-off composer to chat with Dot. He slides as sneakily as he can into the writing department and pulls up a chair next to her.

"Hey. Whatcha working on?"

The female pivots in her seat to him; she is around eighteen, with dirty-blonde hair that looks like it might have been curled at one point, and she has wide circular glasses over her tired eyes.

"Just the usual cartoon transcripts." The writer pushes her typewriter towards him so he can read it.

The script abruptly ends there.

"That's all I have done so far," Dot explains. It's been a busy week. We have deadlines here and there--I suspect that Joey doesn't understand how long it takes to do this kind of thing.

Then again, he created the studio...so he should know.

She leaves it at that.

"It's good, it really is," Buddy tells her, wishing he had a better word than 'good.' Because it's a lot better than good. Really, it is. I'm proud of her. "I've been busy, too--Sammy spilled ink on himself and the floor, and he made me clean it. So he's not exactly in the best mood."

She smirks. "Buddy...I don't think Sammy is ever in the best mood."

He laughs. "Yeah, that's true, I guess. But there's something else." The gofer quickly glances around the department in an attempt to see if there's anyone eavesdropping. Nope, noses in their work. Good. "Yesterday, Mister Drew had me deliver some accounting papers to Mister Cohen...and when I got there, Mister Cohen was really stressed about something."   I mean, I guess that's probably normal for him, but still. "It got even worse when I handed him the papers--he was muttering to himself and everything."

Dot digests this for a quiet moment. "I want to say that it's probably nothing...but it might be something." Dot, you can use words better than that. "I mean, maybe Joey is investing in a new project."

"Besides whatever the GENTs are here for?"

"Perhaps...although I don't have the foggiest idea as to what it can be." He's always dreaming up things, but he doesn't tell anyone until it's too late.

"Hm..." Buddy contemplates. Does this place have enough money to afford a new project? Maybe that was the question Grant was asking--the thing he's so worried about.

"'Hm' indeed," the writer concurs. "I'd go as far to say that Joey had surprised Grant with whatever the new idea was...it's even a possibility that he hadn't warned him about it." It's definitely sketchy--no drawing pun intended.

Time to add that to my notes.

She digs into the nearby pouch she keeps slung around the backing of her chair and withdraws a spiral notebook with her name neatly written in the rightmost corner.

"Is that your writing notebook?" her friend asks.

A pause. "Yes and no. It's for...personal records, rather than my job." Records that I hope to bring to light one day. She flips the tablet open to a specific page and grabs her pen--Buddy leans over and catches a glance of the contents previously written inside.

The intern hurriedly scrawls down:

She snaps the notebook shut and observes her friend's confused look.

"As I said, just some personal records." The writer smiles, but according to Buddy, it's quite an ambiguous expression.

Those are her observations on Grant, he realizes. I bet she has a page dedicated to each worker.

It's no surprise to the gofer that his colleague is extremely intelligent, but even this bit of information--that she keeps tabs on everything happening in the studio--is rather bewildering.

Is she trying to find out what's going on behind closed doors? Or is it just that she wants to get everything straight?

"Buddy?"

He snaps back to reality. "Oh, um, thanks for letting me bounce that off of you. It's good to get a second opinion."

"Of course." Thank you for calling this to my attention.

She peers back down at her journal.

One day, she tells it mentally, I might have to give you up.

But let's hope it doesn't get to that point.

I'd like to keep both of you around for as long as I can.

At the end of the day, Susie prepares to once again meet her boss--this time, however, she sets off for her destination without a word to Sammy.

He's going to try to convince me not to go, and I can't have that.

He needs to trust Joey like I do.

It's for the best.

The owner is already waiting for her--rather smugly, she regards--at his door.

"Alice!" He says it as if he has been itching to finally show her what he has planned. "Are you ready to see the project?"

"Yep!" she responds cheerfully. Oooh, what could it possibly be? The anticipation is killing me!

Such a nice change to see someone so full of ambition like myself, the businessman contemplates. "Well, then, let's waste no more time. Follow me."

As the entrepreneur and the voice actress clamber down the visually barren halls, from around the corner two pairs of eyes follow them--one brown and one dark green.

"Are you ready?" Norman whispers to his songbird.

Jack nods; the poet and the projectionist track the other pair's footsteps as the latter stroll through the maze of corridors.

The duos arrive at the door of the GENT worker room; Joey pulls out a key and unlocks it, then ushers Susie inside.

We aren't going to be able to get inside, Jack realizes to his horror as his boss enters the off-limits room.

The lyricist is proven wrong, however--subsequently, his crush reveals a set of keys belonging to a particular janitor.

How did he get ahold of those? Jack is astonished. Wally was in the GENT room all day! "Wha--how--?"

The projectionist fails to hold back his smirk as he silences Jack with a "Shh...I'll tell you later." He waits for a moment just in case Joey and Susie decide to exit...then inserts the key into the slot with a *cltck*.

I'm having déjà vu of when he and I first did this, Norman reminisces as he and the lyricist slither in.

Up on the balcony, the starlet's eyes take in the bulky machine in front of her. Wow...

I guess I should be impressed, she presumes from her boss's proud expression. But...it looks kind of ugly.

"I know it's not the prettiest thing in the world," Joey begins as if he had read her mind. "But it'll work like a charm." Or it should, anyway.

"What does it do?" she questions--Joey hears just a tad of doubt in her voice.

"Brings cartoons to life," he answers casually, as if this is the most normal and obvious subject ever. "But more importantly...it brings dreams to life."

The owner starts pacing like he had in his office the day before.

"Now, this Ink Machine will only work correctly if it has a soul to place within the character it intends to create," he continues, decidedly not mentioning the Ink Demon. "So I would like to ask you, Alice...will you be our angel?"

Under the balcony, Norman and Jack exchange fearful expressions.

Susie is stunned.

How...how is that possible?

"I don't understand--how is it supposed to work? How would I put my soul into a cartoon?" It just doesn't seem achievable...

"Um...well," Joey falters; the hidden workers correctly conclude that their boss isn't exactly positive on that aspect, but the latter rapidly regains his poise. "I believe that you would physically become Alice--like a walking, talking, real-life version of her."

But that doesn't explain how it works! "Yes, but--"

"Enough questions," he interrupts, and this time there is a steely edge to his voice. Not everything has to have a logical explanation. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Jack bites his lip. I'm no law expert, but I think turning someone into a cartoon character using their soul is some kind of illegal. He glances at his spying partner, who is still concentrated on the conversation.

He's really cagey about the entire process, Norman considers. Something is definitely not right here.

"How would I live my normal life, then?" Susie questions.

"Uh, just the way you do now," Joey responds as if people wake up as cartoons and go on with their lives every single day. "But you would take the identity of Alice Angel instead of Susan Campbell."

The voice actress ponders this. Would I really be willing to change myself just to become a star?

I mean...ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be famous...to have my name in shining lights...

But would it really be me?

And what would my family think? Or my friends? Or Sammy?

"Alice," her boss enunciates softly. "All you have to do is believe, and it will all work out." Each sentence after this statement is like a separate point.

"Belief can make you succeed."

"Belief can make you powerful."

"Belief can make you rich."

"Why, with enough belief...you can even cheat death itself!" What a beautiful...and positively silly thought.

"Don't you want that...Alice?"

She is still hesitant. Yes...I want all those things...

His bright blues meet her hazels. "Then believe in me."

The starlet shrinks slightly under his heavy gaze.

Say no, Susie, and run far, far away, Norman mentally begs her.

Meanwhile, the voice actress thinks, I...

Yes. I know what I have to do.

It doesn't matter what anyone else says.

I want to be happy.

I want to be beautiful.

I'm Alice Angel.

"Mister Drew...I'll be your angel."

The words are worth saying to see his shimmering smile.

Oh no...ohnoohnoohnoohnoNONONONONONO! Jack panics.

"Wonderful," Joey declares. "Then we'll start the procedure on Friday."

She raises her eyebrows. "That soon?" But Sammy and I have our date! "Can't we delay it--?"

"No." The icy tone returns. "It's been delayed long enough." Susie doesn't understand what that last line means--images of Thomas flash through her boss's mind. "If you want to be Alice, you have to earn your halo as soon as possible. I'm being generous by letting you have the days leading up to Friday; cancel any appointments or meetings you might have. I'll regularly stop at your house and pick up your mail so I can drop it off here--."

"Wait, I won't be able to go home?" Maybe I shouldn't have chosen this...

Joey's mouth forms something between a smile and a frown. "No, not at first--but once everything is set up, you'll be able to go out in public. But until then, you'll have to stay here."

Susie has a thousand questions--she rushes to ask them all in one breath. "Where will I live? What will I eat? What about my job?"

"Alice, slow down!" The businessman lifts up fingers as he answers each of the questions. "You'll live here, in the studio. I have a cag--I mean, I have a...secure enclosure that you will inhabit. You can eat the bacon soups in the Tasty Eats machine." He jerks his head to indicate the dispenser in question. "It might become a bit bland, but it's what we got."

A pause ensues, punctuated by Norman's and Jack's heavy breaths.

"As for your job...I'll have to hire a replacement--but she will be temporary. Just until we're ready to put our angel on stage."

A...replacement? Susie's mind echoes with a tad of jealousy for her job. "You promise that she'll be temporary? And the minute I'm revealed, she'll be dismissed?"

Joey's eyes meet hers again. "I promise.  Alice, you have to trust me." Believe in me.

Before, the voice actress had enjoyed being called her character's name...but suddenly, it seems like an omen.

I'm split on this...

I want to do it...I really do.

But I guess there's a lot more to it than me saying, "I'm Alice Angel" and transforming into her.

I have to take a chance.

He'll make my dreams come true...and I'll make millions more come true.

It's a win-win situation.

Ignoring the slight voice in her head telling her to reject this whole plan, she finally gives her answer.

"Okay. Let's do it."

Susie...no... Norman has a desire to unveil himself and step in to stop her. But...there's nothing I can do about it...

"Wonderful!" Joey announces. "Then it's set--prepare yourself for Friday."

The cameraman senses the lyricist cling to his arm in terror as the entrepreneur and voice actress bid each other adieu and exit; the door is locked with a *cht*.

There's a moment of silence as the projectionist and poet emerge from their hiding spot and run over what just happened in their minds.

"T-That...t-that is terrible," Jack says finally. "W-What are we g-going to do?"

Norman sighs. "I hate to admit it, songbird, but I don't think that we can do anything. She's got it set in her head that this is what she wants--all we can really do is try to change her mind by hinting that maybe she shouldn't go through with 'whatever opportunity' he had offered her, while still pretending like we don't know the details." But that won't fly...

"It's im-p-possible..." We just witnessed Susie agree to her doom.

"You're right."

There's another silence, this one more sorrowful--despite the fact that Susie will be with them for the rest of the week...it already feels like they have lost her.

The two exhale dejectedly.

"Well, I guess we should go home then," Norman suggests. That's the end of the show.

Speechlessly, the duo traverse up the stairs, and the projectionist unlocks the door.

"Wait--y-you were going to explain h-how you got ahold of t-those," Jack remembers.

His friend smiles, but his eyes are still sad. "Ah. Well, I started chatting with Wally just before he left...and I took them right off his hip. It was really awkward, especially because I had to distract him so I could grab them." It would have been awkwarder still if I had gotten caught.

"That was b-bold of you...b-but it was worth i-it." I guess, anyway...at least we figured out what is going on.

"Yeah..." is all the other says in reply.

The two walk to the studio doors, still sneaking around despite the fact that Susie and Joey have already left.

Norman scans the horizon as he holds the door open for his crush.

I'm not good at goodbyes.

"Um...well, see you tomorrow, I guess."

"You too."

As the projectionist shuffles over to the street to hail a taxi, he continues to think about what he and Jack had witnessed.

I hope we can convince her to not become...something she is not.

Joey strides into his kitchen, on his way to his favorite bottle.

I just need a little bit to numb the stress...just a little buzz. To drown out all the anxiety.

Then I'll be okay.

He doesn't even bother getting out a glass this time--after popping the cork, the man lifts the container to his lips.

I'm the only one who drinks out of it, so what the hell?

The familiar grape taste splashes onto his tongue, but it takes a few more sips than usual to achieve the warm feeling.

Huh. Guess my body's a bit slow on the uptake.

His mind drifts to the events of the day--particularly what had happened after hours.

If she keeps her end of the deal up, it should all work out.

She just has to believe in me.

A mental pause.

Unlike some people who don't.

Yes, Thomas comes to mind...but someone else breaks into it, too: his stepfather.

Joey reminisces of the time he had with his mother--for years, it was just her and him.

She had explained to him when he was seven that Joey's father had left her once he had found out she was pregnant.

"He was a very kind man," she had said to her son when he had asked about his absent parent. "He...just wasn't ready for children." Joey had thought there was more to add to that statement, but never questioned it out loud.

The young Drew had often wondered what his father looked like--Joey presumes that he must have inherited his dad's traits, as he didn't look much like his female parent apart from his eyes.

However, mother and son were happy together for a long time, even without a male adult's presence.

"Always believe, Joseph," his mother had always told him. "Believe in magic, believe in others, but most importantly, believe in yourself." That's where Joey had come up with his philosophy.

But everything changed when his mom announced that she had met a man--this statement was odd to her son, as she had never beforehand expressed interest in finding another partner.

"A boy should have a father figure to look up to," she had explained passively to him.

Some father he turned out to be, Joey thinks, drinking his wine.

His mother's boyfriend--and later husband--seemed to always be disappointed in his partner's child, whether it be from his grades in school to his drawing hobby.

He never believed in me...

Whenever his stepfather addressed Joey around others, the latter was always "my wife's son."

Never "my son." Joey swallows. Though I guess that's a good thing--I'd have hated to be related to him.

Bitterness and resentment boiled between the two men, but they kept it a secret from the female of the house.

We both loved her enough to do that.

Then his mother became abruptly and extremely ill--college-age Joey had put aside his classes to come visit her for about a month.

That was the worst month of my life. His stepfather, bereaved, had gotten after him for every little mistake--a week before her death, Mrs. Drew finally became aware of the coldness between her son and husband. The two men, after being tearfully told off by the woman they loved, agreed to put their petty fights down and take care of her.

But after she passed away, the tension grew even worse...until one day Joey got in a particularly bad argument with his stepfather.

I don't even remember what it was about...but I remember what he said.

"YOU'RE NOT MY SON!" his stepfather had yelled.

Joey had seethed, "WELL, YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER, AND YOU NEVER WILL BE!"

The older man then kicked the younger one out of the house; back at college, Henry had tried his best to comfort his business partner, but to little avail.

After he graduated, Joey took the first chance he came across to travel away from his small hometown in Michigan and live in the Big Apple. Henry soon followed suit, and that was how the location of the studio was decided.

I had to get away from him.

He never believed in me or anyone or anything else.

The businessman realizes he is attempting to pour an empty bottle--he had drunk the rest of the wine while he was flashing back.

Shit. So much for enjoying it while it lasted.

At least I feel a little better.

He gazes somewhat forlornly at his reflection in the bottle.

It's like I've lost a friend...

I really want some more...

But the kitchen is beginning to look a bit blurry.

Ugh...I might be a teeny bit tipsy.

But it's a good kind of tipsy...

His thoughts begin to become slow and delirious.

Alice...

Believe...

She will be the angel.

The angel of this world's stage.

Chapter Text

The next day--Wednesday--Susie steps into the music department...but today, instead of being her normally chatty self, she is rather quiet and troubled.

I can't accidently let anything slip...

But I need to tell Sammy...

How do I explain it without explaining it to him?

On cue, the composer earnestly strolls over to her, arms open wide. "My angel! I missed you!" Are you finally going to tell me about whatever it is you're planning?

Please...I need to know...

Just ease my worries...

"Hi, handsome," she replies, trying her best to sound casual. Well...now's the time. Think, Susie, think!

"I figured I'd visit you before I get the band going," Sammy continues, hitting the end of the baton in his right hand against his left. "How did last night go?"

She falls reticent for minute before answering, "It went well...and I'm taking the opportunity he's offering. But--"

"That's great!" he congratulates her. Maybe I didn't need to worry after all--she's still here.

"Samuel, wait." The starlet hesitates. "There's...more to it than that. I...you...you're not going to see me for a while."

She feels positively awful as she watches his face fall. I'm so sorry, honey...

"What?" The musician's voice is despaired and weak. "You're...you're leaving?"

No! That can't be right! She only just started working four or five months ago! He couldn't have fired her!

"Nononono!" Susie hurriedly clarifies. "I mean, I'll be here for the rest of the week, then I'll have to leave. But I will return." Another falter. "But...I'll look a bit different when I come back."

His forlorn expression mutates into perplexity. "Huh?" Is she going to get a makeover or something? "Susie, I don't understand--"

The voice actress sighs. "You can't understand; well, moreover, you won't be able to understand until it's finished."

"Until what is finished?"

She doesn't know how to answer that. "...the thing I'm going to do." Please...I need you to stop asking questions. "I'll be okay, I promise." The female puts her hands on the male's shoulders. "And you'll be okay too--I know you will. Remember, your angel will return." And in her best form.

The conductor analyzes this before asking, "How soon?"

A moment of silence.

"I...I'm not sure. But it won't be long." Trust me. "I'll be back with you as soon as possible."

After a bit more scrutinizing, he decides to believe her. "Okay..."

The voice actress lays her head against her boyfriend's chest and listens to the *thunk thunk thunk* of his heartbeat.

"I'll be fine, and you will be too," she vows as he wraps his arms around her.

"Right," he agrees, more to appease her than to convince himself. It's fine...it's all fine. Everything will work out.

But...why do I still feel a sense of impending doom?

Like there's something I don't know about all of this...

He releases her and studies her exit.

This is all too much, the musician exasperates as he heads toward the recording room to get the orchestra started.

Meanwhile, Susie passes by the projector booth, where Jack and Norman are already waiting; the starlet halts at the mention of her name from the latter.

"Yes? What is it?"

The projectionist and the poet exchange nervous glances. "Um...so whatever thing you're planning to do--"

How do they know about that? Susie mentally questions. I guess that they were eavesdropping on Sammy and I...

She is not angry at them for that, however. It's nice of them to care so much about me!

"--just...know that you don't have to follow through with it," Norman finishes awkwardly. That sounds so vague...but what else is there to add? "I mean, you have the final say."

The males are dismayed by the female's confounded expression.

Jack decides to speak up in an attempt to clarify. "S-Susie...y-you sh--"

"Alice!" interrupts Joey all-too-audibly. "Our angel! If you'll just step aside for a second, I would like to give you something."

"Sorry, I have to go," the voice actress apologizes to her flabbergasted co-workers. I never realized just how popular I am with everyone here! Ha!

She darts over to her boss, who turns his back to the other employees. "What is it?"

He smiles that mysterious grin--the one that could mean anything--and drops his voice. "I'm afraid to admit that I forgot to mention a certain aspect of the scheme we have arranged; since you ever-so-willingly agreed to be the angel of this world...I believe you should be rewarded."

The businessman surreptitiously hands her a small rectangular piece of paper--when she unfolds it, it is revealed to be a check.

"Huh?" she utters as her eyes take in the little details of this stationery, from the fancy swirls printed upon it to Joey's loopy signature in the corner. My payday isn't until Friday... "I don't--"

"You do," the owner finishes for her. "I have generously decided to double your salary--just one of the many perks you'll get from this job." A dramatic pause ensues, and his voice shifts slightly. "Of course...if you are thinking about taking back your agreement, I can easily revoke it." He clenches onto the check with three fingers. "...But you aren't debating such things...are you, Alice?"

His tone is somewhat threatening, and she knows what she has to say. "No, no, of course not." Wow...fame and fortune! "I definitely want to do this--no cancellations."

That's right, Joey confirms. No cancellations. Keep that in mind, Alice; I can't have a fickle angel. "That is all, then--you are dismissed."

Susie heads on her way with a spring to her step--she's finally completely happy with her decision.

Who would ever pass up a chance like this?

What could possibly go wrong?

Sammy continues to anguish over his beloved as he impatiently waits for the studio band to finish setting up.

I don't think she knows what she's getting into...

But maybe it's nothing to fret about...

She seems really sure of herself...

But she's always like that, despite any future consequences...

Back and forth go his worries, like a mental seesaw.

Maybe I should just put this aside and get to work. "Come ON, people! We don't have all day!"

The composer's eyes hit an inkwell near his music stand--evidently left there by a careless Art Department worker--and a sudden jolt convulses through him.

It's almost as if the ink is calling his name...

"Sammy...Sammy..."

Even odder still is the craving the musician is having...a craving to...get the ink inside of him.

Like thirst...

I...want to...consume it...

He recognizes how terrible that sounds.

No! Why would I even think such a thing? Ink is poisonous!

What the hell is wrong with me?

He sharply pivots away from the inkwell...but still it seems to mock him.

Ignore it, Samuel.

Ignore this crazy feeling...

Ignore the worries...

And focus.

In the projector booth, Jack and Norman are still perplexed as to what to do about Susie.

"We...c-can't just l-let her go through with i-it," the former enunciates dismally. There has to be a way to stop her...

The cameraman scoots closer to the lyricist. "I think we've done all we can--there's no changing her mind." He sighs as images of a walking, talking Alice Angel flutter through his mind. "She'll just have to deal with the consequences after it's finished. In the meantime, we just have to live our lives..." And pretend we don't know a thing.

"Yeah..." Jack replies vaguely as Sammy calls upon Norman to switch on the projector; all the lights go out as the familiar *click* is heard.

The poet takes a deep breath.

"Um...flicker?"

Those steadfast, warm brown eyes focus on the greens as the orchestra begins their first piece. "Yes?"

The writer feels himself blush as he reaches into his pocket and withdraws something. "I-I-I...want to give you s-something...since you g-gave me that c-chocolate..."

He reveals the object: a black, fabric-woven bracelet with a pearl in the center held in place by a silver clasp. "I-It's a gift I got f-from Aaron...before he..." A pause. "Um...anyway...he told me t-that p-pearls symbolize r-rarity in the w-world...and t-t-that they're r-really special..." Come on, Jack--quit with the hemming and hawing and give it to him! "So...I-I want to g-give it t-to you b-b-because--"

The last words come out like a flood.

"--you'rereallyreallyspecialtome." Red-faced, the poet thrusts the bracelet toward its recipient.

Norman feels his own face heat up as he carefully places his hand on the pearl in the center--it's satisfyingly smooth. "Jack..."

The cameraman wraps the lyricist into a hug.

"Thank you, songbird." I love it, I love this...

I love you.

When they untwine, both of their faces are bright crimson; Norman hands drift down Jack's arms as he moves closer.

The other leans forward slightly...

"Is Sammy watching?"

Norman also inclines, throwing a glance toward the orchestra; indeed, Sammy is too caught up in his work to be paying attention to what is going on in the dark booth. The brown eyes meet the dark greens again.

"Would it matter if he was?"

The poet and the projectionist are about two inches apart.

"No..." Jack whispers, closing his eyes.

Then their lips meet...and it's amazing--fireworks explode in their hearts, and glitter douses their minds.

The instrumentalists are still playing when the two finally separate.

EEEEEEEE! Norman's mind celebrates. I JUST KISSED JACK FAIN! WHAT A FEELING!

The lyricist is at more peace with himself than he has been in a long time. That...was marvelous. He realizes he still has the bracelet in hand. "Here..."

Norman extends his wrist, and Jack winds the jewelry around it.

"Thank you...really..."

The poet smiles that shy smile. I'm glad he likes it...

As the band blares out their final note, the two draw closer once more.

Let's forget about the world for a while, the projectionist mentally tells his partner, knowing that Jack is figuratively reading his mind.

Forget the chaos...and the lies, and the secrets...

Just let it be you and I for now.

In a different and romance-free part of the studio--Heavenly Toys--Shawn is painting smiles on ceramic Bendys while debating how to solve his own love dilemma.

I guess it's not exactly normal for friends to hug and coo and cuddle as much as we do...

And I made that sweater for him...do friends knit clothes for each other?

It's finally becoming clear to him.

I've loved him for a long time...and I'm just now noticing it.

I can't believe I didn't recognize my own feelings...

The toymaker sighs as he brushes a tooth onto the current Little Devil Darling.

But what if he doesn't like me like that? I don't want to put him in an awkward position if I confess.

But I also don't want to hide my feelings forever...

Shawn's mind is flourishing with thoughts of Wally, Wally, Wally.

He's amazing...

I want him. I want him so badly.

But...what if he doesn't want me?

The craftsman finally glimpses at his work; he perceives that he had messed up.

Shit...the smiles are crooked...

Ah well. It's just a few of 'em.

His attention drifts back to the janitor.

I miss him...

But he'll be back soon. He always comes back.

For now, I guess I'll have to deal with what I have:

Smirking toys and a lovesick heart.

Back at his house, Joey heads for his kitchen.

It all worked out fine! Good job, me! he mentally congratulates himself.

And now...time for my reward.

He remembers that he had consumed the rest of his wine the day before.

Oh yeah...

Well...I guess it's not like I need it.

But there's a lingering, unquenchable thirst in his throat.

I'm...dry...

I...just need a little bit...

Just a little.

Scouring his house for whatever little bit of alcohol he can find, his mind drifts to the voice actress he has in mind to take over Susie's position--temporarily.

I trust that she hasn't told Thomas yet--otherwise I'd have gotten a talk from him.

Probably will get one pretty soon, though...

But I'm the boss. I'll show him.

To the man's delight, he finds his desired liquid--in the form rather squat bottle of vodka.

Wonder where I got this from.

Bah, who cares? Joey makes quick work of twisting the cork off and tipping the vial.

The owner gets an unpleasant surprise, though; the liquid burns as it goes down, and he almost spits it out.

Yuck!

Another glance at the bottle.

Okay, what was I expecting? he realizes. It's a mixer, not an aloner. It's going to taste terrible by itself.

But...

He takes another swig; although it still stings, it's not as bad as before.

You're getting pretty desperate to drink that, chimes in that Henry voice.

Where did you come from?! Joey thinks back aggressively. And I'm not desperate, by the way.

Considering what happened yesterday, I would advise you to quit while you can, the Henry voice continues.

Shut up! You don't control me! Joey's own thoughts shout back--it's times like this he's glad Henry had left. He was so naggy. Always "advising" me. I don't need advice! And I can quit if I want, when I want. The last point is more to himself than to the phantom voice.

He sets the bottle back on the countertop. See, I'm quitting right now. I'm fine.

Shoving the bottle back and feeling relieved to be back in his own brain, the businessman focuses his attention to the future Alice Angel once more.

Remember what I said, dear Alice...

No cancellations.

Chapter Text

Finally, the formidable Friday arrives...

Sammy vows to himself to spend all of this day with the departing voice actress--but unfortunately, she isn't around right at this moment.

Where...where is my angel?

The composer feels absolutely pathetic without her...like a piece of him is missing.

I need to find her...

Before she...

No.

No more wasting time.

He rises from his desk and starts toward his door.

Opening it produces a *creak* and reveals a surprise: a certain toymaker is on the other side.

Hm?  "Um...hi, Shawn," the musician greets him, confused.  "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Shawn scratches the back of his neck nervously.  How do I word this?  "Um...well...I...I need some advice."

Half-flattered that someone is asking him for his opinion, and half-annoyed that this whole scenario is getting in the way of him searching for Susie, Sammy huffs before asking, "What kind of advice?"

There's a slight hesitation from the other before he answers, "...Love advice." You just seem like the guy to ask.  A deep breath.  "Um...so I kind of have this...interest in someone--."

"Wally," Sammy interrupts--it's not a guess, but rather a statement.

The craftsman's eyebrows shoot upward as he tints pink.  "Uh, yes.  How did you know?"  It's really that obvious?

"Shawn," the composer begins softly, "everyone knows.  You two spend every moment you can with each other."

The toymaker's face flushes a shade of red akin to his hair.  Even the other workers figured out that I like him before I did...

"Now, what is it you need?" Sammy continues. "You two have a fight or something?"

"Nonono," the other rapidly clarifies.  "It's just...I realized that I love him...and I don't know what to--."

Once again, the musician cuts him off.  "Tell him.  He loves you, too--again, it's really clear to the rest of us.  So tell him, Shawn...before you lose the chance to."

Listen to yourself, Sammy, the composer's mind points out.  You have a special phrase to say to a certain angel in your life, too.  Go!  Now!

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go."  Sammy dismisses himself.

"Oh...um, thanks then," Shawn expresses to the other's retreating back.  Well...that was easier than I thought.  He's in quite a hurry, though.

So I just have to wait until our next meeting...and say the three little words.

Easy...

...right?

§

Sammy eventually finds his sweetheart in the break room and continues to stay around her throughout the rest of the day, even pushing aside his work just to spend time with the starlet.

I can't let her go yet...

No final regrets.   I have to tell her.

On the other hand, Susie is finding Sammy to be a bit clingy; however, she doesn't say anything, because she knows the reason why.

He's too worried about me...thinking he's going to lose me.

But how do I get him to understand that it'll still be me?

A mental sigh.

I never realized just how...  inconvenient ...secrets are...

At last, howbeit, the end of the day arrives--it's time to bid the angel adieu.

The female pulls the other close to her in a rather futile attempt to comfort him.

"It'll all work out fine, dear.  I promise."

The musician frowns as he internally runs over all problems that had developed in the past week: the ink spilling on him (and the strange cravings he has been having), Joey being obnoxious, the unexpected visit from Shawn...and of course, Susie leaving.

It's all happening too fast...

Too much going on at a rapid pace...

Make it stop!  Someone!  Please!

But he refuses to let his beau down.

No.  I have to be brave.

For her.

"Yes...yes it will."  How I hope that will be true... "Good luck."

She shines that glamourous smile.  I've finally got through to him!  "Thank you..."

The voice actress leans in and kisses him for a marvelous two seconds, then pulls back and grasps his hands.  "Remember...I promise to be back."

Hold up!  Sammy realizes something that had previously slipped his mind.  How could I forget?!

I even told myself no final regrets!

"Susie, wait!"

The female pivots.  "Yes?"

SayitsayitsayitSAYITSAYIT! the composer's brain screams at him.  "I love you."

She races back to him and throws her arms around him.  "Aw, Samuel...I love you too."  I'll always be your angel, forever and ever.

That one little phrase alleviates his worries significantly.  There...now it's done.

Now...I just wait for her to return.

After flashing that grin one last time, she glides away elegantly; visions of her future form dance in her head.

Alice and I...we're going places!

§

It takes a tad longer than usual for Joey to arrive at their agreed meeting place--the door of the Ink Machine room.  Susie checks her watch.

Did he forget?

No, that can't be...you don't just plan something as big as this and forget about it.  Besides, we agreed on no cancellations.

*Tick, tick, tick.*  The ever-moving second hand punctuates each moment that the boss doesn't show up.

After what feels like an eternity to the starlet--but in reality is only about five minutes--Joey's footsteps foreshadow his entrance.

"Hello, Alice--I apologize for my tardiness," he conveys almost immediately.  "I'm afraid to say I got caught up in a...slight disagreement with one of my workers."  Tommy should have known I would crush his complaints in an instant. I don't care if he has anything to say about it--she agreed to the job. I'm the boss, and it's my decision. "But it's all worked out now--we may continue our little ritual."

Susie clasps her hands in excitement as he unlocks the door.  This...this is incredible!  I'm going to be a pioneer in the field of angels!

The duo enter the semi-ominous room, with the female surveying the area in thrilled curiosity and the male mentally piecing together what exactly they plan to do.

"We'll make this as simple as possible," he begins, gesturing to each component of the Ink Machine as he mentions them.  "First, I put this picture"--the owner proudly holds up a sketch of Alice Angel--"into this little slot over here.  You will be sitting under this spout, which will drench you in magical ink--"

This bewilders Susie; what Joey is ever-so-casually speaking of seems fanciful...even impossible.  Magical ink?  That's a thing?  How...?

"--which then will turn you into a real-life Alice Angel!" the businessman finishes enthusiastically.  If it works out, anyway, continues his mind; he shuts those doubts down with, No.  All we have to do is believe.  Believe, believe, believe, and it will happen!  "Understand?"

There's a pause before she replies hesitantly, "Not exactly..." (Joey exasperates, How much more straightforward could I possibly make it?) "Firstly, what is magical ink?"

A marvelous substance, he muses--but instead he answers, "Exactly what it sounds like."

"Yes, but--"

The businessman's tone shifts to a slightly colder one.  "Why does it matter, as long as it works?"  That's like questioning why alcohol makes someone calmer--it doesn't matter.  If the shoe fits, wear it.  "Just believe, Alice."

Maybe it is the thing that caused those scars, she contemplates.  Realizing that he's not going to give her a better answer, the ex-voice actress moves on to her next question.  "So...this magical ink...it'll one hundred percent turn me into Alice?"

"Yes," he affirms.  "The illusion of living."

"Huh?"

"The illusion of living," Joey repeats.  "The ink will turn you physically into Alice--giving you the appearance of her."  Now please stop asking silly questions so I can get home and...

He doesn't finish the thought.

"Right..." she says rather unsurely.  I hope it's more than an illusion, though.  I want to be the real deal.  "One last thing, then."

His eyes narrow, causing her to hurriedly inquire, "I just want to know if the ink will stain my clothes."

A stunned silence.

"A chance to bring Alice to life...and you're worried about the ink staining your clothes?!" the owner questions incredulously.  Stalling, stalling, stalling!

"Well, yes," Susie responds, considering that it may have been better to not bring the subject up.  "I mean, this is an expen--"

"You'll be fine," he deadpans.  "Now, no more of this--get into your place."

The woman shuffles over to the hideous Ink Machine spout and slides under it, with her back facing the contraption.  This is much more awkward than I thought it would be...

But it will be worth it.

I know it will.

Meanwhile, Joey ambles over to the slot in the machine and slips the sketch in it.  See, Thomas?  I can do it all by myself.

I don't need permission to become successful.

"Are you ready?"

His voice has returned to its normal tone--the ex-voice actress cheerfully replies, "Yes!"

So now it happens...

I...

A drip of ink on her forehead drowns out that thought.

Then there's more drips, and they begin to burn; Susie shuts her eyes, almost wanting to scream as it gets worse and worse.

He...never said...pain!

The ink floods over her...more aches gather near her head.

From the outside, Joey observes this entire scene.

It's like she's drowning...but for a good cause.

A tiny spark of greed glints in his blue eyes.

Soon, the angel will rise from the ink...and at the same time, descend from the heavens.

And it will be  me  who receives the glory for bringing her to earth.

Me,
me,
me ,
me.

The agony finally subsides...and the female's eyes flutter open.

"I'm...I'm Alice Angel."

A great euphoria glows throughout both parties.

"Indeed you are," Joey agrees.  See, it worked out!  Was there ever a doubt?  "That was simple, right?"  He answers his own question.  "Yes, it was."

Alice extends her arms and examines them--from her fingertips to just after her elbows are dark stains representative of gloves.  As her eyes move onto her torso and legs, she realizes that the ink somehow changed her old clothes into a simple ink-black flapper dress with a white bow attached on the back.

I guess that must be because that's what she--I mean, I--wear.

I didn't even have to worry about the stains, then...but does that mean I won't be able to wear anything except this, then?

The angel discerns that her boss has disappeared.  Huh?  Where did he--?

Her question already receives its answer: Joey arrives back with a hand mirror retrieved from a drawer in his office.

After handing her the object, she looks into its reflective surface...

She's--I'm--beautiful.

Hovering above her head is a shiny white halo.

I'm really an angel!

"You love it?" the owner asks, already knowing the answer from her glimmering smile.

"Yes!  Definitely!" I'm even better than I thought I would be!

I'm Alice Angel!

"Now then," Joey continues, "I originally planned to put you into that 'enclosure' I had mentioned before...but since no one is going to be here over the weekend, I'll allow you free reign of the studio--as long as you get into your cage before anyone enters on Monday.  We can't risk anyone seeing you just yet."  I'm looking at you, Tommy.

Cage?  the heavenly woman questions.  "Wait, I thought you said as soon as we were finished making me into Alice, I could go back to living my life normally."

"Yes, but also no," he answers swiftly.  "We have to train our angel to act as she does in the cartoons--and that will be our mission next week."

"So when will I be able to return?"

Two seconds of silence.  "I'll just say that the quicker you 'pick up' the right identity, Alice, the quicker you can go back.  It's up to you to decide how long that will be."  And I still have to show you the theater, don't I?  Ooo, next week will be fun.

It sounds like acting with extra steps, Alice contemplates, but vows to herself to learn as promptly as possible.

"Everything is settled then," Joey decides.  "Feel free to help yourself to Bacon Soups and the like--you'll be the only one here."  He beckons for her to follow him out of the Ink Machine room.

Should I tell her about Bendy?  he wonders.

Nah, it's better if she doesn't know.  Ignorance is bliss.

The two say their goodbyes, and the boss steps out into the parking lot.

She'll do well as long as she stays true to the cause.

Good luck, Alice Angel.

§

Back at his house, the owner engages in his usual routine of walking straight into the kitchen--where his 'bottle of happiness' is waiting for him.

He didn't have any to drink on Thursday in an attempt to prove to that arguing voice in his mind that he is not overdoing it...but today, Joey's mindset is different.

I have the right to celebrate my achievements, he thinks as he opens the container of the strong-smelling liquid and tips it up.

Dear vodka, you taste awful...but  DAMN , do you make me feel good inside!

Feeling extremely pleased with himself for bringing a cartoon to life successfully, he keeps 'rewarding' himself...

I'm on top of the world!  The king!  Best king!

Henry would have never let me do this...never would have experienced this level of success...

"IsN't tHaT a BiT iNsEnSiTiVe, JoEy?"

No, no it's not--it's the path to success!  No matter what Tommy or Henry or whoever says!

I'm in control!

...until the liquid is gone.

...Huh?  Whyyyyyyy?

That sedative sensation starts to be replaced with a headache...and the room is spinning...

And suddenly he's feeling really, really tired...

Joey clings to his table to steady himself; he sets the now-empty bottle back on what he thinks is the counter.

I...I'mma have the hangover from hell tomorrow...

He drunkenly stumbles into his bedroom, trying to ignore the growing pang in his head and the blurry revolving of his world; after touching his sheets to make sure they're still there, he crawls into the mattress and lies down, not even bothering to change clothes.

I...I'm okay...

The man hits his head on the headboard.  "Ow..."

While shuffling downward in a futile effort to make himself comfortable, he tightens the blankets around him...

...and finally falls into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Text

It's a sunny day outside the colossal doors of Joey Drew Studios, where a woman with long brown hair stands.  She turns and looks back at her husband, who is closely sauntering behind her.

"Now if he makes you uncomfortable--" Thomas tells Allison, "--or sad, or angry, or absolutely anything at all, you just come straight to me--I'll take care of it.  Joey Drew is no match for me.

"I will," she vows calmly, squeezing his hand.  He definitely has some vengeance for Mister Drew...

She recalls all the times Thomas had returned home fuming at his employer, whether it be from his sheer stubbornness ("He won't listen to a word anyone else says!") or due to his suspicious nature ("He's planning something...I just know it.  Meddling in things he shouldn't...").

Indeed, the construction worker had seethed once he had found out that Allison was to be Susie's replacement.

"It's not you, it's him ," Thomas had assured her.  "He's off his rocker!"

"Tom, you know that I will take care of myself," she had peacefully expressed.  "I always do--and if anything happens, I'll do what I have to."

Thomas trusts his wife's judgement on that.  She knows what she's doing...

If there's a problem, she can solve it.

Still...

I cannot afford to let him hurt her.

Allison holds open the door for him and asks where to go first.  "I presume his office, to check in."

"I suppose so..." he answers, with Joey's smug face already looming in his brain.  She had it great at Archgate's...what did he do to convince her to work for him?

A pay raise, maybe?  I could use one of those.

What's worse, he had the guts to even think of hiring her for himself...

But maybe...he did it just to spite me.

Yes. That sounds just like him.

The two journey over to the owner's office; the voice actress knocks on the door.

"Mister Drew, sir?"

Silence.

And then the door *creeeak*s open to reveal a very exhausted-looking Joey.

Can't a guy take a nap in pe--oh, it's them.  Despite his fatigued demeanor, the businessman's voice is bright and cheery.  "Ah!  Miss Connor!  Right on time!"  He pays absolutely no attention to Thomas.  "Well then, I suppose a tour of the place is in order--even if the position is temporary, I want you to get the feel of this magical stu--"

" I can show her around," the construction worker interrupts coldly.  The last thing I need is you messing with her brain with your dream mumbo jumbo.  Besides...I want to stay with her for as long as possible.

Less of a chance of things going haywire that way.

Joey debates arguing with Thomas...but decides that it's not worth it.  I'll let him have his way... for now .  

But only because I want to go back to sleep--you're lucky, Tommy.  If I had more energy, I'd show her more than you ever could!

He smugly smirks at the other man.  "Fine--you just do that, then."

Hmm...why didn't he bite back?  Thomas wonders.  There's something else...he couldn't have just let me win.

The GENT worker menacingly leans closer to the owner and lowers his voice.  "We will."  I'm not playing your games anymore.  He turns back to glance at his wife.  "Let's go, Allison." Let the trash take itself out.

The couple exit the hallway, and Joey goes back into his office--before he goes to lay his head on his desk again, however, he skims a box in the corner of the room.

It isn't necessarily part of his job, but Joey likes to 'check over' the products made by his workers.

I expect the absolute best from them--a tiny mistake can mean big sale loss.

The box contains the ceramic Bendys that Shawn had been working on before; Joey slides over to it and plucks one out.

The poor piece of pottery smiles cheekily through its suffering under the boss's bitter glare...but something is wrong with that grin.

What... what is this?!   the businessman analyzes the toy harshly.

No...no.  This won't do at all.

§

After a rather short tour of the new workplace, Allison and Thomas prepare to go their separate ways.

"There just really isn't much to the place," the latter explains.  And while I admit I haven't seen all of it...I know what it's like without experiencing it.

It's not the "magical" studio he says it is.

Just a jumble of winding, never-ending corridors that reek of broken dreams...

A place only he could love.

A mental pause.

But I won't let him break your dreams... I'll make sure of that.

I can't let him take away what means the most to me.

Despite all of this running through his mind, all that the construction worker says is, "Good luck with everything...if you need me, just ask and someone will come get me."  He had decidedly not directed her to the Ink Machine room during the tour--instead, he just told her that the GENT workers had a special top-secret area.

I don't want to worry her with...that thing .

Allison wonders what exactly her husband is working on, but doesn't question it.  I'm sure he has a good reason for not telling me.

With that, Thomas watches the voice actress walk down to the music department.

Maybe...

Maybe I don't have to worry...she'll be okay.

She's smart.  She can handle it.

Allison steps into the composition section of the studio and takes it in--her eyes travel from the neat wooden floor up to the top of the projector booth, where Jack and Norman are having an informal date with coffee and chocolate.  The former's green eyes flash with anxiety and confusion at the sight of the stranger; he ducks behind his boyfriend.

Norman speaks up, "Hi, miss.  Who are you?"  Wait, let me think about this--maybe she has something to do with Susie's dismissal.  A replacement?

"Allison Connor."  She smiles brightly.  "I'm temporarily taking over Susan's spot as Alice's voice actress.  And you are?"

Jack peeks out from behind the projectionist as the latter answers, "Norman Polk--the projectionist."  Temporarily, huh?  the cameraman contemplates.  She did say that she would be back...but how long will she be gone, then?  Obviously more than a few days, otherwise she wouldn't really require a substitute.  He rubs the poet's shoulder to help calm him down.

"I see," the voice actress replies.  "Nice to meet you, Norman."  She bends her head slightly and waves at the hiding man.  "Hi!"

A hesitation...then Jack emerges timidly, still clinging to the projectionist.  "Hi...I-I'm Jack Fain...um, t-the lyricist."  Come on, why can't I just talk normally?  "N-Nice t-to meet you...Allison." Wow...I already miss Susie.

I mean...there's nothing wrong with this one...

But...

It just doesn't feel right without Susie's...Susie-ness.

He picks up a piece of a chocolate bar and pops it in his mouth.  This Allison seems nice, though...so maybe I can get used to her.

Besides, it's temporary...

Right?

"Ah, then hello, Jack," Allison greets him.  These two seem cute.

Her blue eyes hit the other person in this vicinity--the crabby Sammy Lawrence plucking at a banjo, with an inkwell sitting on a music stand next to him.

He notices the new worker noticing him, and shifts his back to her.

That's a bit rude, Allison ruminates, but strolls over to him.  "Hello, sir.  I'm--"

"Allison Connor," he cuts her off coldly.  "I heard."  Now leave me alone.

The female is stunned for a silent moment before regaining her speech.

"Um, well...who are you, then?"  She maintains her pleasant voice.  Remember, Allison--you don't know his whole story.  There's a reason for his behavior.

There's always a reason.  Even when you can't understand it.

"Samuel Lawrence," the composer answers curtly, still not looking at her.  "Now go away--I'm busy."

She stole Susie's job! he thinks grievously.  My angel is gone...because of her !

A few seconds pass before Allison calmly heads back to the projector booth.  I would really like to help him...he seems a little stressed.

But I also think that he doesn't want help.

Maybe once he adjusts to my presence, he'll warm up to me.

"He's kind of upset about Susie leaving," Norman explains.  "He and her were a couple."  Still...that doesn't really give him a reason to act like that toward you.

Oh, that makes sense , the voice actress considers.  "I understand.  Well, I'm sure he'll get to see her soon--I'll only be here for as long as she is gone."

From his corner of the room, Sammy scoffs.  They act like I can't hear them!  And I think I have a right to be upset!  The composer eyes the projectionist and the poet enviously.  I mean, how would those two like it if one of them suddenly disappeared?!

Jack detects that the instrumentalist is fixated on him--and comes to an odd realization.

Is he...envying me ?

The poet reflects on all the times he himself had turned discontent eyes upon his fellow musician...but now, he suddenly feels guilty for even thinking like that.

I always thought he had it better than me...

But...

Norman is right--Sammy has flaws, too.

I guess both of us have green eyes...literally and figuratively.

Sammy pivots in his seat and snubs the group once again; the envious, light-green eyes focus instead on the inkwell at his side.

Guess it's just you and I.

"Is that so bad, Samuel?" it seems to taunt.

The composer considers this point.

No.  Really, it isn't.

Ink doesn't steal people away.

Ink doesn't manipulate workers.

Ink doesn't whisper behind others' backs.

Ink is just ink...and that's enough.

He glances back at the trio for two seconds to make sure they aren't still watching him--sure enough, the projectionist and the poet have moved off the subject of him and are immersed in the new worker.

Delicately, Sammy picks up the jar and turns it around in his hand, absorbing all of its little details--from the ashy color to the faded label.

You know...we could be friends.

I trust you more than half the people in this hellhole.

Another glimpse at the other workers...and then he lifts the edge of the container to his mouth.

The bitter taste of ink slides onto his tongue; he jerks the inkwell back.

Yuck!  Why did I just do that?!

Oh no...

Nonononono, what if I get sick from it?

Well...

It was just one swallow.  I should be okay.

In fact, the composer actually feels a bit...empowered.

I...

I feel...

…

... great.

§

Once again, the *brrrr*s and *clank*s of the noisy lift signify someone descending--Shawn lifts his head from his desk and rushes over to the contraption.  My Wally!

Taking a deep breath, the toymaster thinks, Okay, calm down.  Just say the words--that's it.  One and done.

However, he's worried about the potential reaction if the janitor doesn't love him back.

But...Sammy said that he likes me...

And usually that guy isn't wrong...

Focus, Shawn.

He extends his arms, preparing to hug his crush as soon as the latter emerges...

...but that doesn't happen.

Instead, the craftsman's arms fall limply to his sides at the sight of his boss.

...What?  Why?

Oh no...he looks mad.

What did I do now?

Joey doesn't notice or care about his worker's apparent disappointment; Shawn observes that the owner has something in his hand.

"Shawn," the latter dictates simply with an edge to his voice.  

The toymaker doesn't reply right away, still confused by his boss's presence.  "Yes, Mister Drew?"  He looks kinda tired...

Joey clears his throat and reveals the object--the flawed smirking Bendy from before.

"Care to tell me why this toy is...like this?"

Shawn doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't reply.  Shit...now I'm gonna get told off.  Oh, why couldn't you have been Wally?

I miss him...

The owner's frown deepens at the lack of an answer.  "I see.  You've been slacking on the job, then?"  You know the rules.

His worker is still silent.

A sigh.  "Shawn, I understand that you have your...condition--"

You act like it defines me!  the toymaster mentally retorts, his eyes narrowing.  I'm more than my narcolepsy!

"--but that doesn't mean you're allowed to turn in work like this ."  An impatient pause to let this sink in.  "Do you know how this could affect sales?"

"It can lower them, sir," the other responds obediently, but thinks, It was just a tiny mistake--I was distracted.  I do have a personal life, you know!

Besides, it really isn't that big of a deal; it was only a few of them!

"You realize that, and yet you let yourself sluff off?!" His lack of sleep (among other things) intensifies Joey's overreaction to the subject.  "I deserve better than this !"  I need employees that work as hard as I do!

Well, maybe it's not all about YOU!  Shawn struggles to bite his tongue.

The businessman shoves the rejected plaything at the toymaster.  "Fix it.  Now.   And that goes for the other ones you messed up, too!"  Failure is not an option!

He's blowing this way out of proportion , the other considers, but nevertheless holds his piece of work against his chest.  And he's crabby.

"Mister Drew?" he beckons as Joey heads back to the elevator.

"Yes?" His voice is still irritable.  What now?  Going to try to apologize?  It's too late for that.

A hesitation from the other end.  "Are you okay?"

"...What?"

"Are you okay?  You seem a little..."  Cranky?  Testy?  "...out of it today."

Joey scoffs.  "I'm fine.  Get back to work--and do it right this time."  I shouldn't have even had to do this!

Why can't my workers be as... superlative as me?

Then again, most people aren't...

Reality is disappointing.

That's why we make it a dream instead.

§

The weekend had been a long and lonely one for Alice--being stuck in the studio full-time was just as uncomfortable as it sounded.

It's kind of spooky at night, even.

However, she managed to maintain a semi-satisfactory standard of living--the Tasty Eats machines provide suitable (if rather tiring after a while) meals, and the angel keeps herself clean enough.

Though it's still kind of gross that I haven't showered in a few days.

But...

If it's for the greater good, I can sacrifice that bit of luxury.

Besides, it's only temporary.

Before anyone entered the building this Monday morning, she had silently slid into her cage, bringing along a soup can for her lunch.

Thankfully for her, however, the workday is finally over.  I'm free to fly!

Wait...what if I actually can fly, since Alice does in the cartoons?

Her anticipation just can't wait--the minute Joey enters the dark, dismal room he had placed her cage in ( I can hear people's footsteps...but I can't see them.  Why did he choose to put me here, I wonder? ), she promptly *creeeak*s open the door and steps to him.

"You're in for a treat, Alice," he dictates.  "I'm going to show you today where you will be practicing--and in the future, performing."  You will quite literally be the angel of the stage!

The angel clasps her hands in excitement.  Finally...I'm a true performer!

It's everything I ever wanted to be!

"What are we waiting for, then?"

He gives her a tired smile.  Okay...maybe not all of my workers are that bad.

She definitely has the energy to be what they all should be...a true dreamer .

The businessman leads the heavenly host along a few familiar hallways...then turns toward what she perceives as a normal section of wall.

Huh?  Alice is puzzled briefly before her boss shifts this portion of "wall" aside--the piece is not actually a part of the surface, but instead a pseudo-entrance of sorts.

"Why--?" she begins.

"So nosy individuals don't accidentally or intentionally wander in here," he explains.  "It's a bit of a secret right now--I only just purchased this addition.  So keep the surprise a surprise--only you and I know about it."  Well...and Grant.  But that was inevitable.

The angel follows the owner through his hole; it's big enough for both of them to easily slide in.  As Joey fixes the wall-door back into its place, Alice steps forward to take in the secluded room.

The floor is rounded and made of oak wood; a thin, gray banister stands tall on either end of this ground. On the rails hang sweeping dark-red drapes.  From the center of the room, the haloed human discerns that the upper left side is indeed a balcony, but that the entirety of the right is nearly indistinct due to the darkness that it is blanketed in.

It's...a theater.

A stage.

Joey appears behind her.  "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes..."  More than I ever could have imagined it...

And I get to act here!

She promptly blitzes to the frontmost segment of the arena.  "I'm already ready to go!"

Good, good , the businessman concludes, satisfied--he marches over into the dark part of the theater.  "Now then, what we'll be doing here is preparing you for your future acting career--real acting, not just with your voice."  At this point, his worker hears him fully...but just barely sees him.

In the shadowed section, Joey seats himself in what Alice thinks is a director's chair; the object next to him is too obscured for her to guess what it is.

However, she soon figures it out--a *clkt* is heard, and on the wall behind her, cartoon Alice appears.

The projector had been taken from Thomas's office after Joey had decided that training the angel would be more important than "training" the demon.

Bendy can wait a little bit longer--it's not like he'll care.

And I'm sure Tommy's happy to have this thing out of his place.  "iT gEtS in tHe wAy!"

Have it your way, then... because I'll go further with it than you could ever dream of!

"The procedure is simple," he directs to the heavenly host.  "Just try to copy her movements as best as you can--the quicker you figure out what to do, the closer you are to finishing your practicing."

Though if I get to work in this gorgeous theater...maybe I don't want to leave it that soon, Alice contemplates.

But...I told Sammy I'd be back as soon as possible.

And I can't break that promise.

Another disagreeable aspect of her weekend was the fact she had no one to talk to--at some points, however, she had heard odd noises coming from a different part of the studio.

Like growling noises...and drips...

But maybe that was just my imagination...

Just the darkness playing tricks on me...

She forces herself to go back to focusing on her work--when a thought from before breaks into her mind.

"Mister Drew?"

"Yes?"

Her voice wavers just slightly before she asks, "Do you think that...since Alice can fly in the cartoons...that maybe I can fly too?"

She makes a good point , the owner considers.  "Well, why don't you find out?  Try it!"

"Okay..."  Alice breathes in deeply, bracing herself...

...then takes a leap forward...

...and lands back on her feet again.

What?  No... She is truly disappointed.

"Don't give up yet!" Joey calls from the overcast section.  "Just believe !"

Yes, Alice...believe , the other attempts to convince herself.

Another rise...and another fall.

The angel tries three more times, but achieves the same result.

So that's it...I can't fly...

I...guess I just have to accept that...

But that is extremely hard for her to do.  I really want to fly, for real!  But why can't I?

Joey isn't terribly bothered by the lack of aerodynamic talent in his worker.  "It's okay, Alice--we can make-do.  We'll figure it out eventually."  Maybe we could install trapezes?  Or perhaps--

While his mind goes on with possible solutions to this paradox, the haloed human is much less certain.  An angel who can't fly...how is that any good?

However, they continue on with the training--for the most part, imitating her cartoon counterpart's actions comes efficiently for the real-life Alice.

Be that as it may, she continues to be bothered by the matter of her not being able to at the very least hover an inch above the ground.  It's a minor imperfection...but what if there are more of them?  What if I suddenly can't sing or something?

Angels are supposed to be perfect --nobody wants a flawed heavenly host.

She manages to conceal these worries, nevertheless, as she says her goodbyes to her boss after finishing the day's training.

Instead of delightfully striding back to her cage like she had thought she would, Alice puts on a disconcerted trudge.

I suppose that it really isn't that big of a deal to him...

But...

It is to me!

If you're sainted, you can NOT be tainted.

§

At last, Joey arrives back in his kitchen.

The place itself is always here for me...

But the thing I want from it isn't.

The weekend hadn't been very nice to the man--sometime around midnight on Friday, he had woken up and gotten sick from the vodka; as he had predicted, he was hungover most of Saturday.

But when Sunday rolled around...the same thirst overtook him.

He needed that buzz.

But...I don't have anything that can give me that...

Why?  Whywhywhywhy why ?!

Stupid fucking Prohibitition!

I'm sick of playing by the rules.

What if...?

That Henry voice in his head shuts the idea down before it has even become conceived with a firm "NO."

Why not?! Joey's own mind retorts.

Because you'll get caught and be arrested!  Do you really want that, Joey?  Is it so bad that you would be willing to risk your independence for it?

As much as he hates to admit it, the businessman understands that the voice has a point...but that desire--stronger than it has ever been before--to have something in his mouth is definitely still there.

Maybe I should eat something...

Bacon.  His favorite food.

It might not have the same effect...but it'll have to do.

For now.

Preparing the food doesn't take too long--soon, the owner has the plate of sizzling meat in front of him.

That was quick , the Henry voice chimes in. It just shows how desperate you are.

It has nothing to do with desperateness , Joey's true mind argues back as he bites into the pork.  I'm just hungry.

Hmm... the other expresses significantly, then disappears.

Finally , Joey exasperates.  Why does he always need to interfere?

A glance at the meat in front of him.

It's good...but not as good as a drink would be.

You know, maybe some rules are meant to be broken.

I mean, I'll only buy it once--then I'll quit forever and ever.  I promise .

But...where am I going to find it?

He stops himself--months ago, he never would have foreseen himself planning to purchase illegal alcohol from what the public called "rum runners" or "bootleggers".

Is it really getting that bad?

He spends about five frustrated minutes debating this entire concept and eating his bacon.

Ah, if it's only once...

It can't be that bad.

I mean, think about it.  If I do get caught--which there's a really slim chance that I will, because I'm better than that--I'll just offer to reveal the source I got it from in exchange for not being arrested.

It will work.

And it'll just be that one time.

He pauses, waiting for the Henry voice to add some opposing comment to this--when it doesn't, he smirks.

Not that it really could have stopped me.

It might think this is a mistake...but it's a blessing in disguise.

One might call it...a miracle.

Chapter Text

The days go on...but much to Sammy's dismay, Susie does not return.

She said that it wouldn't take that long...

I mean...I guess it's only been three days since Monday...

But it just...doesn't feel right without her.

He angles his neck toward his newest friend, the inkwell.  You must have a great life.

Or maybe not?  I guess what I'm asking is, do you ever miss your other inkwell buddies?  Do you have an inkwell girlfriend?

Obviously, the jar does not reply; the musician realizes what he's doing.

Gah!  Talking to an inanimate object!  What is wrong with me?!

It comes to light for him that many things have felt wrong ever since Susie's dismissal.

I just miss her so much...

His eyes scan the department...and land on the one and only Allison Connor.

This...this is all her fault!

They all like her so much...why don't they understand?!

The animosity that Sammy normally only directs to the new voice actress suddenly becomes relevant to the rest of the workers--he recalls quotes from them.

"Oh, she's SO nice!  She's a real angel!"

"Have you met that Allison?  She really is something, huh?"

Great, it's all fine and dandy that you like her-- but I don't, so STOP forcing it on me!

...

Susie is unforgettable...and yet they act like she wasn't even here...

I won't let them forget.

No one knocks my angel off of her podium without me saying something about it.

Too frustrated to even attempt to work on his music, the agitated composer subconsciously reaches for his jar of ink.

Meanwhile, Norman and Jack observe this entire scene from up in the booth--lately, the two have been nearly inseparable ( Just like Susie and I were! Sammy whines). 

"Bit stuck on her, isn't he?" the former recognizes.  I mean, I get where he's coming from...but he's taking it to extremes.

Jack nods.  "W-why has he been k-keeping that inkwell with him lately?"  Sometimes he just stares at it...like it's important to him.

Is he planning something with it?

His partner shrugs, debating whether or not it is fact worth considering.  It just might be another one of his tics.

He's been really distraught lately...so maybe it's a source of comfort?  I guess I don't know how that works, but then again, it's Sammy.

The projectionist wants to tell the songwriter that it will be okay... but he won't believe me...

As long as Susie is out, he'll be grouchy.

Jack contemplates on his fellow musician's behavior toward Allison.  He ignores her...acts like she doesn't exist.

Is it possible that maybe he is directing all of his lovesickness at her?

It would make sense...I guess.

He peers at Norman, then takes his hand.  I'm glad he's here for me...I'd probably be pretty distressed too if he wasn't...

But still, the inkwell thing is kind of...weird? 

The lyricist recalls a phrase from his former boss: "Trust in yourselves and others; dire and stressful situations can often be overcome when you have each other."

"We n-need to keep an eye on h-him," he tells Norman, and they both know who he is talking about.  It would be what Henry would want.

Sammy's angel is gone, but we'll watch over him in her place.

§

Wally steps out of the terribly stuffy Ink Machine room, and rather gladly at that.  Not only is it hotter than the flames of hell in there, but the heat makes everyone cranky!  And the smell!  I'm tellin' ya, if someone doesn't put at least a fan in that place, I'm outta here!

It's quite a relief to finally be able to get a breath of fresh air--Thomas (who seems even more cantankerous than normal as of late) had instructed his team to go out and take a break.

But of course I have another job , the janitor mentally complains, heading to his closet.  A break?  What's that?  I'm sure I've never had one before!

However, a fluttering piece of paper taped onto the door stops his bickering in its tracks; confused, Wally reads it.

Hey Wally --

If it's possible, could you meet me after hours?  I have something to tell you, but it's not so important that you have to stop in or anything.

If you can't meet me, that's all right, too.

Anyway...have a great day!

-- Shawn ❤❤

The note is scribbled on the page rather disorderly, as if its writer was in a desperate rush to dictate the words.

After hours?  I can't wait that long , the maintenance worker decides almost immediately.  Who cares about work?  I want to see my Shawny now .

He turns the paper over and briefly sneaks down the hall to grab a pen; when he returns, Wally scrawls onto the back of the sheet:

If you guys need me for gauge reading or whatever, you'll just have to wait--something important came up, and I have to get to it.  I don't know how long it'll take, but don't go looking for me.  I'll come back when it's done.

I'm outta here!

-- Wally

Hopefully they won't ask questions, the janitor regards as he adheres the note to the side of the Ink Machine--where all of the GENT workers will be sure to see it.

With that out of the way, he ambles over to the elevator and depresses the K button.

Shawn of course detects the *rrrr*s resound in the ambience before the lift arrives at its destination; he pivots in his seat.  Joey coming to chew me out again?

Or maybe...

And this time, the craftsman's hopes are correct.

The two practically fling into each other's arms...and stand there in blissful silence.

Still hugging his crush, Shawn speaks up, "You really didn't have to quit working just to--"

"Yes, I did," the other interrupts.  "You're much more important to me than that dumb machine." Always have been--but Joey can't understand that.   Wally releases the toymaster.  "Now, what is it?  I'll stay here with you as long as it takes."

Shawn doesn't reply--he feels himself blush, as well as a slight stinging sensation in his eyes. He's so nice...willing to halt his life just to help me with mine...

The tears threaten to fall, and he lets them.  I...don't know how to say it...

"Shawn?  What's wrong?" The janitor laces his fingers around the other's.  Did I do something wrong?  Damn, why do I screw things up? And of all things, this!  "Please don't cry; talk to mmh--"

His words are interrupted by the toymaker's mouth meeting his--a red wave crosses the former's face as he releases Shawn's hands and pulls him closer.

When the couple finally separates, the craftsman says in a jumbled phrase, "IloveyouWally—!" Damn, why was that so difficult ?

Wait...

I probably shouldn't have kissed him out of the blue like that...

Meanwhile, Wally thinks, I've been waiting so long to hear those words.  "I love you too, Shawn."

A pause.

"Really?"

The janitor laughs.  "Yes, really.  I've loved you for--" (he counts on his fingers) "--like forever.  Didn't you notice the signs?"

The toymaker takes a moment to reminisce on all of his time with Wally--from cleaning after hours to their sneaking-off-to-see-each-other rendezvous.  All those days when I couldn't see how I loved him... "So wait...those little gestures you did--like the winks and stuff--was that you flirting?"

"Yup." He's adorable when he's confused!

Indeed, the realization dawns on the other's face.  How could I not notice?!

Smirking, Wally speaks up again.  "Shawn?"

"...Yeah?"

"Kiss me again."

Recognizing that it is futile to keep spinning his mind in circles, the craftsman puts aside his puzzlements and embraces his boyfriend.

Neither of them is sure how long it has been before the janitor says he has to leave.

"Can't you just stay a little bit longer?" Shawn begs.  I finally got the chance to spend time with you...

"I wish I could, but I have to get back." The disappointment in the other's voice is quite noticeable.  "But I'll call you as soon as I get home.  Deal?"

"Deal."

The two declare their affections for each other once more before Wally steps into the elevator.

A surprise is waiting for him back at the Ink Machine room, however--Thomas is standing at the door, his expression unreadable.

Ugh, what now? Wally mentally complains, but begins, "I--"

"How was your little date with Shawn?" the GENT worker interrupts.

A silence.

"How did--?"

Thomas reveals the note Wally had written and flips it over.  "If you're going to make an excuse, make sure it's not on the same paper as whatever summoned you." Despite this, he doesn't sound angry.

"Oh--" is all the maintenance worker replies at first before adding, "Sorry."

"It's okay," the other answers, to Wally's surprise.  "I, too, have a love--I know what it's like."

The two share smiles.

Ya know, Wally contemplates, he may act all grouchy and tough sometimes, but Thomas isn't so bad.

Maybe we're more similar than we think.

§

Once more, Joey and Alice meet after hours to practice.

The angel notices during her imitation of the cartoon's movements that her boss seems a bit distracted today.  I wonder what's on his mind...

He should be focused on me , though.  I'm the angel of the stage!

What subject could possibly be more important than this?

However, she decides to not mention it--soon enough, the 'training' is over, and without so much as a "goodbye", the owner saunters down a hallway.

That's not the way to the exit, Alice recognizes.  Something is definitely off here.

Letting her curiosity get the best of her, the heavenly host follows Joey; the two arrive in Thomas's office...and Alice finally finds out what had been uttering those odd sounds in the night.

Before her is the Ink Demon in all of his inky glory.

At first, the angel isn't sure how to react.  It's so... monstrous ...

But at the same time, the inky abomination doesn't seem too dangerous.  I'd even go as far to say it looks at peace...

The businessman becomes aware of Alice approaching the horrifying abnormality, but chooses to not respond with annoyance.  She was bound to find out about him eventually.

The haloed human goes to pet the Ink Demon like one might a puppy, but Joey forces her to halt with an exclamation of, "Don't touch him!"

She faces her boss.  "Why not?"  He seems kind of lonely.

"Because...he'll hurt you," the other produces.  "He doesn't like being touched."  

A pause, and then, "I know from personal experience."

Alice contemplates this.  Is this thing the reason for the lines on his face?  Are they scars?

"Now that's enough of the Ink Demon for you," Joey states as he shoos the heavenly host out of the office.  "I have him under control--don't worry about it."

The angel still isn't sure on all of this, but nevertheless does what she is told and exits the hallway.  It's weird that a beautiful creation like me has to share a studio with that...thing...

How did he even get made?  Was he from the Ink Machine, too?

Meanwhile, Joey glances one more time at his failed creation.  You know, something needs to be done with you.

But since Thomas won't let me test you further, I'll have to take this into my own hands.

After all...no one loves nightmares.  We make dreams come true here.

Staring the Ink Demon in the eyes (or where the monster's eyes would be if he had any), the owner mutters a single phrase.

"Who could love you?"

§

Thankful for that workday is finally over, Joey heads down a different street than the one he uses to go home.

After much surreptitious searching, the businessman had eventually locked in the location of a speakeasy.  

And now...it's time.

Joey had been suffering from withdrawal the past few days--the normally slight urge to drink was much, much sharper lately.  Even at the mere thought of alcohol, his blood pumped fiercely...wanting...demanding.

And the only thing that can calm me down is that magical stuff.

He had decided to don a long black duster coat in the hopes that it might obscure him, thus making him less likely to be caught.  Not that that is very probable--I know what I'm doing.

With that, he slides into a dark alley between two rather tall buildings, a map with a messy red circle on it in hand.

It should be over here...somewhere...

Already, his heart is pounding--both from the thrill of sneaking around and for his reward at the end.

Then he sees it--the dim blue light of the secret bar peeks out from a door with a somewhat-obscured and rusty sign above it declaring the place as Fredrick's Lounge.

The man stumbles inside; to his surprise, the place is much more conventional than he had expected.  The establishment is actually quite clean, and there are a number of personalities--from flapper girls to men in suits like himself--sitting on black barstools near the counter.

I guess I figured it would be less...well-known?  I mean, I anticipated fewer people.

But based on this, I suppose this kind of thing is pretty common.

Nearly all of the guests turn to look at the newcomer--Joey notices that a few are squinting at him...as if they find him somewhat familiar.

A silence ensues, broken only by the *clink*ing of cups hitting the long wooden table.

The bartender, who Joey presumes is Fredrick, suddenly speaks up in a rumbling and deep voice, "You must be--"

No!  I'm not Joey Drew! Not the famous, brilliant, awe-inspiring animator and founder of the wonderful and marvellous studio which makes dreams come true!   the businessman's mind panics.

"--new to this sort of thing," Fredrick finishes with a rather incomprehensible smirk (Joey breathes a sigh of relief at not being recognized--or so he thinks).  "So why don't I give you the lowdown?  Come here." The rest of the crowd continue their chatter as the rumrunner gestures to the entrepreneur with two fingers.

After a scanty hesitation, Joey slides up to the counter.

"First and foremost," Fredrick begins, "you must not tell anyone about this place." ( Well, duh , the other thinks.) "Because I will always find out--and you better believe that I will not be the liable one." He gives the businessman a dark glare.  "Snitches and talkers get stitches and walkers."

Joey isn't sure how exactly this bootlegger would 'find out' about and handle his customer's betrayal...but considering Fredrick's muscular, almost frighteningly brawny physique, he isn't sure he wants to know.

That unfathomable sly smile returns on the bartender's face.  "But if you can keep a secret--"

"I can," the studio owner vows.  I'm really good at that--I've had plenty of practice.

"--then we'll be just fine."  Fredrick pivots around smoothly and grabs a shot glass with a brownish, strong-smelling liquid in it, and places it in front of his customer.  "First one's on me.  Welcome to the club."

Finally!  Grateful to have his addictive drink before him at last, the businessman makes quick work of tipping the glass's contents down his throat.

He gasps as he sets the now-empty cup down.  Like the vodka, this stuff burns--perhaps more so--and it has quite a strange taste to it.

But as long as it works...as long as he gets that calm feeling, Joey doesn't really care about the flavor.

He orders another shot...and another one...and then maybe two or three more?  Or was it four? He isn't quite sure.

The rumble of gossip and chit-chat presumes; Joey picks up on subjects of jazz music, fashion, President Coolidge, gangsters, Prohibition, and something that sounds like 'mah-fee-ah'.

When the studio owner eventually decides that he has had enough, he waves Fredrick over.

"Hey, Freddy, ya got any of that stuff to take home?" He wasn't expecting himself to sound so... unsteady? Is that the word I'm looking for?

Then again, he could care less.

The bootlegger gives a rather blank expression, clearly unfazed by his client's drunkenness.  "Well...yes.  But due to the limited amount of the travel-size bottles, I don't recommend buying them and taking them home--it's much more convenient to just come here, drink, and go home."  A washcloth from seemingly out of nowhere appears in his hand; he begins to wipe the counter.  "So I'd advise you to save that idea for a...special occasion."

Joey frowns.  I really want some to take home...

But then again, his mind is too intoxicated for him to argue.  "Okay...whatever..."  The man slides what he thinks is the right amount of money to Fredrick.  "Keep the change."

The other smirks as he counts out the money--his customer had given him about two dollars extra, but the bartender isn't about to disclose that.

With that, Joey stumbles off the barstool...and tries to remember the way to his house.

§

Ultimately, the businessman makes his way home--although he isn't sure exactly how.

After an awkward stagger onto the couch, Joey reminisces over the past event.

That...was much easier than I thought it would be...

And the Henry voice didn't talk!  I scared him away!

In the end, it knew I would win.

I always do.

Chapter Text

She's still...gone...

Sammy glooms about in his office on this Wednesday; he can barely force himself to exit it lately.  It's as if every time he steps out, something is there to remind him of the one he loves--whether it's the sound of her voice from the old cartoons or Alice smiling lightly at him on the posters.

Yet...my angel still has not returned...

How long has it been? Two, three weeks? A month?

It's just  not fair!

He takes a hearty swig from the ink bottle next to him--he knows that he should be ashamed of himself for acting like this...but for some reason, the bitter liquid makes him feel better.

It makes the pain go away...and gives him something to grasp on to, despite the chaos.

I don't even care at this point...it isn't hurting me, so it must be a good thing.

It's not poison...it's  power .

The composer sighs to himself. It seems that everything has been spinning, accelerating out of order--and he can't even place when it all started.

I just want Susie back...is that so much to ask?

The musician's muscles are cramped up from sitting and brooding for far too long--he figures that he should probably stand up and walk around a bit (even if he mentally does not want to) to get the blood pumping.

Worried eyes turn upon him as he does the unthinkable: leaves his hidey-hole. Sammy attempts to ignore them, but that proves to be a difficult feat.

They can pretend like they understand, but they don't.

They all love that  Allison.  They all see her as a "suitable replacement."

She doesn't need a replacement, and she  never  did!

Abruptly, the studio owner's face appears into the composer's mind.

Joey . This is all  his  fault!  If he hadn't...taken her away, none of this would have happened!

From his projection booth, Norman observes Sammy's huffing and dark glare. Do I say anything?  He might bark back...but on the other hand, maybe he needs to vent.

"Samuel?"

The crabby conductor tilts his head at the other, but only barely. "What?"

It's normal for Sammy's voice to shift when he is frustrated...but the projectionist notices that this is different even from that standard. It's like he has something in his throat, but is also growling at the same time. "Um, you seem kind of...bitter lately--"

How observant of you, the other snarks.

"--so I'm just wondering if maybe you want to talk about what's bothering you," Norman finishes. Or not.

There is a tense silence...

"You wouldn't get it," the instrumentalist finally replies. Moreover, it's completely the opposite of how you see it.

The cameraman goes to ask, "Is this about Susie--?" before being interrupted with a snappy "Don't say her name!"

Another quiet moment ensues, this time fractured by the projectionist.

"Okay then...well, if there's anything you need to let out--"

Sammy finally completely turns to face the other and declares coldly, "Norman, do us all a favor, and quit nosing in everyone's business. This isn't about you."

Norman is stunned for a brief moment before an offended red blush appears on his cheeks. "Fine." I was just trying to help.

The composer huffs once more and pivots back to his original position. This is why I didn't want to come out here--people are so intrusive.

His brain shifts back to the 'oh-poor-me' attitude. I miss my angel...

Sammy blinks once--up until this point, he wasn't really paying much attention to his environment...

He is staring at a Bendy poster.

At first, the music man gives it that sinister glare he has been donning all day...but then he softens.

A voice in his head different from his own frantically whispers unintelligible phrases...

He only catches one word from the confused mess: sacrifice.

...What? Who are you?! Sammy's real mind demands.

The whispers die away...and the voice fades away.

Am I losing it?!

A mental pause...and then:

"Embrace this, Samuel."

A headache gradually forms...and he feels dizzy.

Norman witnesses his fellow worker mumble fearfully to himself, and goes to ask him what the matter is...then closes his mouth. What's the point? He doesn't want help. A sigh. "Nosing in everyone's business." Ha!

Still, he can't help but worry a bit at Sammy's slight trembling. Is he all right? Is this some sort of nervous breakdown?

Meanwhile, Sammy mentally cries, What is the matter with me?! What was that voice?! Did I just imagine it?

His veins throb sorely...like there's more than blood in them.

"I..." Sammy stumbles on both his words and his footing; he slowly turns toward the infirmary. "I think...I'm just going to..."

Wide-eyed, the projectionist watches as the composer staggers across the room and grasps onto the railing of the stares to the clinic.

Once the musician disappears down the steps, Norman ponders, Well...that was odd. One minute, he's fine, and the next, he's stumbling like he's drunk or something.

Is this all over Susie? If so, isn't he being a tiny bit overdramatic?

Maybe I should tell Jack about this...see what he thinks.

Still...

This man is weird.

Crazy weird.

§

In the infirmary, Cheyenne the nurse flips through her seemingly endless booklet of paperwork--when a certain conductor bumbles down the steps.

She is actually quite thankful to finally have a patient; it gets lonely in the depths without any other nurses or doctors to talk to.

Then again, since people don't get sick a whole lot here, there really isn't a need for any more than one.

It's kind of strange--the lack of illness, I mean. I barely have a job at this point.

Anyway--

"How can I help you?"

"I just..." Sammy begins, then starts over. "I'm feeling dizzy, and I have a headache." He decidedly does not mention the strange voice in his head.

If I tell anyone about that, they'll send me to the asylum.

The medic nods as she grabs her medical supplies. "Is that all? Any nausea, coughing, chest pain, or the like?"

He hesitates before answering, "No." Ugh, now it's going to sound like I'm faking it. There is a strict policy on pretending to be ill in the studio: if someone gets caught, that person is docked a week's worth of wages.

As the sign says: Not sick. Not paid.

But I am sick--or kind of...right?

"Okay," Cheyenne speaks up. "We'll just do a normal check-up, then, to see if everything is working the way it should."

As the medical practitioner examines her patient, the latter contemplates on this whole scenario. Why is my life falling apart before my eyes? First, Susie leaves, then I get all these weird feelings and murmurs in my mind for no discernible cause.

None of the flimsy solutions he attempts to apply to the situation make much sense to him.

At last, the nurse finishes tending to the music man and discloses that she does not find anything wrong with him.

With a passive smile, she tells him, "It might just be a reaction to stress; I noticed that you are quite tense. Try to relax--deep breaths. And don't forget to stay hydrated."

Relax...right, Sammy considers. Maybe that's all I need to do...

With that, the doctor sends the other on his way; the latter ascends back up the steps, much more steadily this time.

Relax...

He trots back into the music department, feeling Norman's eyes watching him--the agitated composer deliberately avoids the projectionist's gaze and heads straight to his office without a word.

So he's okay now? the cameraman questions, now aiming his eyes at Allison, with whom he had been conversing with on Sammy's condition. "I don't know--it seems like he's all right now, but before, he was shaking and whispering to himself."

"That definitely is odd," she reflects. Maybe he isn't physically sick, but his mind isn't well. Is it just stress, or something more?

Suddenly, an idea strikes the voice actress.

"Perhaps...we could set up a 'break' of sorts for him; like a party, but not a party. Just something where all of us can have a breather and socialize a bit."

Norman frowns. "That's a good idea, but Mister Drew would never allow it." He's far too controlling--if he was ever the President, he would have probably made weekends illegal.

She is quiet for a steady minute.

"Maybe..." Allison smirks lightly, "...he doesn't need to know. You can't cancel something you didn't set up. Besides, it'll be good for us--and Sammy--to take a break."

The projectionist still has his doubts on this...but how can I say no? She has a point.

The worst Joey can do is call it off, and even then, we could just finish it somewhere else after work.

A smile crosses his face. And maybe this will make Sammy like Allison a little more--he'll find out that she set it up for him.

That...might just actually work.

"When do you intend to set this up?" he asks.

"Hmm...could we aim for Friday? It won't take much to arrange, but we could go the extra mile and buy some food. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Yes. Let's do it."

§

I'm still gone.

Alice sits in her cage and stares at the ceiling. I really thought that I'd be back into the swing of things by now.

However, Joey still won't let her reveal herself to the world.

At this point, he's just making excuses! I have all the 'practicing' I need!

Thus, when the owner eventually beckons her to join him at the stage, she laments marginally.

"J--Mister Drew?"

His somewhat-distracted eyes finally focus on the angel. "Yes?"

The heavenly host wavers before inquiring, "How much longer do I have to do this? I think I've been doing really well, and--"

"You'll be finished when I say you're finished," he cuts her off. Some things take longer than others--besides, I have other things on my mind.

"But--"

"No, Alice..." The businessman exhales melodramatically. "Not right now."

Offended at the way he snubs her off, the female huffs and stalks semi-annoyedly behind the other. He won't even listen to me at this point...

I just want to see Sammy again...and move on with my new normal life...

During her rehearsing of cartoon Alice's movements (It was fun to begin with, but now it's just nauseating. And stalling!), the physical Alice angrily perceives that the owner isn't even paying attention to her--he's just staring up into space.

Testily, she stops her 'practicing' steps forward; when he doesn't react, the angel reaches toward the projector and switches it off.

At the sound of the angry *cht* from the camera, Joey sits up. "What are you doing?"

"Getting your attention," she retorts sourly. "What are you doing?" Besides ignoring me?

"I'm just...thinking," the other replies. No need to get so bent out of shape about it. "Is that a crime now?"

The angel doesn't answer his question; she instead goes on, "I can work for weeks undercover, with you promising me fame and fortune in the end--and yet you just sit there and act like I don't exist! You said it yourself at the beginning of this endeavor: 'no cancellations.' So don't cancel me!"

A thought breaks into her rant: Unless...this is all some sort of scheme. Like it's all a lie...

What was the phrase he used? 'The delusion of living', or something like that?

Is that all that this is?

Joey returns the heavenly host's glare with a fiercer one. "Excuse me, but I'm doing this for you. You just have to be patient."

Then...an idea sparks in his mind.

Alice figures that his excuse is so flimsy, a feather could fall through it. When is he ever patient? It's a bit hypocritical to ask me to be something he can never be, is it not?

But before she can rebut, he speaks up again. "What if I made you a deal?"

She crosses her arms. "You already did before--this whole plan was a deal, and you're not keeping your side of it."

"Just hear me out on this," the owner dictates. "What if...I could bring you Sammy?"

A pause...

How would he--? "What do you mean, 'bring me' him?"

Joey gives her that smug expression. "As in you and him would be undercover, together--at least until I'm ready to reveal you two." And perhaps, with someone to accompany you, you'll be less likely to complain.

This is still perplexing to Alice. You mean, like kidnapping? No, I don't want that! "I--"

"Let me expound," the businessman directs, rising from the director's chair and pacing--as she has noticed that he does when he's about to go into a lengthy explanation. "You already saw the failed thing we call 'Bendy.' Obviously, we can't go about showing him to the world; we need a replacement, and a real one."

Replacement. The word resounds in Alice's mind as she remembers her own 'replacement' with a twinge of jealousy. If I'm not wrong, she is currently receiving all the attention I should be getting!

But back to the task on hand--Bendy needs a replacement? What does that have to do with--

Oh... no...

"Sooo," Joey goes on, "what if I could bring you Sammy? Maybe he'd be in a different form than what you're used to...but on the same token, you'd look different than what he is used to. It might be a bit strange at first, but I'm sure you'd eventually get used to it." And even if you don't, I'm still going through with this.

The angel takes a moment to run this through her mind. "So what you're saying is...you want to use the Ink Machine to make Sammy into Bendy?"

"Yes and no. I am going to use the Ink Machine to make Sammy into Bendy--there's no want to it," he states decisively. Even if you object, I'm going to do it.

This is probably one of the best ideas I've ever had! I get a Bendy and an Alice, and Sammy and Susie get each other!

Alice waves her arms panickedly. This can't be right! "Wait, wait, wait. How can you ensure that--"

"That he'll agree to the reformation?" Joey finishes for her, clearly proud of himself. "Just leave that part to me--I'll convince him." Whether he wants to or not.

The angel wants to argue with the boss, and convince him not to do this...but she doesn't know what to say. And he might not even heed my words--I mean, he's been ignoring me this entire time!

Am I sending Sammy to his doom?

"Alice." Joey uses that soft voice again. "This is a good thing for both of you--don't fret about it. I have it under control."

Believe  in me.

The female sighs, torn between trust and doubt. Something about this is...Just. Not. Right.

Nevertheless, the duo continue on with the work--the businessman allows the heavenly host to quit early.

When the telltale *chkt* of the studio doors shutting indicate Joey's departure, Alice meanders into Thomas's office and sits with her back to the Ink Demon's cage.

"You know..." she tells him. "You and I, we're caught in similar situations. We both are being replaced by someone else...and there's nothing we can do about it."

The abomination merely stands there passively.

He's a better listener than Joey is, the angel considers. And this one doesn't argue back, either.

She turns toward the inky creation...and slightly reaches between the bars.

The Ink Demon pauses for a moment...then reaches toward her...

Wait--I can't let him touch me! Alice suddenly recalls, bringing her arm back to her side.

Ink Bendy seems a bit surprised at this unexpected maneuver.

"I'm so sorry," the heavenly host apologizes. "But I can't risk it."

Putting her back to the monstrosity once more, the haloed human sighs. I know I agreed to becoming Alice...but I didn't know it would be like this.

I'm just a lonely angel...

But maybe...I can trust Joey's words...

After all, if he succeeds...I'll see Sammy again.

And I won't be a lonely angel anymore.

§

Joey returns to Fredrick's Lounge, as has become his newest habit.

It's like my home away from home.

This time, the bootlegger fashions the businessman a dry martini; as the latter savors his beverage, he plans out what he will do concerning Sammy being 'drowned' into Bendy.

He'll probably be much less willing than Susie was...but I can find a way around that.

Even if it takes  force , I'll make him into that Little Devil Darling.

Another subject pops into his mind: Boris.

After I finish with Bendy and Alice, who will I make into Boris?

Someone quiet, no doubt...

Someone...forgettable...

Joey contemplates these points until his drink is finished; he beckons Fredrick over, and the bartender sets another glass in front of him.

Perfect...just as all things should be.

Perfection needs to be achieved--correctly this time. No more Ink Demon.

Speaking of which, what am I going to do with that thing?

Eh, I guess it's not important at this very moment.

For now... it's time for Bendy and the Ink Machine!

Chapter Text

Thus, Friday arrives...

Allison, Norman, Jack, and others set up the break room for exactly what it should be used for: breaks!

The voice actress had prepared several goodies, as well as Sammy's favorite food--a large chocolate cake--just for the occasion...and Wally had (not knowing that it is for the composer) taken a piece from it.

Carefully squishing the sides of the cake together so that the cut is hidden, the janitor assures the rest, "He'll never suspect a thing!"

Norman gives an amused grin, then asks, "Wait--you have to confirm a certain rumor for me." He leans closer and drops his voice to a whisper. "Did you and Shawn finally couple up?"

The other scratches the back of his neck while blushing and smiling bashfully. "Yeah..." Is it really that well-known already?

The cameraman smiles, then looks over longingly at the lyricist on the opposite side of the room. Jack...

He's such a sweetheart--I'm lucky to have him.

Indeed, those fuzzy feelings still sparkle within the two every time they see each other...but now that the projectionist and the poet are officially together, Norman isn't exactly sure what to do with their romance.

There has to be more to dating than just meeting up and kissing every once in a while...

Then again, most relationships probably aren't developed over spying and coffee...

And I don't want to rush it...

Jack notices Norman's fixated stare and beams at him.

You know...maybe we're okay right where we're at, the latter reflects.

We can take our time.

He archives the thoughts for the time being and questions, "So where's Sammy?" What a shame it would be for him to miss his own party.

"Still locked up in his office, I think." Dot pipes up. She has a pen in hand and her notebook in her lap; the intern had arrived not so much to have a break, but to perhaps study the odd behavior of the composer.

Right now, however, Dot has her journal opened to Susie's page.

Susan Campbell

- Kind, star-struck, but also a little too trusting.

- In a relationship with Samuel Lawrence; either does not notice, ignores, or has not experienced his sulkiness.

- Cares deeply about physical appearance.

- Abruptly disappeared--why? Fired, quit, or otherwise?

She flips to Sammy's sheet.

Samuel Lawrence

- Invariably irritated--why?

- In a relationship with Susan Campbell, one of the few people he seems to be able to handle.

A rapid motion of hand dictates:

- Extremely distressed over Susan's dismissal--stays in office most of the day, and is even more snappy than normal.

A pair of light-brown eyes follow the inking; the writer realizes someone is reading over her shoulder.

"What are you writing?" Johnny, the organ player of the Music Department, asks passively before a *pt* signals Dot shutting the notebook.

"...Nothing."

The other smirks. "Clearly, it's not nothing." Their eyes light up childishly as they lean on the back of the chair. Oooo, secrets! Fun! "Are those notes on Sammy? Are you spying on him? Do you spy on other people, too? Can I help you? Do you--"

"No, it's not spying," the female cuts them off. At least, not really. "It's...personal notes."

"So why--?"

Thankfully, Dot is spared from having to answer whatever question they are about to ask--Thomas enters the room in all his trademark grumpiness.

A semi-official break for all of the workers? he considers. That is...a rather good idea, I suppose.

She always has the best ideas...

I'm happy to have her here...but yet, I don't trust him around her.

Speaking of that, he hasn't asked about the Ink Machine in quite a while...what  is  he planning?

He better not be using it without telling me.

The familiar anger froths within the GENT worker...then subsides. It just isn't worth it.

It's like banging your head on a rock over and over and over...that's what it's like, working for him.

But after the dust has settled...and Joey has played his cards...

...you just learn to go with it.

As Thomas rounds over to his wife, the cranky composer finally arrives.

"What's all this?"

"Just a little break of sorts that we set up," Norman clarifies, then corrects himself. "I mean, Allison set it up--she thought you seemed stressed lately--"

That's one way to put it, Sammy crabs.

"--so she decided to do this for you and us."

The musician is silent at that point.

Oh...

Maybe she's not as bad as I thought...

Ah, what am I thinking?! In the end, she  stole  Susie's job!

Nevertheless, his expression softens slightly as he takes a seat and glances over at Allison.

But...maybe I'm...

He doesn't want to think about that right now; Sammy's eyes move on to another corner of the room, where Wally swipes Shawn's cookie from him and takes a bite from it.

The composer feels like he should be smiling as the toymaster giggles and reaches for the confection...but he just can't force himself to.

With a sigh, he determines, It's like I can't be happy anymore...

Everything reminds me of her...

But...

Maybe I'll see her again soon...

After all, how much longer could it possibly be?

A mental pause.

How much longer can I  possibly  stand it?

Thus, as much as he tries to, Sammy fails to enjoy himself--he is stuck stewing in his heartbroken misery.

After about an hour and a half, the crowd disperses into their separate areas; Wally and Thomas rather reluctantly head back to the Ink Machine room, while Shawn returns to Heavenly Toys, Dot to the Writing Department, and Johnny to the organ room.

This leaves just Sammy, Allison, and Norman. As the melodist rises from his seat and trudges back to his office, the cameraman whispers to the voice actress, "Do you think it worked?"

"I'm...not sure," she answers, flipping the chairs neatly onto the table. "He still was...hesitant to join in on anything." But that may be inevitable, since his sweetheart is still gone.

But I'm sure she'll be back soon.

He'll be better next week.

§

Alice meanders within her allotted territory for the majority of the day, pondering and worrying about Joey's plan for Sammy.

He couldn't have possibly been serious...

It was just a suggestion...

...right?

But he then again...he did say that he  would  do it...

No . I  have  to stop this.

When the businessman finally drifts into her area of the studio--earlier than he usually does, she notices--the angel immediately declares, "I've changed my mind about Sammy being made into Bendy. He...doesn't deserve to have his body stolen from him like that." Why didn't I think of that before now?

Besides that...what if it  doesn't  work? Will my Sammy turn out like that Ink Demon?!

It's not worth the risk!

Wringing her hands desperately in front of Joey's disapproving expression, the heavenly host begs, "Don't do it...please..."

The other is silent for a moment before eventually responding (each sentence with just slightly more anger within it than the previous), "You've changed your mind about Sammy? You don't want to be with him right now? You want to wait until you're released?"

"Yes! I'll wait as long as it takes! Just please don't--"

Her mind wants to finish that sentence with 'hurt him' (Because that's actually what the Ink Machine will do!); however, Alice knows that would not come across as she needs it to.

"...Please don't make him Bendy..." I want him to be my Sammy.

Not a Little Devil Darling...

Just Sammy the fearless composer.

Joey is again quiet, and for a moment, Alice anticipates that she has convinced him--but to her dismay, he promptly asserts, "You have one thing incorrect in your request...Alice."

With wide eyes, the haloed human contemplates on what that could possibly be. Is he just saying that to scare me? "What is it?"

The owner leans closer, the darkness of the room casting a shadow over his smirk.

"That decision isn't yours to make."

The female falters. "But--"

"I figured you might do this--try to convince me not to follow through with my plans," Joey continues snobbishly, pacing about in the way only he does. "My dear Alice, you must understand that love requires sacrifice." Dreams require sacrifice.

Just how much does he think he knows about love? the angel wonders. "Mist--"

He raises his voice to speak over her interruptions. "You--among countless others--continue to look at the possible flaws in the plan, yet fail to see the big picture. You aren't dreaming hard enough!"

But...if you dream too much, Alice contemplates, your head's going to hurt. "Please--"

"No," the businessman cuts her off coldly. "I'm going through with the plan, and there's nothing you can do about it." Maybe you'll actually be grateful once it's completed! 'Oh, Mister Drew, you were right! I wasn't dreaming hard enough!' "Now, get in your cage."

The other refuses the order; Alice merely stands there and glares at her boss. He thinks he can just take advantage of Sammy and me like that?!

What kind of--

"Alice," Joey testily pronounces the name. "Get. In. Your. Cage."

"No! I won't--"

"Yes you will!" The boss shoves the angel harshly into the structure and slams the door--a *bang!* resounds.

Alice struggles to free herself before Joey can lock the pen, but to no avail; he pushes her back and finally *click*s the entrance shut.

"You can't do this to me!" the female screams with a glower nearly as threatening as the other's.

He whips around and ignores her. She is getting in the way! She's going to ruin it all if she keeps this up!

One last cry of despair escapes the angel as the owner crashes the door of the room behind him.

He...

Alice sinks to the floor and buries her face in her hands.

She just needs to think about this.

He just pushed me away! How could he?!

After more whirlwinds of thoughts and emotions, the angel calms down a bit.

Maybe a part of his spiel was right. Definitely not all of it...but maybe one section.

Maybe I am looking too much at the flaws.

Forcing herself to focus on the positive, she ponders, I don't have much hope lately...but maybe things will work out...

Maybe I'll still get to see Sammy... since apparently Joey's going to make him into Bendy regardless of what I think!

A sigh...

What will I do?

§

Out in the hall, Joey leans his back against the wall and catches his breath...then takes out a tiny bottle from his pocket.

Fredrick had suggested saving bottles for a special occasion...but this occasion is special enough, I think.

It's probably what gave me that bit of an adrenaline rush just then.

Too bad it's so small...

The owner knows deep down that he should probably be feeling guilty for drinking at work and letting his 'little habit' get this bad...but he trusts that he won't let himself get caught.

It's only a little bit.

The businessman takes a swig of the drink while considering what just happened with Alice.

I suppose I didn't have to push her...but I did it because she wasn't listening! She has to understand that!

...

She'll forgive me once I bring her Sammy--I know she will.

With that, he tucks the bottle back and heads off to the Music Department.

Sammy isn't out in the open, so the businessman peeks into his office.

The composer is getting ready to go home; at Joey's entrance, he greets, "Oh...hello, Mister Drew. What can I do for you?"

"Samuel..." The boss gives his employee that ominous smirk as he rounds near the former's desk. "I daresay that you have nothing planned tonight, am I correct? Or anything tonight and all nights after it, I should say.

"...No, sir." Confusion creeps into the musician's voice. "Why? Do you need something?"

A tiny spark of hope flickers within Sammy: Do I finally get to see my angel again?

Joey's sly smile grows wider. "Just come with me...I have something to show you."

After a brief pause, the employee finishes packing up his things and joins his boss at the door. What could he possibly have planned now?

The two walk down the hallway, Joey at a pompous stride and Sammy at a despondent trudge; the former glances back at the latter's gloomy face.

"Smile, Samuel."

He receives a sulky glare in response.

My, what a frowny Bendy we have here, the owner regards. That will change when he sees Alice.

"Where are you taking me?" the scorned songwriter finally speaks up-- when "You'll see" is the only reply returned, he considers, Why can't he just give me a straight answer?

This becomes the first in a series of burning questions as Joey leads Sammy to the otherwise-forbidden door of the Ink Machine room.

"What--?" I thought we weren't supposed to be in here.

His boss hushes him with a "Shh" and holds the door open; the musician wavers before entering in.

What's he trying to--whoa.

What the hell is that thing?

Before him is the clunky, clanky, calamitous Ink Machine--Sammy's green eyes take in all the little details, from its boxy design to the unsightly spout.

Observing his employee's doubtful expression, Joey promptly and proudly announces, "My Ink Machine--bringer of cartoons to life... but more importantly, maker of dreams come true."

Did he practice that spiel in the mirror this morning? the composer wonders bluntly. "Ooookay then...but what does that have to--?"

"You're Bendy."

This is such an unexpected sentence--not only a sentence, but a matter-of-fact statement--that Sammy is completely thrown off.

"...I'm sorry, but what?" One minute, I'm in my office getting ready to go home, and the next...I'm 'Bendy'?!

"You. Are. Bendy," Joey sounds out the words like one might to a little kid. It really isn't hard to understand! "I'm going to make you into Bendy."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sammy holds up his hands. "Where did this whole idea come--?" How's that even remotely possible?

Impatiently cutting the other off, the businessman dictates, "Get under the spout." I'm sick of explaining everything to everyone--why can't they just trust me? Just do what I say!

God damn, I need a drink.

"Just hold up one second," the songwriter asserts. "I never agreed to any of this! You can't just waltz up to me and say, 'Hey, I'm going to somehow turn you into a cartoon with this machine thing I have--'"

The alcohol from before finally kicks in with his acrimony, and Joey snaps, "Yes I can!"

Fiercely grabbing the other's arm ("Ow! Ow!") and leading him to the Ink Machine, the boss mentally snarks, Why won't people follow my orders today?!

"Now stay!" he commands, shoving Sammy onto the floor near the contraption's spout. Let's just get this over with...

The composer attempts to scramble away from this scene--for the second time today, Joey forcibly pushes his employee.

Horrified at the owner's conduct, the condemned conductor yells, "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

He doesn't even care about how that sentence might negatively affect his job or even get him fired--It won't matter if I don't survive this!

This place has a madman for an owner!

With Sammy stunned back at the duct, Joey plods over to the lever on the side of the machine.

Lights...camera...

His eyes flash with ambitious mania.

...Action!

The lever is switched with a *cht!*...and the drowning begins.

The tears dripping down the musician's face are siphoned away and replaced with ink; Sammy wants to scream as the liquid drenches him, burns him.

Whispers resound from all around the scorned songwriter...

Embrassyordeemize...

Heewoolethusree...

Where are they coming from?

Screeminwellavoysays...

They sound like they may be trying to tell him something...

But he can't even think his own thoughts...

LIARLIARLIARLIARLIAR!

Then...silence.

Blankness.

Nothing.

Joey races over to the other end of the Ink Machine when he hears Sammy's gasp.

Come to me, Little Devil--wait--

Sammy is not Bendy; the businessman isn't sure exactly what he is, but it's clear that he is one hundred percent not Bendy.

The dazed employee actually looks quite similar in size and shape to his human counterpart...but he is encapsulated in ink.

Like a shell...a liquid shell...

"...What?!"

After rapidly running over everything he just did in an attempt to find out where he went wrong and ended up forming this...inky version of Sammy, Joey comes to the conclusion that he had forgotten to insert the sketch of Bendy into the slot of the contraption.

"Shit." The boss wipes his forehead and scans the second failed Bendy with his glassy eyes. Well...at least I can try again. "Samuel, get up; we need to ret--"

The composer, however, had already risen from the ground and is currently shaking the doorknob of the room rather panickedly.

"Hey, I'm talking to you! Get over here! I'm not done with you yet!" Joey marches over to stop him, but Sammy expeditiously pounds on the exit...

...and it opens.

Joey Drew has a habit of forgetting to lock doors.

The inky man rushes out hysterically, full of confusion--everything is falling apart.

Sammy is not Sammy.

After being drowned, the composer forgot.

He forgot...about everything before this.

Where am I?

Why am I here?

Why is that guy after me?!

Who am I?

But...he somehow knows the answer to that last question--Samuel Lawrence.

Now that he thinks about it, he also knows somewhat about...other things.

He remembers...music. Notes. Pianos. Banjos. Violins.

I know how things work...like  knowledge .

But when he considers how exactly he was brought into the world, how he was raised, how he arrived in this place, who he met along the way...he draws a blank.

How?

It's as if...he forgot his past.

But he also has this...feeling that he's not the same as before.

But who was he before?! And was there even a before?!

There's pieces missing to this puzzle...

A yell snaps him back to reality: "Sammy, listen to me!"

The musician turns to the strange man that is chasing him. How does he know me?

Never mind that--I need to escape!

"Get away from me!" Sammy rapidly gathers up all of his strength and dashes down the hallway.

Left, right, right, center aisle, left...right?

The composer isn't sure where he's running to or how to get there--he just needs to get out of this place.

Then he hears crying...muffled crying.

...What?

The musician is torn between continuing to search for an exit or finding the source of the weeping--however, the man pursuing him is getting closer.

...Is there even a choice?

With that, Sammy speeds off in the direction of the sobbing; it leads him to the Ink Machine room door.

After some hesitation, he knocks. "Hello? Is someone in there?"

There's a pause...

"Sammy? Is that you, my love?" Alice calls out.

'My love?' the composer questions--then is abruptly pulled backward.

"Aha!" Joey cries as he finally seizes his drowned worker. You thought you could escape from me?! Let me tell you, this is going to affect your job dism--

"Let me go!" Sammy nudges against his boss in an attempt to throw him off--for reasons he can't explain, he just needs to rescue that disconsolate damsel in distress.

"No!" The other struggles to pull back. "We! Need! To! Try! Again!"

"Sammy!" the angel yells once more.

Seeing that Alice is now involved in the drama, Joey growls and releases the composer. "You want to see her? Fine! Just please make it quick so we can get back to the--"

Another cry from beyond the door interrupts: "Let me see him!"

The boss irritably fiddles with the doorknob until the entrance *CREAK!*s open; he drags the ink-covered employee inside.

"Here! Happy now?" However, the answer is clear from the heavenly host's upset gasp.

"What did you do to him?!" Alice grasps the musician's hands, much to the confusion of the latter.

He said he would make you Bendy...but  this ...

"Um--" Sammy begins, although he's not sure what he is going to say.

"There was a...slight mishap," Joey clarifies; his next words come out like a flood. "But don't worry--we'll get it fixed up. We just need to--"

The angel interrupts coldly, "I think you've done enough." My poor Sammy...what did he do to you?

"But--"

"No! I'm not going to let you hurt him any more!" The female's voice wavers on the edge of crying as she guards her boyfriend. "I said I didn't want anything to happen to him, but you--!"

"Alice, be reasonable--"

In the midst of the two trying to talk over each other, Sammy slips back into the corner.

... What  is going on?

The haloed human and the businessman continue to bicker until the latter finally asserts, "Fine! Keep him like this! Since you can't possibly be persuaded to let him go, I'll...wait"--he says the word like it's some disgusting anathema--"until next week to fix him."

"This isn't about fixing him!" Alice retorts. "I thought you were doing this for me--so I could have some company!"

Joey scoffs. "You really think the world revolves around you? You do realize I have plans outside of you, right?"

She doesn't immediately respond to that.

So all that talk about my dreams coming true...

And the promises...

And the plans...

Were those all  lies ?

"I..."

Crossing his arms, the owner directs, "So are we done here?" Or are you going to continue to oppose every detail I come up with?

Because in the end...well, you already know.

I win.

Alice sighs. Was it all an illusion? "...Yes." She debates adding that Joey has no right to do anything more with Sammy...but that won't change anything.

What have I gotten myself into?

With a sinister scowl, the businessman glooms over to the door; at the last minute before he exits, he delivers a glare to the heavenly host.

"Remember this, Alice...if anything happens to him, you're liable."

She returns an evenly fierce stare...and finally, Joey is gone.

Alice takes her beloved's hands in her own. "I won't let anything happen to you...I promise." I'll protect you...

The befuddled instrumentalist merely gives her a puzzled look, wondering how and why he got involved in all this drama.

What happened?

Why is she...?

"Sammy?" The female touches his inky cheek--oddly, it doesn't burn like the ink normally would if touched by itself. "I know he scared you, but it's okay..."

The scorned songwriter swipes her hand off. Why is she acting like this? "Stop--why?"

"...What do you mean, why?" You mean, why did Joey do this to you? I think I can explain that much--

"I mean..." Sammy wavers. "Who are you?"

The musician knows that sentence is the wrong answer by the way Alice's face falls.

"...What do you mean, who am I?"

A heavy pause.

He...really doesn't remember?

Is this a side effect of the ink?

No!

She tries to convince herself that it's just a product of aftershock...but that nonplussed expression on her sweetheart's ink-covered face is all too real...

"Sammy...remember?" For the second time today, ink-black tears stream down Alice's cheeks.

"It's me...

Your...angel..."

§

Joey's route after leaving the studio is sadly predictable...

At the speakeasy, he beckons to Fredrick, "Give me something strong." I'm gonna need it.

Did I give up too easily? Just leaving him like that with her?

But she wasn't working with me! What was I supposed to do?

As the glass of whatever-it-is is set in front of him, the businessman tells it, Just drown out the pain...

Drown out the doubt...

The tears start to fall...

The madness...

The  anger ...

Drown it all.

Chapter Text

Well...this is strange.

Much to Norman's surprise, Sammy does not return on Monday. Is he avoiding all of us now?

...Or is there something else...something  sinister  going on?

Both Susie--or now Alice--and Samuel, gone without a word...

Coincidence? I think not.

It's definitely fishy...

He has the idea of sneaking off after hours with Jack to search for the voice actress...but where is she being kept? I mean, where do you hide an ink angel?

Besides, how are we supposed to operate with Sammy gone? Unless there's a replacement on the way...

Wait...

Am I going to be replaced, too?

Will my poet be replaced as well?

Will all of us eventually get replaced if we don’t meet Joey’s criteria?

Nonono, let's think logically here--

Round and round go the questions in the projectionist's mind to the point where he isn't sure what the original problem was in the first place. Why did Samuel even disappear?! Where did he disappear to? Does it have something to do with that Ink Machine?

Thus, Norman goes to the one person he knows he can trust.

Over their coffee in the sewers (where they haven't been in quite a long time), the projectionist poses the situation to the poet.

"I-I don't know..." Jack shrugs. "Maybe Sammy's just sick or something." More like...sick of us.

"But what if he's not?" Norman rebuts, fidgeting nervously with his bracelet. "I mean, we saw Susie basically agree--and embrace--her demise...what if something similar happened to Sammy?" And it all leads back to that man...Joey.

I don't know...it feels like Sammy is still here...somewhere.

A different thought comes to mind.

My life could possibly be at stake! Why do I still work here?

He knows there are two answers to that question: Jack, and the fact that we need to figure this out.

I won't let Joey or anyone else take Jack or me... I promise.

We just need to stay  wary .

The cameraman focuses on his sweetheart and takes his hand; the latter flushes slightly and smiles.

Ahh, he's SO precious...what would I do without him?

...

Maybe I shouldn't force him into this--I mean, I've pretty much dragged him along throughout all our 'spying'...but have I ever really given him the chance of refusal?

"Jack?"

The dark green eyes meet the brown ones.

"...If we were to look for Sammy after hours--I have a suspicion that he's wherever Susie is--would you be willing--"

"Y-yes."

Norman is briefly stunned at the prompt response. "Are you sure? I mean, of course I want you to go with me"--he pauses to search for the right words-- "...but this might be more dangerous than the times before."

Jack smirks, running his fingers against the other's. "S-since when have you b-been afraid of d-danger?" My brave, confident, handsome flicker?

"I mean," the projectionist muses, "I guess I'm not afraid of the danger...but I'm afraid of losing you. I...feel like I'm not giving you the option to say no...like I'm being too forceful--"

"Norman..." It's the lyricist's turn to debate how he wants to communicate his point. "I-I know how much f-figuring stuff out means to you...a-and I want to be with you d-d-during all of it." Leaning closer to his boyfriend, the poet assures, "I'd follow you to the en-ends of the Earth, no matter what the stakes w-were."

Norman feels his face heat up in amour; when he finally speaks, his voice is weak, yet affectionate. "Really?"

The response is a shy nod. Always...

The lyricist has a certain phrase on the tip of his tongue...

"I-I-I...I...um--"

The projectionist leans closer in curiosity. What is it?

"I-I-I-I..." The words won't come out! "I…”

"I-I-I'll always be with you."

But that's not the sentence he wanted to say...

I...couldn't do it... Jack berates himself.

I need to say it, though...

I don't know how much time I have...

Why do I have to be so  incompetent ?!

"Awww, thank you, Jack." Not being aware--of course--of what the poet truly wanted to say, Norman is nevertheless grateful for the reassurance. He's the best...I love him so much.

Maybe...maybe I should tell him that...

"Um...so, uh," the projectionist begins awkwardly (Wow...easier thought than done.) before changing courses. "We'll snoop around and see what we can find." Who knows? Perhaps we'll actually find them.

But if and when we do...then what? Would we convince them to join us and escape?

I guess it'll be up to the circumstance. I'm prepared for anything.

Norman peeks back at that cute little smile, his heartbeat immediately speeding up.

After a moment of wavering, the projectionist bends closer to his beau.

Jack recognizes the signal and repeats the action until they share a clumsy kiss; they break off and explode into giggles.

But for now...let's just absorb the moment.

§

During her free time in the Writing Department, Dot catches up on her notes on the strange studio staff and circumstances.

So many secrets to solve...

And so many people in this place...

Sometimes I wonder why I do this.

From behind the writer, an excited voice startles her, "Hey-hey, Dot! Nice notes!"

She whips around to face Johnny. "Ah! How did you get--why are you here?" No...

They shrug. "'Cause I wanna be here. Sammy's gone, so there really isn't anyone to tell me what to do--and honestly, I just wanted to see what you're doing!" Bouncing up and down like an energetic little kid, the organist questions, "Are you still spying on everyone?"

Dot sighs. "I told you, it's not spying."

"Then what is it?"

The screenwriter has to pause at that. It's complicated... "It's none of your business. How about that?"

"Ah!" Johnny enunciates. "Yet by spying on others--”

"It's not spying!" the other protests.

"--are you not poking into their business...es?"

A pause followed by a sigh from Dot.

Johnny smiles smugly and leans on the chair. "Sooooo, can I help? Pretty, pretty please, with ice cream on top?" I promise I'll keep it all a secret!

The female shakes her head. "There's nothing to help with." I can handle it by myself.

Wait.

"Hold on a second--you mentioned that Sammy was gone?"

Johnny nods. "Yeppers. I dunno, he might be sick or something."

Before they're even finished saying the sentence, the gears in Dot's brain are turning.

He might just be absent for today...

I'll wait for a few days--perhaps it isn't something to be overly concerned about. But if he doesn't show up...then I'll begin researching.

"Actually...you can help me."

The musician's eyes sparkle joyfully as they bound upward. "Really?!"

"Yes..." the writer considers. "I want you to tell me how long Sammy is gone."

A silence.

"That's it?" Their voice deflects disappointment--I'd thought I'd be doing more.

"For now, yes." She wavers, then adds cautiously, "But if you do that correctly, I'll give you more beneficial tasks--"

"Ooh! Will I get to write notes?"

"Ummm...maybe in the future." But for now, leave that part to me. "Just focus on this for now."

"Okay!" Johnny smiles brightly and speeds out of the room, mind alight with this entertaining new task. Yayyyy! Secrets! Spying! Fun!

Dot can't help but grin at the organist's youthful approach to the entire situation. There is a true child at heart.

She turns back to her notes. Maybe if Buddy is willing, I can have him help me with this, too--he already knows about the notebook, and of course he is quite observant.

Maybe we can piece this puzzle together...together...

§

Joey stride down the halls to the closed-off room where he had left Sammy and Alice over the weekend.

Maybe they'll--I mean, she'll--be willing to work with me this time.

We can fix the error easily; this should be obvious to her...

Or is she going to continue to block the way to dreams coming true?

Honestly...I find that I care less and less each day about what they all want or think.

Needless to mention, the businessman's drinking spree over the weekend was not exactly beneficial to his overall health--even when he isn't drunk, he hurts. The longer his headaches last, the shorter his temper becomes...and lately, he has become fidgety.

And I never used to be like that before.

Of course, Joey definitely is not the world's most patient person...but this isn't that kind of fidgety.

I just have energy that I need to release.

What attributes to these changes within him? He knows the answer...but denial is so much easier.

I'm fine. It's not a problem.

Besides, the drinking helps--it calms me down.

It's not a problem.

From behind the dazed owner, the projectionist and the poet peek out from around the corner.

So this is where it happens, Norman contemplates; he shifts his gaze toward his companion. "Are you ready?" After Jack confirms, the two surreptitiously linger down the corridor.

The boss and his followers continue on to the destination--the door very nearly shuts on the stalkers, but Norman stops it with his foot.

"Where's Sammy?" they hear Joey ask; from against the wall in the hall, the lyricist squints into the tiny crack.

Alice crosses her arms as she steps out of her cage--it's clear that while she's trying to act tough, something has happened to sadden her.

There's no mistaking the heartbroken look in her eyes.

"I...I don't know." Her hands travel up her arms nervously. "He's hiding here somewhere--I know he didn't leave the room..." But that's not what I want to talk about... "Why didn't you tell me that he...forgot?"

"Huh?" the boss responds dully.

A pause...

"So you really don't know?"

The projectionist shifts next to the poet and scans the two on the other side. Well...at least nothing bad happened to Susie. She looks just like her cartoon counterpart...

But what does she mean, 'Sammy forgot'?

"He...he..." Swallowing her animosity and anguish, the angel attempts to explain, "He acts like he doesn't know me. Over the weekend, I tried to jog his memory...tried to bring back some times that we had together...but he just doesn't understand!"

"Alice, you have to understand that you look different--"

"This is not about that!" The heavenly host clings to the businessman desperately, inky tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why don't you understand?! He doesn't remember me! Or you! Or anything!" It's like he's lost!

My wonderful, handsome Sammy...a lost one...

I can't let this happen to anyone else.

"But no matter where he is, I am not going to let you hurt him anymore." Biting back a sob, she resumes, "You obliviated his mind completely--"

"Whoa, Alice, slow down!" Joey pushes her off. "I'm sure that I can fix this--"

"You're sure?"

Norman and Jack exchange perplexed glances.

At Joey's silence, the angel grasps his collar and continues hotly, "Just say it! Say you don't know! Say that you're just making this up as you go! SAY THE TRUTH!"

"But--" The owner stumbles backwards.

There's more here than just making cartoons into humans, the cameraman considers as he witnesses the scene. We've missed a lot of the show.

Meanwhile, Jack worries. Is Sammy okay?

"I'M DONE WITH ALL YOUR PROMISES THAT YOU'LL NEVER KEEP!" Alice finally snaps. I just can't take it anymore! I did nothing to deserve this!

First, he made me wait AND WAIT  AND WAIT  AND WAIT!

I just wanted to be beautiful, with a beautiful life, and a beautiful boyfriend, and eventually husband, and probably some beautiful children...

But that's never going to happen now!  My  dream is  NEVER  coming true!

IT WAS ALL A LIE!

"Alice! Stop this, now!"

"NO! I AM  SO DONE  WITH YOU!"  I AM  NOT  GOING TO BE YOUR SCAPEGOAT ANYMORE!

The projectionist and the poet shuffles backwards in alarm--this is not something they should get involved with.

"N-Norman?" Jack's voice is unsteady and whispery. "I'm s-scared..."

It's going to be okay, my songbird, the other wants to say, but he himself isn't sure about that. Instead, the cameraman winds his arm around his boyfriend and holds him close; Norman can feel Jack's anxious *thump-thump-thump*ing heartbeat against his own.

Joey sighs. So this is how it's going to be? Well...let her get her way.

"We agreed on a plan, and you have fought me every step of the way, Alice. Is this the way you truly want it to be?"

There's a silence as the female continues to glower at the male.

"Fine," the latter dictates decidedly, waving his arm at the other. "You're on your own, then--do what you want. Go out and the world and show them what you're like now. But when they all laugh and stare and whisper about you--well, don't come crawling back to me."

I don't like to give up...but I guess I'm forced to give up on  you .

Whoa, whoa, Norman thinks. Where did that come from? He can't--she--? Where's the logic to all of this?

Then again, I guess Joey isn't exactly the most logical person in the world...but he can't just kick her out like that!

Maybe she's right--he's just making this up as he goes...

But--

"Now, tell me--where's Sammy at?" the businessman's voice interrupts the stalker's contemplation.

"I told you, I don't know," the heavenly host bitterly answers. "And if I did, I wouldn't tell you."You've hurt him enough!

"Then I'll look for him myself." Joey marches toward the door.

Norman rapidly grabs Jack's hand and whirls around the corner before the boss can spot them.Damn, that was close, the former toils. But now...

"Do we follow him, or stay here?" he asks in a whisper to his spying partner.

"Umm..." Jack debates, loosely aware of Joey's gradually-fading footsteps. Alice probably won't do anything while we're gone...so... "F-Follow him."

With that, they wait until their fixation has rounded into another corridor before slinking along in his tracks.

So Sammy's had free range of the studio the entire time? the poet questions. Or did he just escape...

Or did Alice help him escape?

The businessman seems to lead his stalkers on a wild-goose chase, entering a daunting series of rooms, calling the composer's name--it appears the desired employee doesn't care to answer him. Norman and Jack are at the point of being frustrated when Joey finally enunciates, "Ah ha!"

The owner strolls into Thomas's office to find Sammy gaping at the Ink Demon; standing next to the Lost One, Joey asks passively, "What are you doing, Samuel?"

The other does not reply; scanning the scene from behind the door, Jack considers that Sammy is acting like he didn't even hear him.

However, the inky instrumentalist does speak after a moment. "He's..." Just like me...trapped in an abyss...

Bendy merely stares at the people opposite of him.

"...understandable." Sammy finishes. What if...

What if we're connected?

What if...he's the key?

What if...

He reaches out to touch the abomination, but Joey quickly slaps his hand back.

"Hey!"

"Sorry--I can't let you touch him. It would be bad."

Who are you to tell me what to do? The musician glares at the other. Keeping me from...

He is once again distracted by the failed Bendy before him. What if...he can control me?

It makes complete sense to the composer--two inky beings...one doomed to an eternity in the disgusting chasm he calls a body...and one who can set him free.

Maybe...he can free me from this place...

But not while everyone is in the way...and not while he's trapped in that cage...

"Are we done here?" The impatience begins to slip into Joey's voice.

Sammy doesn't reply. Maybe...if I set him free...he'll set me free...

Like a savior and his prophet.

"That's enough now, Sammy," the boss states, pulling his employee's arm. "We have things to do." Firstly, we'll turn you into the perfect version of what you are looking at, then--

"No" is the only answer, but it's a defiant one. I've already decided; I have to be here.

"Samuel Lawrence," Joey pronounces testily, "do what I say." Don't be like Alice.

The scorned songwriter is silent.

"He's the mistake," the businessman speaks up again. "You don't have to worry about him--he'll be taken care of in due time."

His employee still refuses to move.

"Listen to me--" the boss suddenly hears rustling and releases the music man; peering at the location he thinks it came from, he comes to a discovery: he is being watched.

Behind that tiny crack of the door, there are two familiar people struggling to look in on the scene.

Joey knows...and Norman and Jack don't know that he knows...and Joey knows that they don't know that he knows...and the other two don't know that he knows that they don't know, knowingly.

Regardless, Joey knows.

Well, well, well...what do we have here? Some spies, it seems? Some sneaky employees, trying to find out things behind closed doors?

Some...wanderers?

Wandering is a terrible sin.

He has the idea of confronting them right this moment...but then he has an even better idea.

They'll  be punished for their sins, then...and  I'll  get some new cartoons...

And Sammy...he can play a part, too...

See Alice? I don't make it all up!

"Okay, Sammy--I'll tell you what." That smirk appears on his scarred face. "You want to mingle with Bendy? Then...you'll have to do a few tiny tasks for me."

"Why should I?" the Lost One retorts, not lifting his gaze from the Ink Demon.

"Because..." Joey wavers, "yooou...have to prove that you're worthy to meet with him."

Sammy finally breaks his fixation and looks at the boss rapturously. "I'll do whatever it takes." I must have him notice me... "What is it that I need to do?"

The other blinks. Wow. That worked? Not that I'm complaining or anything.

Jack tears his eyes away from the scene long enough to wonder, What's he getting at? I don't think that demon thing can decide who he wants to meet...

Regaining his thoughts, the owner proposes, "Come back with me to your cage, and I'll tell you."

A pause.

"Can't you just tell me here?"

"No," Joey answers a little too quickly. "Do you want to...consort with him, or not?"

"Of course I want to!" Someone so similar to myself, that may free me--

"Then just follow my requests."

Why won't he disclose anything? Norman ponders. Does he keep it all a secret until the end to keep them suspenseful? To keep them interested?

It's almost as if we're in some sort of book where the author keeps trying to draw in the audience by giving just enough information to keep them guessing.

The composer is silent for a moment before agreeing. "Okay...fine." This had better--no, this will be worth it.

After he notices me, maybe I can introduce him to that angel. She seems nice.

The projectionist and the poet are much more prepared for their swift transfer to a different corridor before the one they're stalking arrives at the door this time.

Sammy rather reluctantly follows the owner after one last longing glance at Ink Bendy; the projectionist and the poet pursue in their path once they're sure neither is going to turn back.

Alice is crouched by her cage when the others arrive; she lifts her head at the composer's entrance.

My Samuel...

"You brought him back."

"Not for you, of course" Joey retorts coldly. You think I would just leave him there, and not put him to any good use?

Scratch that--I don't care what you think or thought.

This is  my  story.

Pivoting back to the Lost One, he continues, "Now stay here--really. Don't go bothering that--"

Mistake is the first word that comes to mind.

"--Ink Demon. I have him separate from you two for a reason."

"Okay," Sammy agrees almost immediately.

Well, that was easy, the businessman considers. What exactly does he see in that...thing?

I mean, it can't think or be friends with him or anything.

Maybe this is part of the whole 'forgetting' thing  she  was getting at?

As long as he follows my orders, though...it doesn't really matter. I'm not the one being affected.

"I'll tell you what you have to do for me later," Joey goes on. "Then I'll let you do whatever with Bendy." I'll have to maintain distance between them, I suppose, so Sammy doesn't get hurt...or will he be invulnerable to inky scars and such, since he's made of ink, too?

His hand subconsciously drifts to the scars upon his own profile. Still...

The musician's voice recovers the other back to reality. "You can't tell me now?"

Ignoring the angel's piercing glare directed at him, the owner replies, "No; it's important that I wait until later to tell you." At a time when we aren't being watched. "Don't worry--you'll understand tomorrow. But until then, you'll just have to trust me."

What's he trying to manipulate my Sammy into doing now? the heavenly host speculates, but doesn't object right at this moment. I'll wait until he is gone before I say anything.

Both Norman and Jack are quite confused at this whole sight and conversation.

Everything is so loosely connected, the former acknowledges. Is there even a plan? Or is he just trying to get Samuel on his side?

Why is Samuel so concerned with that Ink Demon? the poet scrutinizes. And...why does Joey encourage it?

Apparently, it all makes sense to the Lost One, for he merely answers, "Well...okay then." If that's what it will take...

At least someone here follows my orders, Joey determines, turning back to the rebellious angel. "As for you--get in your cage."

Alice goes to open her mouth to argue...then thinks better of it; she makes quick work of darting into her enclosure. Talking to him will do nothing...I need to take action when he isn't looking.

The angel will be set free.

The boss smirks menacingly as he locks the cage. "Thank you for finally doing what you're told. Keep it up."

Sammy figures out that he should follow suit, and does; once both inky creatures are sealed up, Joey starts toward the door.

The cameraman and the lyricist scurry over to a different hallway, still unaware of the boss's knowledge of their presence.

Then Joey is finally gone.

§

Once she is moderately positive that her boss has exited, Alice speaks up to her former lover.

"Sammy...don't listen to him. Please...he'll do whatever it takes to get his way, even if and when that includes hurting you." And he's already done enough of that.

The other doesn't say anything.

"Please...Sammy, I'm the one you need to trust. Not him."

Again, she does not receive an answer.

No...he can't possibly actually be considering this...

What are you going to do, Alice? she asks herself, but the question sounds an awful lot like something Joey would ask; the angel returns to her position on the ground.

I...don't know...

§

The stalkers decide that they have seen enough...actually, probably more than enough.

Silently, they trudge to the double doors...

"W-What are we g-going to do?" Jack finally questions. Is there anything we can do?

"I wish I could tell you," Norman responds dejectedly...then has a possible solution. His eyes flicker with that mischievous shine as he suggests, "We...we could help them escape."

"B-But how? And w-what if Joey figures out i-it was us?" Would he be so crazy as to hurt us?

"He won't. I promise," the projectionist vows, slinging his arm around his partner. "I'll do whatever it takes to make sure we escape with them."

It's a good idea...but a risky one, Jack considers, hesitantly leaning his head against the other's chest. I don't know if it could really be possible--so many things could go wrong...

I never would have thought months ago that I would be putting my life on the line by helping ink people break out of this place...but here I am.

But...

I can't have any regrets.

"Flicky?"

Norman thoughtfully glances down at him.

"Um...i-in case this d-doesn't go right...uh..." Come on, just say it! "I-I-I-I love you."

"Awwww, I love you too!" The projectionist leans down and plants a kiss on the lyricist's red cheek. Such a sweetheart...

Although finally revealing his feelings is a great weight off of his shoulders, Jack is still doubtful.Do we really want to get involved with this? Maybe it would be best to just leave it be...

But we can't just let them suffer, either...

The poet knows that he should be getting ready to leave...but he doesn't really want to.

There's too much going through his mind...

And he's comfortable right where he's at, with his head on Norman's warm chest...

"I-I don't want to go home..." Especially alone...

"Me neither," the other agrees, then hesitates before asking, "Um...would you--do you want to go home with me? Like, to my house? I could cook you dinner or whatever you want, and take you home after a while..." Is that rushing it?

Snuggling further into the projectionist's chest, Jack smiles. "That would be nice."

Thus, the two head off into the parking lot; as his boyfriend enters his vehicle, Norman ponders on what tomorrow might bring...

But...I need to stay in the moment, with my songbird.

It's going to be fine...

We're going to be okay...

I hope.

§

It's repetitive...but I can't help myself.

Arriving at the speakeasy has become something of routine for Joey...as has calling cabs right after he leaves the studio and hoping the driver doesn't ask too many questions...and trying to ignore the staring from the other customers inside who he fears might recognize him...and skipping dinner so he can drink...and denying the obvious.

So this is what it feels like when you become one of the drunks.

He's well-aware at this point that it's a problem, but what can he do about that? Quitting would probably require that he tells someone about his issue, which he is not going to do.

Never .

Not only would revealing his (Joey hates the word) addiction prove his faults, but it with no doubt would have disastrous effects on his reputation.

And I can't have that.

Additionally...there's a part of him that doesn't want him to quit--moreover, it won't let him quit. The influence is too strong.

I don't think I could even stop myself if I tried...

But...is it really that bad?

...

Denial is easy.

Taking a seat at the counter, the businessman recognizes that the inevitable is to come...and he is not going to even attempt to prevent it.

There are six shots, and six thoughts.

One.

It's not my fault--any of this. It's Alice's fault. It's Sammy's fault. It's Norman and Jack's faults.

It's Henry's fault.

That sounds right..if he hadn't left, none of this would have happened.

Then again, I guess dreams wouldn't have the opportunity come true if he was still here...

Two.

Dreams--no one else seems to understand them! Can't they see how nearly everything rounds back to them? The inventions of the mind, the wonders of imagination; none of that would be here if it weren't for someone having a brilliant idea!

But I guess geniuses have a habit of going unnoticed...or do their peers just doubt them? The ones that surround them, too blind to see the final goal...

Three.

I know a lot of people who can never see the final goal: my employees, my former co-founder...my stepfather.

That fucker. He had to take away the one thing I loved. He did  not  deserve her. And he never, ever believed!

Four.

All you have to do is believe--it's that simple! Why do they all question it?!  Don't they understand?! WHY DON'T THEY GET IT?!

My head hurts...

Five.

What's in this shit, anyway?

I miss my mother...

Why did she have to go? She would have supported me the whole way, I just know it.

Whyyyy did she have to go?!

Six.

Owwwwwwwwwww--everything hurts--make it stop--why does it hurt so much?! It was only a little bit!

Joey rises unsteadily and wipes his eyes.

His impulse is finally satisfied.

The street is blurry and wriggles like waves in the ocean when he gazes at it--the lamps along the sides of the road are little floating suns.

The next thing the studio owner knows, he's at his house--but how did he get there? After some aggressive fumbling with his door-handle, the entrance finally gives way.

The headache from before is much worse, and now is coupled with nausea--Joey isn't sure if that booze is going to stay down.

A preview of the hangover I'm gonna have tomorrow...

It hurts...

Why...why do I do this to myself?

He staggers over to his medicine cabinet and takes out a bottle of aspirin; four little white tablets disperse into his hand.

Moonshine might not taste wonderful to him, but water and pills aren't exactly a delicacy, either.

Fuck it all.

Joey lies on the couch with his hand on his hot forehead and closes his eyes.

It's...not my...fault...

Joey lies to himself.

Lying is easy.

Chapter Text

"Hey, Dot! It's your favorite spy ever!" Johnny calls out to the writer the next day. "Guess what?"

The other lifts her eyes to them with the ghost of a smile. "What?" The grin disappears as she considers, It's about Sammy, isn't it?

"Sammy didn't come back!" they announce with their hands on their hips proudly, not mindful of how problematic this proclamation is.

"Really?" Dot takes out her notebook and scribbles the information down. So something is actually going on--between Samuel's and Susie's--

Johnny interrupts her train of thought. "Yeah, and you know what else?"

"Hm?"

"Mister Drew is acting kind of weird--I passed him this morning, and he looked really tired. I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he just walked on past me. He was pale. And green. Pale and green at the same time."

"Ah...that is kind of strange," she agrees, then notices the organist's bright smile. "What is it?"

"Aren't I the best spy ever? Are you super proud of me?"

"...Sure. Good job, Johnny. Keep it up."

While the other basks in their approval (Weeee! This is SO much more fun than working!), the writer continues to chew on this new information.

So the music department leader and the primary voice actress go missing without a word...

And they just happened to be together...

And Joey isn't looking well--is it illness...or guilt?

There's too much here for it to be a coincidence...

But I can't risk getting myself involved--I may be curious, but I'm not that brave. If there is something really going on...Joey would never let anyone sneaking around get too close.

That man loves his secrets...and he isn't apt to reveal them until it's convenient for him.

Or until it's too late, judging from Grant's reaction before.

But  what  is it that's missing?

You can't prove a case without evidence.

I'll wait and see what Buddy says.

Later during lunch break, the gofer in question arrives in the Writing Department with a puzzled expression.

"I don't know...I didn't see him around," Buddy discloses, referring to the missing musician. "But Norman and Jack were acting kind of weird--muttering to each other and stuff up in the projector booth, like they were planning something. Maybe they know something about all of this?"

"That's a good theory," Dot replies, once again pulling her writing tablet. I'm not sure about Norman and Jack's involvement in this, but Joey's a different story--no pun intended.

Joseph "Joey" Drew

- Co-founder of his namesake studio; wrote the animation guide and autobiography  The Illusion of Living.

- Overly ambitious, almost to the point of being forceful; also bossy and snarky, especially when irritated. Probably has a good side somewhere in him, but his ego usually prevents others from seeing it. Early employees suggest that he was nicer before Henry's dismissal. Possibly lonely and/or insecure?

- A workaholic...mostly toward his employees. Does he work that much himself? Or is it just all talk?

- Absolutely obsessed with his company's slogan: "Dreams come true." Seems to believe that magic exists, and that there's always something more to achieve.

- Has ruffled a number of employees' feathers: Grant, Samuel, Thomas, Wally, etc. Stresses out even the most level-minded workers with imminent deadlines.

- For all his talk, he's quite secretive...is it just distractions for his true intentions?

While it may be true that the boss's page is one of the few with numerous notes, Dot isn't completely confident in all of them--most of her notes about other workers are based on her own conversations and interactions with them, but Joey's page is greatly dependent on what others say about him.

Then again, I suppose I'm being dependent on what Buddy and Johnny tell me about others, as well...

At least I know that they're reliable sources.

She updates the statuses of Sammy and Susie, adding questions of how and why they are missing.

The disappearances are connected, I just know it...

But as we cannot get further information just yet, I think we'll just have to keep watch at what happens.

We'll just have to wait and see.

§

Up until now, Thomas and Wally haven't had to fiddle with the Ink Machine or the Ink Demon after-hours--Joey had prohibited them from being in the studio following its closure.

While it is nice to finally have a break and go home when he is supposed to, the GENT worker can't help but be suspicious: There's a reason for this--he's planning something.

He  always  is!

But heaven forbid that he would tell me what it is!

Still...at least he only has to deal with that odd contraption for eight hours, as opposed to the nine or ten that Joey can stretch it to.

But it's still  my  machine!

And I warned him...

Wait...

What if--

"Mister Connor, sir!" interrupts the construction worker's contemplation; Thomas whips around to notice Buddy.

"Ah...gofer...what is it?"

The teenager hands the other a piece of yellowish paper he has with him. "From Mister Drew."

Thomas's dark-hazel eyes scan the note:

Thomas and Wallace --

Meet me in Thomas's office as soon as possible. You two are going to be experimenting with Bendy.

Joey Drew

His eyebrows ascend at the ambiguous language. Experimenting? What the hell?!

What does he think I am? I'm a reputed GENT worker, not some doctor-magician; I have other clients, too.

Ah, there's no time to question it now.

"Thank you," Thomas responds shortly to the gofer, giving the note back to him; the latter nods once and darts back down the hall.

Well, I guess I'll just have to wait and see what  this  brings.

The GENT worker is somewhat surprised to perceive that his office door is already unlocked--he frowns at the man inside.

Joey counters the glare with that smug little smirk that the other detests so much as he finagles with Bendy's cage.

"So what exactly are we doing with him?" Thomas questions sharply. I thought we were done with this.

"You'll see" is the only reply returned; the boss scurries behind the construction worker as the Ink Demon steps out of the enclosure.

He's scared of getting hurt again, the employee realizes with a smirk of his own. I said it before, and I'll say it again: he deserved those scars.

Meanwhile, Wally peeks around the corner at the scene.

"Come in," Joey beckons him; the janitor observes something of an ill air about the owner, with his bloodshot eyes and sickly complexion.

He's kind of antsy, too, his mind automatically adds at witnessing the other's slight fidgeting. But how can someone be tired and restless at the same time?

The boss claps his hands once (perhaps in an attempt to wake himself up) and states, "Okay, you two--I have a little task I want done." He begins pacing--much to the irritation of the other two--and continues, "We all know that this Ink Demon is...rather useless. Impractical. Counterproductive. But" --he places emphasis on the word-- "we can...change that..."

Joey is already out of breath by the end of the sentence, and his migraine isn't helping matters. I feel like shit...

Inhaling deeply, he goes on, "So I am going to have you guys do a little...procedure with him."

Procedure? Wally questions. What exactly is there to do? He's just a living blob of ink.

Thomas merely crosses his arms and waits for the certain flimsy, incoherent explanation that is to come.

But the summary doesn't arrive--instead, the businessman begins rummaging through the GENT worker's desk.

"Hey, what are you doing?!"

"Getting some ink," Joey deadpans, as if this should have been obvious; after removing the jar, he beckons for the other two to follow him.

Thomas's eyebrows shoot upward as he glances at Wally, who returns a shrug.

The Ink Demon trails behind the humans, forever wearing that cheesy wide smile.

I know he can't think, the janitor muses, but...can that thing feel? Like, does he have emotions?

Does he ever get tired of smiling?

Maybe he's a little more than a living blob of ink...

Joey leads the failed cartoon and the employees to a closed-off room (How many of them are in this place?! Thomas questions); the door is opened to reveal a rather cramped room consisting of a table with various metal instruments upon it...and what looks like a surgery table.

Whoa, whoa, whoa--where the hell did he get all of this?! Wally inquires, then considers, Probably the same place he got that cage for Bendy.

This is really, really weird...

"Now then," the boss speaks up, narrowly dodging Bendy skirting around him, "we--that is to say, you--will be...operating on this thing. Perhaps...you might be able to fix him..."

Did he forget about the entire explanation regarding souls and this Demon?! Or that whole thing he did with the projector?! Thomas doubts. Obviously so.

"What exactly do you want us to do?" Just spit it out!

The businessman sighs melodramatically. "Isn't it obvious?" Swiping a sharp, scary-looking apparatus similar to scissors off of the table, he answers, "Cut him up! See what's in there that we might be able to use! Op-er-ate! And put him back in the cage when you're done!"

Joey frowns at the shocked, disgusted expressions that are returned to him.

"Wha--we aren't Ink Demon doctors!" the construction worker cries, throwing his arms up. "This is completely out of the question!" Where the hell does he come up with this shit?!

The blue eyes stare sharply into the green-brown ones. "It is not! It might help us figure out what to do with him!"

"But--"

The owner flushes and pokes the other's chest angrily. "Quit complaining-- you're working for me! This is an order given by me, your leader, so you must obey!" Pivoting to Wally, he snarks, "And that goes for you, too!"

The janitor puts his hands up defensively as Joey harshly shoves the tool into his other's employee's hands and storms out.

There's a dumbfounded silence.

"What the fuck just happened?" Wally finally breaks the tension.

A frustrated sigh from the other...

"I have no idea." His voice shifts to something of a growl. "But...better get to doing it, I guess. Whatever it is that we're supposed to do with him--dissection, or something--"

"Umm..."

Neither of them is sure how exactly to go about this task...

"Well...for starters," Thomas begins, "you're going to want gloves when dealing with this...thing. You go get those, and I'll try to move him onto the surgery table." If that is at all possible.

"Right." The maintenance worker dashes out.

Staring into the Ink Demon's non-existent soul, the GENT worker braces himself with a deep breath. "Okay--now work with me. Please."

He hesitantly places his hands on the sides of the abomination...and surprisingly, Bendy doesn't object.

All right...so far, so good.

Thomas lifts the Ink Demon very, very slowly; the latter still doesn't react.

Great--now just stay calm, and I'll--

"EEERRRRRKKKK!"

The human panics at the sudden screech and releases the failed cartoon, almost falling backwards as he does so.

Ugh, it was only a matter of time.

Damn!

Wait...

This plan might work.

Thomas grabs the inkwell from the metal instrument table and pours its contents onto the surgery table.

Indeed, Bendy almost immediately pivots toward the ink-covered medical platform and rubs against it.

Close enough, Thomas decides as Wally enters back in.

"You got him on there?"

"Not without some trouble--but yes."

The other human nods and grasps one of the sharp tools. "Alright, then...you ready to get surgeried, Bendy?" I'll say that your doctors certainly aren't ready...

Silence follows the question; the janitor squints his eyes and slightly pokes the inky monster.

"EEEEEE!"

"Sorry, sorry--"

Bendy continues to shriek as the humans struggle to lock him onto the platform with the wrist straps--eventually, they are able to secure him down.

I'm sorry about this, Wally mentally apologizes to the demon as Thomas reaches for the knife on the other table and cuts the horror's chest open.

"NNNNNNNN! EEEEEEEEE! RRRRGGGG!" Ink Bendy growls and scratches in his constrained misery.

Had to do that is the only reaction from the GENT worker.

Both human parties feel sorry for the inky abomination (more so Wally than Thomas), but they also keep in mind that they don't want to do this, either.

If it's true, the theory that Ink Bendy has emotions, the janitor regards, then...I don't want to even know how he's feeling.

Apparently he can feel physical pain...

Then again, Bendy, I'm not exactly jumping for joy at this prospect--I was forced into it.

After what feels like too long, the maintenance and construction worker figure that Joey isn't returning and give up on this 'dissection'.

We didn't even gather any information from the experiment! Thomas gripes. Just a ton of ink on our clothes!

If Joey wants something done correctly,  he should just do it himself.

Wally unstraps Bendy from the medical platform, and the two ink-lead him back to Thomas's office; the Ink Demon is significantly more reluctant to follow them this time, and the other two understand why.

Pain isn't subjective to humans.

The pair is out of breath by the time they finally convince and lock the monster into the cage.

The GENT worker finally speaks up, "Let's never do that again."

"Agreed."

A pause...

"So, um...how's Shawn?"

"Huh?"

"How's Shawn?" Thomas repeats.

"Oh, uh, fine," the janitor replies with a tad of surprise--the construction worker has never before expressed interest in Wally's personal life, never mind his love life. Maybe it's because he's aware of our relationship... "Been able to take him on a few dates outside of work since Joey hasn't been making us do anything after-hours." That dreamy, in-love smile appears on his face. "I'm glad we're finally together." Wally sighs in amour before considering that he should return the question. "Um, how's Allison?"

"Fine," is at first the only response before Thomas adds, "But...I'm concerned about her safety here--especially regarding Joey." I just can't place why he even hired her, if not for malicious reasons.

Wally nods. "You really care about her--I can tell."

"Well, of course! She's..." His voice shifts to a lighter, reflective tone. "...my everything. So kind and mature..."

"Heh. I guess her role as an angel suits her."

"Yeah..."

An awkward silence...

"Um, so...I guess we're done," the janitor finally says. "Thanks for puttin' up with me."

"Mmhm."

Oh...I guess it's back to the strong-and-silent thing again, Wally thinks. It was good while it lasted...

Maybe he has trouble talking to people? I mean, he seems confident, but maybe he just doesn't really know what to say. Not shy--but like, socially limited.

I dunno. That guy's a mystery.

But...I guess there's something under that shell.

It just takes time to see.

§

Sammy and Alice are surprised to see that Joey arrives a bit earlier than usual--before the studio has completely closed down.

No...no, the angel immediately thinks. He's here to screw even more things up--as if he hasn't done enough already!

He's taken away  everything  I care about...

My love...

My life...

My  humanity ...

But...at least I still have myself...

My  personality...

My  thoughts...

My soul.

And...my beauty.

Beauty...the one thing he cannot  possibly  take away from me, no matter  what  he does.

No matter what form I'm in--my human form, my true angel form, or otherwise--I'll be a pretty sight...

Charming...just like Sammy used to say.

But...this is just another reminder that human Sammy--handsome, driven, salty Sammy--is never returning.

Now...he's lost. Lost to himself...lost to the world.

So confused...with no idea of what's going on or why he is here...

Alice hears Sammy's excited voice ring from the other cage. "Are you here to bring me to the--the--"

"To the Ink Demon?" Joey finishes for him. "Yes and no."

And with no clue of what could be in store, the heavenly host goes on. But...he's very interested in Bendy...

Why? Doesn't he have questions about all of this? Like, why is he in a cage? Why is he trapped? Why is he in this studio in the first place?

Doesn't he have questions?!  Or does he not remember? Is he confused as to why he doesn't remember?!

...

I never used to be a worrier before...before...

"There's a little something you have to do for me before I...'introduce' you two," the owner continues with a tad of smugness. "You see, I came here earlier than usual because I figured I might be followed if I waited."

A puzzled expression crosses the Lost One's inky face. "Wha--"

"Two of my employees were spying on us last time; I decided to not confront them when I found out, however. But today...today they will be getting their comeuppance." No one sees MY plans before I show them!

The angel--who up until this point had been facing toward the wall--angles her head just slightly toward the other two. No...

"There are two of them, and I'm certain that they will be back tonight; they cannot possibly stand not being in 'the know' about our personal issues."

The angel stares at that smirk--that predictable, innocent-enough-looking, secretly-sinister smirk.

If only I had seen that before...

If I had known what that stupid, smug smile meant...

I could have stopped all of this...

But I will.  I just need to wait for the right time...once  he  is gone...

He'll see.

Just wait...

"You, Samuel," Joey resumes, "are the central gear in this machine." Heh heh, Ink Machine puns. "You will be the one taking care of our little investigators."

The composer is silent for a moment. "But..." How will that help me get the 'Ink Demon's' attention?

Maybe...

Should I even question it?

It doesn't matter, as long as  he notices me in the end!

He changes the sentence's course. "Okay. What do I need to do?"

No, my dear, Alice mentally cries. No...

"First, we need to move rooms--I'll explain the plan there."

Sammy readily rises and jaunts over to the businessman's side.

The smirk directs to the heavenly host. "Are you coming too, Alice?"

There is a sharp silence as the angel's despondent hazel irises glare into the exhausted blues.

"No."

"Fine," is Joey's terse reply. I don't need you anyway.

"Samuel, let's go."

§

About an hour later, Jack and Norman prepare their spying course...still unaware of the trouble that is to come.

"W-Where exactly are we going t-to go this time?" the former questions. "I-I mean, we haven't seen J-J-Joey all day..." Who knows what he's been planning all this time?

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," the projectionist responds. "Just listen for voices or footsteps that signify where they might be." We're going to put a stop to this--

"That rhymes."

There's a silence as Norman ponders this sudden statement...then laughs.

"When did I become the poet?" He wraps the giggling lyricist in his arms and brushes the latter's bangs off his forehead.

It's nice to forget the world...even in the midst of chaos.

Back to a more mature manner, the cameraman asserts, "Okay--time to be serious. We just need to be perceptive, and we'll figure out where they are."

"Y-Yeah...ok-k-kay..."

Sensing his boyfriend's anxiety, Norman squeezes the other's hand and reaffirms, "Songbirdy, I promise, we're going to be okay. We'll find Alice and Samuel and maybe Bendy, escape from this hell of a studio--or even this city--and report Joey to the police...and at the end of the day, I'll buy you some chocolate and we can cuddle as we watch a movie. And we'll leave all of this mess behind--it'll be you and me, and no more ink or weird demonic thingies or anything like that. Just us."

"B-But...what about S-Sammy and Alice and B-B-Bendy? After we help t-them escape?" If that's possible...

But...maybe it is possible with my Flicky...

This time, the projectionist hesitates. "Well...I guess I don't know--but we'll try to form them back to their original selves, and maybe regain Samuel's memories."

Maybe use the Ink Machine before we turn Joey in? But would it work in reverse?

Ah, I don't know! This is almost too much...

"Okay, I admit that I don't know how it'll all work--it's kind of up in the air..." Norman's voice cracks slightly, like he's on the verge of crying. "...but Jack, if we work together, it'll all come together--just wait and see. Please...are you with me?"

The poet leans against the other's side, concerned at the latter's worry. He usually keeps it all in...he's usually my stronghold...

But now it's the other way around...

And I have to stay brave. For him.

"Of course. Always."

Norman pulls Jack closer, letting the lyricist snuggle into his ribcage. "You know I love you so, so, so much, right?"

"Yes...and I-I love you, too."

The poet hears an odd noise...like sniffling.

"Nonono, F-Flicky, don't c-cry!" Or I'll cry with you!

The projectionist wipes his eyes and smiles softly. "Sorry, sorry--just--got a little emotional there."

The couple stands in blissful silence for a moment, just hugging each other...

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

With that, the duo set off down the hall, not really sure which way they should go.

"M-M-Maybe we should t-try to remember where Alice and S-Sammy were and g-go there?" Jack suggests before a fearful, familiar-sounding cry rings through the corridors.

The projectionist's and the poet's eyes meet, and both have a single, concurrent thought:

Samuel.

Sneaking put aside, the two break into runs and dash toward the source of the noise--the screams continue, this time adding, "Help! Help! You can't do this to me!"

The composer sounds like he's struggling for his life!

Norman and Jack are led to a closed door, behind which the yells are coming from.

"Samuel!" the former dares to call, flattening his hands against the dark wood. "Is that you?!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHH! HELP MEEEEEEE!" is the response.

They waste no more time--the door screeches out a *EEEEE!* as it is ripped open and the lyricist and cameraman dash inside...

...and are seized by two separate parties, one drawing forcefully on each side.

"Norman!" the poet shrieks as their hands are gradually pulled apart; something covers his mouth when he tries to scream, and he attempts to wriggle out of his inky captor's clutches--to no avail.

"Ja--!" the other tries to yell back before his voice is too suppressed; the projectionist kicks somewhat aimlessly in hopes that he'll hit his holder.

Joey struggles to keep Norman still and silent (the latter is significantly taller than him); the owner hisses at the Lost One, "Here, you take this one."

"Can't," Sammy responds shortly as his own prey futilely fights to get free--the composer binds his arm around the lyricist's neck. "Knock him out."

"Don't suffocate him!" The boss attempts to gesture at Jack, which proves to be a difficult task to undertake when hassling his strong worker. "What do you mean, knock him out?"

"Just--!" The inky man growls in frustration. "Never mind, I'll handle him--take this one to the Machine." In an all-too-swift move, he shoves the poet at Joey and snatches the projectionist by the collar.

A shriek escapes from the lyricist while he is transferred only to once again be muted by Joey and told sharply, "Shut up! Screaming isn't going to help you!"

Norman tries and fails to escape from Sammy's grasp, forced to witness his lover being dragged away to that atrocious, ominous, evil contraption. "Jack!"

"Quit squirming! It's the end of him--and you." the Lost One sibilates, pulling the cameraman toward him forcibly.

The next thing Norman sees is the wall rushing towards him--

--and then it all goes black.

§

"Stop it! Stop! Please!" Tears stream down the poet's face as Joey bends his arms back and pushes him through the hall.

"I told you to stop screaming!" the boss snaps back. Goddamn, if I had known it was going to be this hard...I wouldn't have--

"Y-Y-You're h-h-h-hurting meee!"

This time, Joey rounds to face Jack, the former's fatigued blue eyes suddenly alit with malice. "Boo-fucking-hoo! You think you're the only person that suffers in the world?! Well, let me tell you--I've gone through so much more agony than you, and you don't see me whining! Besides, you should be thanking me for being so generous with your punishment! Believe me, I can think of something much worse, if that's what you desire!"

Before the lyricist can even consider responding, the owner claps a hand over his mouth.

Enough chatter--let's just get this over with, Joey determines, shoving his employee under the machine's spout. "Don't even think of moving. Stay. There."

Jack doesn't even entertain the idea of escaping at this point; he falls to his knees under the nozzle and cries at the floor.

It's all my fault!

If I had convinced Norman not to spy from the very first time, none of this would have happened...

Norman...

He's...he's...

Samuel has him! And...and...

That means he's in danger!  Or worse...

He doesn't want to even think of the word.

This is it! He's...gone!

There's never going to be a 'just us' now!

It's all my fault!  I ruined it all!

"Will you stop?" the boss gripes. "It's not the end of the world!" What was I thinking, letting Henry hire such a blubbering baby?

Henry...

No. He is not going to think about that.

"You are going to be--" Joey begins before Sammy enters...lugging a certain projectionist with him in one arm, and something sharp in the other hand.

"Norman!" Jack cries out, making to stand up and rush toward him. He's alive! OhmyGodhe'saliveohmyGodwhyisn'themovingWAITISN'THEALIVE?!

"I told you not to move!" the owner yells, pushing the lyricist back down; at the same time, Sammy slides forward and holds a knife--one from the table in Bendy's dissection room--at the unconscious cameraman's neck.

"Do what you're told, or he gets it."

The poet shuffles back under the spout and sobs, "N-N-Nononono! P-p-p-please don't h-hurt him!" It wasn't his fault!

"Then stay under that nozzle," Joey directs acidly, then mutters at the Lost One, "He's not dead already?"

"No--just unconscious." Are all people this heavy when knocked out?

From around the corner, Jack observes a shadow sneaking along the wall. Nononono!

"Right--and when exactly did I give you permission to steal my surgery tools?" Joey asks with a tad of annoyance. That wasn't part of the plan.

"I didn't steal it; I'm just...borrowing it for now," Sammy claims. I needed some way to force the small guy to obey. "I'll put it back. Who are you cutting open?"

"Be--nevermind." The businessman loops back around to the side of the Ink Machine--where the slot to insert the picture of the desired cartoon is--and slips in a sketch. "Just watch this one so he doesn't move."

The familiar *clank*s and *grrrr*s and *gloop*s of the contraption resound through the area...Jack prepares to accept his fate...

The shadow on the wall creeps closer...

Then a *CLANK!* suddenly resonates from the other corner; Joey and Sammy's eyes drift to the source--a shelf had collapsed in on itself.

"What the hell?" the former says under his breath; to his inky employee: "Go take care of that."

Jack suffers within the drizzles of ink spewing out of the machine--it burns so much!

I'MONFIREI'MONFIREHOWDIDIGETSETONFIREHELPPPP!

Waitwaitwait--it's just the ink--

But why does it hurt?! His thoughts began to become disconnected. Like--blazing--fire--ink--no--happening--Norman--cannot--no--he--possibly--I--

Unintelligible whispers surround the poet, begging him, yelling at him, advising him--but are they really whispers...or just illusions?

What is he even being turned into? Sammy had cut off Joey's explanation...

Late--now--matter--but--

Then there's a rush...like something is pulling him...pulling him out of the ink-flames...

It's over...or so it seems...

...or just briefly halted?

Jack tries to open his eyes, but there's nothing to open--they were never closed...?

He could have sworn he had shut them in fear and pain just before the drowning...

The lyricist glances upon his arms (or where he thinks his arms might be) and down his body...

It's...

It's ink.

Just like Samuel--nonononono!

Yet...there's still a slight burning sensation--not nearly as bad as before, but still there...

His gaze continues on to the floor--wait, why is there a floor?

Where are his legs?!

It's as if he's an ink blob stuck onto the floor!

NONONONO!

As this wasn't enough to worry about, that pulling feeling is still here--and as Jack slowly regains perception of the area, it hits him that he's being dragged away from the machine.

"LET ME GO! AHHHHH!"

He tries to scream, but no words or sounds come out; the poet flails his inky body panickedly in hopes that he'll wave off whatever is tugging him.

"STOP! I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN IT! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! PLEEEEASE!"

"Shush, shush!" Alice silences him in a whisper. "I'm trying to save you! Sammy's going to hear us if you keep yelling like that!"

What?! The lyricist is extremely puzzled. "You can hear me?" But I can't hear myself--at least not physically!

"Yes--now shhh."

The heavenly host's eyes flash with speedy persistence as she shoves the partial-Lost One (or that's what Jack thinks he might be) into a strange, tall box of sorts; after being sure that he cannot be seen, Alice goes to turn away.

"Wait!" Jack beckons her back desperately. "How--why--please--?!" There are too many questions overlapping over each other--the lyricist starts over. "I'm really confused--how can you hear me?!"

"I don't know," she responds shortly, fencing the box in with her body. "You're not really talking, but I can still hear you--"

"Like reading my mind?"

"I told you, I don't know."

The poet puts the question aside; there's more important matters. "Norman! He's in danger--Samuel has him! They're going to drown him! We need to save him--"

"I can't save everyone," Alice tries to explain. "It was hard enough distracting them long enough to get you out of the ink--"

"But we can still get him, right?! Right?!"

"No, Jack, we can't." This time, she actually pivots to face him, her voice reflecting genuine pity. "Believe me--if I could have, I would have." That was part of my plan. "But with him being knocked out and in Samuel's grasps, and you under the Ink Machine...I just couldn't do it all at once. I'm sorry...really."

The inky lyricist is shocked beyond belief--he had been saved, but the projectionist was left to his doom...

He wishes it was the other way around.

"But--but--"

"If they are doing what I think they're doing with him," the angel interrupts, "he will still be alive--just in a different form." Like...me.

"Like a cartoon? Like you are?"

"Yes, exactly. But he'll still be alive, Jack." She tries to smile, but it's more of a worried expression.

A pause...

"Alive...that's good enough. That's all I want, for him to be alive. It doesn't matter what he looks like in the end."

Should I tell him about the 'possibility-to-forget-their-entire-past' thing? Alice debates.

Would I have wanted to know?

Not now--it's not the time.

Jack fires off another question: "What am I?"

The haloed human gazes back at him with a puzzled expression. "What do you--oh, you mean like what kind of ink creature are you?"

"Yes."

"Well...I'm not really sure," Alice contemplates. "I mean, I pulled you out of the machine before it finished drowning you...so like a legless Lost One? That's what I call Sammy..." Though now that I think about it, that's probably a bit insensitive... "You're all inky like he is--but you still have your hat for some reason."

Another slight silence...

"Really?" The lyricist reaches for the headwear; sure enough, it's still there. Caressing it in his hands, he thinks, The last remaining part of my identity...

"Wait--did you hear that last part? After 'really'?"

"No--did you say something?"

So she can't read my mind...and it's not physical speaking, since I don't stutter...  "No...nothing. Um...so where am I?"

To Jack's surprise, the angel chuckles a bit. "Just a little hideout thing I made. It's actually an empty Tasty Eats Machine with the back panel cut out--I call it a Little Miracle Station. Get it--because I'm an angel, and I create miracles, and it's a hiding station...heh heh..."

The lyricist attempts to laugh, but nothing comes out--he's not sure if that is due to his lack of a mouth or his emotions regarding this whole ordeal. "So you planned this whole thing? Saving me, I mean?"

"Yes...but no," Alice hesitantly replies. "I wanted to save both of you...but as I said before, that was impossible." A smirk crosses her face. "But there's more to the plan--we just need to wait."

"Wait? Wait for what?"

"Wait until Joseph leaves--that's when the real escaping will begin."

"Okay...so what should I do between now and then?"  Besides worry about my Flicker?

I...really, really hope he's okay...

As long as he's alive...

Please...

The heavenly host puts a finger to her lips and utters a single phrase.

"Just keep quiet...and wait."

§

Thus, Jack waits...and waits...and waits...

After a significant amount of time (How long has it been? Thirty minutes? An hour? Two? Too long, that's for sure...), Alice kneels down to the lyricist's height and confides, "Okay, I think I hear them coming--I'm going to go back to my cage so they don't figure out that I left. Stay here...and wait."

"Okay..."

"I'll be back to tell you when you can leave."

"Okay..."  So much waiting...I just want to know if Norman is all right...

The angel hesitates, then awkwardly pats the half-Lost One on the hat. "Be good, Jack."

"I will."

The last of her smile disappears through the door, and the poet can hear her footsteps linger in the next room.

Then two sadly-familiar voices echo through the corridor towards him:

"Did you find him yet?" The impatience rings out in Joey's voice. Make a plan, and someone causes it to all go to hell! A perfect candidate for a Boris--gone! Disappeared without a trace! Wasted!

"No," Sammy replies, sounding exhausted. "I swear, he was there one second, then the next, he was gone! It wasn't my fault!"

"Oh really? Strange...I remember specifically telling you to watch him so he didn't escape!"

A heavy clomping noise resounds behind the two as the Lost One retorts, "But you weren't watching him either!"

"BECAUSE IT WAS YOUR JOB!"

"All right, all right, calm down!" All this work to get Bendy to notice me? How does it all add up?

Still...

Someone like me...

It will be worth the arguments and trials.

He  will set us free.

Free from this bossy grouch, no doubt.

The boss growls. "We'll find him soon enough, I suppose--take this one to the cages. Think you can handle that without messing up?"

Norman! Jack anticipates hopefully. He's alive! Oh my God--

Pleasedon'tlookherepleasedon'tlookherepleasedon'tlookhere--

Sammy makes a seething noise in response, and the plodding resumes.

Then it fades away...and once again, it's back to silence...

After another expanse of time, Alice re-enters the Little Miracle Station room (I never noticed it until now, but this place is HUGE, the poet regards).

"Is Norman okay?" he asks almost immediately.

"Umm..." The cartoon-human wavers, which stresses Jack. "Yes...he's alive. But he looks different...like, really different--"

"Doesn't matter--can I see him? Is Joey gone?"

"Yes and yes." She waves her hand in a 'follow-me' gesture, and the lyricist is surprised to see that even without legs, he can still 'walk' in a way.

Like sliding...I slide instead of walk...

Weird...but I guess I'll have to get used to it...

The haloed human leads the half-Lost One to the ink creatures' room--Jack immediately recognizes a cantankerous Sammy brooding in his cell...but the other...thing...

"Jack!" it joyfully proclaims, rushing to the lyricist and swooping him into an inky hug. "You're okay! I was so worried--I woke up and didn't see you, and I was afraid that they had--well, never mind! You're here and alive!"

So he didn't forget... Alice ruminates somewhat enviously. Why couldn't Sammy and I be like that? Why did he have to forget?!

Maybe...it's only a 50/50 chance...and those two just got lucky...

"Norman?" The poet glances upward at the tall, ink-covered thing in front of him.

Yes...the body of it is Norman-shaped...but there's more...

Instead of a head...the cameraman's neck is connected to a projector, with reels and all.

How?! Jack questions, staring directly into the too-bright light streaming from his boyfriend's face--or where his face would be; however, the lack of real eyes on the former prevents any discomfort that would normally be present from gazing into the blinding lens.

Not only that, but in the center of the projectionist's chest is an odd, circular device...like a glowing speaker. But...I don't hear his voice out of it...at least, not exactly--

Meanwhile, Norman examines his drowned lover. He's like Sammy...but not completely...

How?

"What did they do to you?" the shocked couple inquire simultaneously.

Alice goes to speak, but remembers that Sammy is here, and shuts her mouth again.

"I'll explain later," the lyricist promises, hoping that the Lost One won't be too suspicious of this declaration. "You go first--what happened?"

"That's just it--I don't know," the Projectionist discloses. "Samuel" -- he gestures to the composer -- "knocked me out, and when I woke up, I was like this. I don't even know what cartoon or whatever I'm supposed to be--"

"I had to do it!" The scorned songwriter rises and faces the other two with his hands on his hips. "It wasn't like I had a choice! And since you absolutely need to know, you're supposed to be...oh, what's he called? The one guy from those comics that man showed me...the Cameraman--that's it."

"Oh, you can hear me?" Norman asks with just the tiniest bit of spite. "Then why didn't you say anything when I was screaming for you to let me--"

"Because I was following orders! Besides, I don't think that other guy--what-his-name--can hear you and that little crybaby anymore."

"Don't call my boyfriend a crybaby!"  You can't even make decisions or have opinions for yourself--you need to have someone else tell you what to do and think! Insulting my songbird like that--

"Well, he is!" Sammy bites back. "Bawling his eyes out when I led him to that machine--"

"That's enough, both of you!" Alice interrupts. "Why can't Joey hear these two?"

"Hell if I know! Must be a thing where only ink creatures can hear each other!" It suddenly hits the composer that the very creature he had been reprimanded for losing is RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM. He points at Jack and cries, "Hey, you're here!"

Thanks for noticing, the lyricist thinks but doesn't say.

"Yes, he's here," the angel pipes up. "I saved him from the ink--"

"WHY?! DUE TO YOU, I NEVER GOT TO HAVE HIM NOTICE ME!"

Alice firstly cowers somewhat under her former lover's rage...then stands up straight. It's like I don't even know him anymore!

He's...not even Sammy.

That means...I don't have to deal with this.

"Why are you so obsessed with meeting or whatever with Bendy?! He's just a mistake!" Unlike me, your perfect-no-matter-what-form-I'm-in angel! Your Alice!

Your...Susie...

But...not anymore.

"I did what I had to do." She sighs. "Samuel...you have to pick your loyalties. A very handsome and intelligent man once told me that there are a lot of jerks in this world that will use any means necessary to achieve their ends, even if it means hurting others--Samuel, Joey is one of those people. Do you really want to side with the manipulative, self-centered jerk who's going to lie and betray you just so he can win, and you can lose?"

Sammy doesn't immediately respond to that point.

"We don't have to listen to him. You can still meet with Bendy--" Although I still don't understand why that part is so important "--if you just follow us. We can be the ones to set ourselves free."

"So...what do you say? Are you with us?"

The musician hesitates. "I...I..."

But...what about the Ink Demon? The way he is so...understandable...

What about what  I  think?

"Yes..."

Alice's face lights up. I finally got through to him--

"But also no."

A pause...

"What do you mean, 'no'?" the Projectionist questions. It's just yes--that's it.

"I mean...I'll escape with you, but without you. You guys go one way, I'll go another," the Lost One clarifies rather drily. "I'll forge my own path." Preferably with the Ink Demon--the one who understands what it's like...

"But--but..." Alice struggles to add a point that might persuade her former lover to join them. We...we could start over!

We can fix this!

We...

"...Please?"

"Wait--so are we leaving this place? For real?" Once again, Jack is confused. How? I mean...obviously we can't go out in public like this...

"Not exactly," the angel expounds. "We're going to be stuck here--that part is inevitable--but we should at least try to make the best of it..." If that's possible. "We'll just need to keep hidden--"

"All day? All night? Forever?" Norman inquires. So we're never going home? At all?

All the things I had planned...

My future...Jack's future...

Joey took it all away!

"I...I...I don't know!" she cries. "There's only so much I can figure out!" We were all doomed from the start! "If you guys have any other great ideas, now's the time to speak up!"

A dead silence emanates...

"That's what I thought." The heavenly host sighs and tries to steer the conversation back. "There's nothing else to do--we either suffer under Joey's wrath...or we change the story. We do what we want! We don't have to play the parts in his book anymore! Cells no more!"

"Cells no more!" Norman agrees, and his boyfriend soon follows suit.

"Cells no more!"

It's up to Sammy now.

"Please, darling..." Alice begs. "Run away...run from all of this...and live." Even if it's in secret.

The Lost One takes a deep breath in...

"Okay, I'll run off--but I still want to go my own direction."

"Fine--just as long as we all stay out of Joseph's grasps. Okay?"

"Yes...cells no more."

§

Thus, the foursome release themselves from their cages and each head their separate ways...

Alice, who due to her lonely nights in the dark studio knows the place better than almost everyone, almost immediately heads down the corridors where she knows most don't linger.

I...wish I could have taken Sammy with me...

But he's so  fixated  on that Demon...

And I still don't know  why !

Maybe...maybe I'll find out. I'll interact with that...ugly thing--see why he's so important.