Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Progress report to GENT home office, Client; Joey Drew Studios.

With the addition of the new ink recipe to use in the machine, we have made an unbelievable leap in progress and have almost met our client’s expectations. What had started as a machine to mold life sized figures out of ink has now done things that border on being supernatural.

Although Mr. Drew seems unimpressed, even frustrated with the results at times, in spite of the fact that the models have come out identical to their cartoon counterparts.

The process of running the cartoon film through the machine for the figures to imprint on has been successful, but it looks like that unless someone goes through the trouble of making a short that only has ONE character in it, the machine picks what character it makes at seemingly random. That is our client’s complaint; that instead of being user chosen, the machine picks out which living, breathing, thinking ink models it makes at random. Upon working on this, if I were to be in the client’s shoes, I’d have several valid complaints regarding the machine and the models it created, but our client’s complaint… Is that the machine that doesn’t have a system that allows the user to pick and choose which model it makes yet creates a physically flawless model every single time, does not allow the user to pick and choose which model it makes. He never ceases to infuriate me.

On a sour note, there was an incident with the figure in the likeness of a character called ‘The Brute’. Upon its creation, it immediately went and broke our client’s leg in a very… well, brutal fashion too. But fortunately, it has not physically attacked anyone since The Cameraman figure was made as we have threatened to separate them if it keeps up that behavior. It still likes to insult people, and it still does things that unnerve me though. We’re hoping that the rest of the figures will be less violent and or creepy.”

Thomas clicked off the recording and sighed as he looked at the newly made report, there was no way he could submit this to his boss without someone sending in someone to make sure he wasn’t huffing in ink fumes and whatever the Studio workers smoked to consider any of this to be normal.

“Hey Tommy! I think I figured out the issue with the machine! Or rather, its fuel.”

The mechanic grit his teeth and turned to face his client.

“What? I wasn’t aware that there was a problem with it.”

“Why, Tommy, how could you forget? I’m talking about the figure deposit problem of course! Why did we get The Brute when we wanted to get Boris? Why did we get Cameraman when we wanted Bendy? The answer was so simple, why, it was even staring at us the entire time!”

“Uh huh…” Thomas did not look convinced. “And what was this issue?”

“The ingredients, the Ink of course! You simply can’t put blueberry pancake batter in an oven and be surprised when you get blueberry pancakes instead of blueberry muffins, We got those two knuckleheads before we got the real stars of the show because the souls used to make them weren’t fit to make those two, but the machine still did what it does best: made living cartoons.”

Tom had an uneasy feeling in his gut as Joey grabbed his arm and led him to the Ink Machine’s room. He felt like a sheep being led to the slaughterhouse, he KNEW what went down in there! He knew the other ingredients, not well, per say, but for long enough to judge them and their characters.

He didn’t shed a single tear when Sammy was used in it, in fact, he was rather pleased with the results before it started acting out like that. He and the music director were almost always at each other’s throats for one reason or another. If you asked him, the ex-musician was strange, rude, clearly mentally unstable, and sometimes even cruel. And even if he wasn’t, his physical health had declined so much over his time at the studio that it was obvious that he would die regardless of whether or not he was put in the machine. Feeding Sammy to that machine was an act of mercy, really, and even if it wasn’t, it served him right to become a- err, The Brute and have him put the former musician in his place- put his villainous ways to a decent cause. Now if only someone could ensure for a fact that The Brute would behave...

Now the other ingredient, Norman Polk, was a different story. The man was old, weird and kinda creepy. On the surface, the man was an ideal candidate. Like Sammy, he would die anyway and nobody would miss him when he did. But on the contrary, he seemed like he still had some good years left in him. And while he was weird and creepy, he had been those things in an oddly endearing way that most of the studio had either liked or tolerated enough to not be bugged by it. The mechanic didn’t know how to explain it, that man reminded Tom of a mysterious, mostly-estranged relative that shows up out of nowhere and was always there for you even if you don’t always see him. So when the man snooped too much for his own good and had to be silenced… Tom could never look the resulting toon in the eye, or in his case, the lens.

But the mechanic couldn’t deny that it needed to be done, after all, the former projectionist was far too nosy for anyone’s sake. Nobody who knows the secret of the Ink Machine (or rather, it’s unconventional secret ingredient needed for its ink) should be free to wander the studio and spill the beans.

And a feeling in his gut was beginning to tell him that that was why he was the next on the chopping block.

He had built it, he learned what it would take to make it work, he had done what it took to make it work, and it was working now; No more models that would only move a tiny bit before collapsing into puddles! No more off model models! No more issues aside from x, y, z… -No more reasons for Joey to keep him alive when it was now too dangerous to his business… 

A tiny voice at the back of his head told him it served him right. The creator of this unholy torture device would now be consumed by it, just like how the maker of the Brazen Bull was the first victim it claimed.

At this point, he was almost morbidly curious on who or what the machine would make him; would it poke fun at his past and make him that territorial junkyard guard, Canoodle? Would it ironically punish him for his greed by making him The Fat Cat of the show, Boswell Lotsobucks? Would it acknowledge that although he was a villain to the bitter end, he still tried to go clean only for demons to drag him back down his dark paths and make him into Charley? Thinking about it, any butcher gang member would be a good enough fit really.

He was a mix of relieved, disappointed, and horrified when he was brought into the room and saw the unconscious voice actress of Alice Angel strapped to a mobile operating table. Joey seemed to ignore his reaction as he proudly showed her off and began to monologue.

“Like Boris, Sammy was a musician, simple-minded, and was very loyal to those he considered friends until the bitter end. But what made Sammy more like the Brute then Boris- Aside from body type, obviously, was that Sammy had quite the short temper on him, one that got messed with often, and a tendency to hold onto a grudge that can’t be swayed away with a good meal or a bad joke… Just like our friend; the Brute.”

Tom stayed speechless as Joey continued his seemingly prepared and rehearsed speech.

“As for Bendy and Norman, well, it’s obvious that those too simply weren’t compatible in the slightest! Sure, they both have their mischievous sides, but that alone doesn’t make a man into a good imp… However, do you know who DOES have more in common with Mr. Polk? That’s right! A certain smart alec-someone who knows a thing or two about anyone, everyone, and everything whether he wants to or not. Someone with a darker, more jaded sense of humor than our little devil, someone who can lurk in the shadows, or in his case, ‘backstage’ for safety or to gather Intel, but be happy and proud to take the front stage when the need arises! ...Alright, I can see that Norman’s soul may have influenced the personality of our Cameraman, but at least he did it in ways that make sense to the character.”

The mechanic continued to stay silent as Joey continued.

“But the main point is: we know what to do to fix this little issue. If we want a main character, we need someone who embodies the soul of that character. And Ms. Campbell here said it herself; Alice is a part of her!”

“Joey…”

“Why, she’d be thanking us if she knew what was coming! This is a dream come true for her! She always seemed to be the happiest when she was singing our angel darling’s songs…”

As if he was snapped out of a trance, the mechanic pulled Joey to his face, gripping the animator’s arms tightly and shaking him up a bit.

“Joey! We can’t do this! Susie isn’t like Norman or Sammy. She’s young, healthy, and still has a lot to live for. Nobody would buy that she passed on from something out of the blue, or that she moved away without warning or telling anyone. Everyone in the studio loves her and talks to her frequently! If we do this, especially so soon, they will make the connection, and they will find out about this. It was bad enough when Norman went, imagine if someone as well loved as her went too!”

Joey just laughed and slapped Tom’s shoulder.

“Oh Tommy, all we need to tell them is that Susie got her big break and is Bringing Alice to life in ways never before seen! And to sell the illusion, also tell them ‘you know how those folks in Hollywood are with their schedules, always a bunch of busy bees.’ They’ll bite, you just have to trust me.”

“What if they don’t?” the mechanic argued. “What if they start snooping around and start to piece together what really happened to her?”

Joey’s smile wavered a bit, but remained steadfast.

“Well, we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we reach it. And when we do, we’ll have our answer!”

“Nnnnggghhh…”

Both of them shuddered when they heard the voice actress start to stir awake.

“I swore I used stronger stuff in her drink…”

“...Jo...Joey..? ..Mr. Conner..?” The voice actress’s real eye widened in horror as she looked around, and her voice wavered as she grew more and more frantic. “WHat’s going on?! Where am I- Why am I tied up?!”

“S-Susie! Everything’s perfectly fine my dear, you just need to calm down a bit and I’ll explain everything…” He subtly jabbed Thomas in the ribs with his elbow. “Tommy!” He hissed “Throw her in the machine already!”

The frightened voice actress began to struggle against her restraints while Tom hesitated. Joey shot him a glare as he strolled up behind Susie and put a ‘reassuring’ hand on the weeping angel’s shoulder.

“Joey, please… let me go… Don’t do this to me!” Tears were running down the woman’s face, her voice was soft and breaking from her stress. “Just let me go and I promise I won’t tell anyone…”

“Now, now, Susie, there’s nothing to worry about, yes I know this looks unsettling from your position… But you and Alice are going places, new, big places that most people only dream of seeing! You’re going to bring her to life in ways that will touch the hearts of generations!”

A flash of realization crossed her face.

“Joey… answer me this: when Sammy ‘died from untreated lung cancer’ did he actually die from lung cancer? And when Norman ‘died from a workplace injury’ did he really…?” her voice trailed off a bit with uncertainty before asking her third question. “Did their deaths have anything to do with those two toons that showed up?!”

Her questions were not answered by words, but with actions as the two men stuffed her into the machine. When it turned on, her screams echoed throughout the mostly empty studio, chilling all who heard them to the very bone.

When they finally stopped, the machine whirred and roared to life and Joey rubbed his hands together in glee as he watched the machine work its magic.

Thomas, on the other hand, stood in silence while staring at his hands as dread and guilt sank in his gut.

The former man’s smile fell into a look of confusion when he saw a pair of gloves with ‘X’ marks on them come out, followed by arms that connected to them. That look of confusion fell deeper into a frown when he saw the arms stretch, curl, and twist when the gloves reached the floor as if they were streams of ice cream coming out of the machine at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Alice didn’t have arms that curled and stretched, but Joey knew a certain demoness toon who did; Miss Twisted. He was cursing under his breath, of course it would complete their little trio before giving him what he wanted! Now he wasted his one shot at getting Alice!

The rest of the toon didn’t even get out of the damn machine, it was like she was taunting him by continuing to stretch her arms and let them continue to coil in piles on the floor instead of showing him the finished product.

Furious, he marched over and grabbed the toon demoness’s arms and yanked her out of the damn machine.

“Stop messing around!” He scolded before pausing and reapplying his signature smile. “Your friends Brute and Cameraman have been worried sick about you ever since their creation! You wouldn’t want to keep them waiting for you any longer than they’ve already been, right?”

He could’ve been imagining it, but he swore that she had a look of pure terror on her face before she put on a fake smile of her own. And was it just him, or was this Miss Twisted’s left eye slightly discolored, glassy looking, if that made sense for someone with pitch black pie-cut eyes. The grayer eye she had reminded him of Susie Campbell’s fake eye.

“Y-yeah! You’re right!” She pushed Joey out of her face, clearly uncomfortable by his staring but pretending to be perfectly fine. “I can’t keep my boys waiting for too long, who knows what they’ll do?” She chuckled nervously. “So… where are you keeping them? where are they hiding?”

“Tommy here will be happy to show you, just follow him and-”

“Thanks!”

The demoness chipperly chirped and swiftly yanked Thomas out of the room at a speed that almost insulted the man.

Even if he was dumb enough to trust the demon who beheaded him a hundred thousand times over with his body, what would be the point of going from a projector headed ink monster to a projector headed toon? What would that even accomplish for him? Give him the joy of being shorter, noodlier, and having less fingers? It wasn’t like he was stuck in a random object every loop like Wally was.

Besides, while his current form wasn’t ideal, he was still fine with it. Plus, sometimes his head even comes in handy. When he needed to fix something at night or when the power went off, he still had both his hands free to handle it, no need for a flashlight when he had one built into his body. And as it turned out, his head was compatible with a lot of reels, so as long as he had some lying around, he could pop them in and play them whenever he wanted.

That was partly why weekly movie nights became part of his routine. He got to be semi-social in a way that made him feel better about himself and his situation and it made the others feel more comfortable with him. It was started by Susie and at first it was just the two of them, but lately more people had wanted to join the movie nights.

Norman was browsing through a box of discarded reels looking for an interesting enough film while Henry and Linda were making snacks in the kitchen. He had heard that Wally’s granddaughter might be joining them tonight, so naturally, he was looking through one of the more family friendly boxes before he suddenly got hit with what felt like the force of a freight train at full speed.

“GRUNKLE NORMAN!”

“ACK!”

Speak of the devil, he had been ambushed by his only weakness! (Aside from getting killed).

“What movie are we gonna watch tonight? Is there gonna be aliens? I hope there’s aliens. Marvin and I have been looking forward to this all week!”

“CELESTE!” Wally called out from somewhere near the front door. “BE GENTLE WITH YOUR GRUNKLE, AN’ DON’T SPOOK HIM TOO BADLY! HE’S BEEN THROUGH A LOT.”

“SORRY GRANDPA!” She called back.

“It’s all fine ya two, I can still take a good hit here an’ there.” The projectionist’s speaker crackled as he ruffled her hair. “Although, I would like a heads up next time kiddo.”

Celeste scrambled off of him and helped him get back up. And in turn, Norman picked up Marvin the Martian and gave him back to her.

“Ya know, I haven’t picked out the movie yet, maybe there is an alien movie or two somewhere in dis ol’ box, wanna help me find one?”

The future space explorer gasped.

“YES!”

She shouted before excitedly plunging herself into the depths of the reel box. Norman laughed and scooped her out of it.

“Now that ain’t how we find a movie, kiddo. Ya gotta be gentle with these things so they don’t break.”

“Like you?”

“Yeah, like me.”

It had taken a while but they had fished the perfect movie up and out of that old box. After a bit of re-arranging the living room to be more like a theater, the group took their seats, Norman popped the reels into his head, and the movie began to play.

There were some issues during the show, but nothing more drastic then the type of issues you’d get in a normal theater experience like some jerk heckling the show (Thanks Ink Demon) or someone stealing others snacks (Thanks Boris) but it wasn’t until halfway through the movie before there was a serious problem:

Norman had to sneeze.

The man who did not have a nose at all, and often wondered if he even had a respiratory system in the first place anymore, had to sneeze.

A feeling in his gut told him to hold it off as long as he could, but he couldn’t listen to his gut even if he wanted to. His gut couldn’t understand it; he had to sneeze.

*Ah... Ah...*

The picture was moving weird because of him, and everybody looked to him to figure out what the problem was.

*ACHOO!*

Norman suddenly felt a weight get thrown of his shoulders and heard a loud popping sound then was left in pitch blackness that he was not used to. Instinctively, he put his hands where his ‘head’ used to be and instead of feeling the warm piece of machinery, his fingers grazed over something else, something that felt like human skin, his neck? With the sense of touch, he was able to make out that his head felt a lot more like the one he used to have before it got replaced with a projector.

And then the screaming and crying began, he heard confused and concerned murmurs in the dark as well as the sound of small footsteps rush out of the living room.

“Mr. Polk...?”

“Did we just watch him die?”

“Jeez, If I knew he was gonna keel over so soon, I would’ve just left him in the studio and let him keep a more dignified death.”

“Uh oh...”

“GRANDPA WALLY! AUNT SUSIE! MR. HENRY! NORMAN’S HEAD FLEW OFF AND BROKE!”

Henry was cold and distant towards Boris during this loop. Not cruel, and he didn’t try to be mean, but the animator was tired. He was tired of this sick game Alice liked to play, giving him hope to get Boris only to come face to face with that mutilated thing that used to be his friend. Maybe if he wasn’t as friendly, the wolf would forget about him and focus on saving his own skin instead of trying to wake him up to save him…

…No dice.

He sighed dejectedly as he pulled himself out of the rubble of the elevator. He wasn’t exactly fast about it, he knew that no matter what he did, no matter how fast he tried to run through the gauntlet of trials set up by Malice, he would never save him, not unless he had the ability to control time itself or something.

He took out his ‘lucky’ pen and even wrote it down on the wall by the crash: He can’t be saved.

If Joey made him forget again and gave him back the tool, he’d see it and know it was fruitless. That specific Henry would still try, but at least he could say he warned him.

Normally, he’d try to speed through this, not for Boris’s sake, but to just get the whole thing over and done with. This time however, he was going to take his sweet time. It wasn’t like time flowed in this place anyway.

He stayed in Grant’s office looking for a calculator so he could try to see how much the 48,128 dollars that the studio was apparently short on would be now. He did not have a lot of luck with that self-given quest as the calculators in the former accountant’s drawers all seemed to be smashed to pieces. And had bite marks and ink on them…

He got into the room that had all the lost ones posed around the Bendy statue and paused. These ones all stood as still as statues until they vanished without a trace when he left the room, so what would happen if he stayed?

The old animator took a seat somewhere in the room and got comfortable, not letting them out of his sight while the music box played on and stopped.

...

They didn’t move an inch for what felt like hours. If he still had the seeing tool, he’d use it to glance around the room to see if a past him left anything regarding them somewhere. He could climb up on the stage and try to invoke a reaction out of them that way, but Henry was a patient man. And if he was not one before being condemned to this personal hell woven by his ‘old friend’, then he certainly was one now.

…

“...Who’s side are you on?”

“Huh?” Henry blinked owlishly, he knew that the lost ones could speak, but it still surprised him. And he swore that this one’s voice felt familiar. “What do you mean?”

“The Prophet tells us not to talk to you, but I can’t help it!” The lost one threw his arms up in exasperation, climbed off of the stage and jabbed Henry in the chest. “Who’s. Side. Are. You. On? The Ink Demon’s, or the Fallen angel’s?”

“Uh...neither..?”

“LIAR!”

The rest of the lost ones all exclaimed in unison.

“You’ve killed our harmless, swollen brethren in her name!” A woman’s voice he never heard exclaimed, its owner pointed at him accusingly.

“You’ve done her errands!” A man’s voice that he also never heard before exclaimed, it’s owner hid behind the Bendy statue.

“But you’ve also killed her pet... She loves that projector-thing, while our Lord does not…” Another unknown lady hemmed and hawed.

“Our Lord Himself had spared you, and we do not know why.” Another unknown man stated. “Going so far as to kill His own prophet for your sake… It’s odd.”

“So, which one is it?” the vaguely familiar one crossed his arms. “The Demon or Angel? Give me an answer and don’t be any more of a waster then you already are.”

“I’m on both sides then.” Henry stated as it clicked who the familiar one was. “Sometimes I’m on the demon’s side, sometimes the Angel’s side. I don’t want to side with either of them honestly, but there’s only two paths.”

Henry saw the lost one’s eye twitch. Thinking fast, he interjected with a question of his own before he could fly into a rage.

“And what about you, Mr. Cohen, how did you end up on the Demon’s side?”

“M-mister… Cohen…” he let out a soft chuckle. “I thought I’d never hear my own name again… But as for your question I ended up where I am because of HIM.”

“It was the same way as the Prophet and the rest of us believers did we assume;” one of the ladies chimed in.

“We were deep in dark puddles no other god could free us from...” another on the stage continued. “Forced to watch our bodies move without our own input, forced to watch them speak against our own wills…”

“Trapped within our own minds, we were screaming and screaming, begging and pleading for freedom! Our bodies were twisting and warping into ink models of those fucking cartoons-”

“-being controlled by the dark puddles in mind and body. It was trying to destroy our souls to turn the scraps of us into those characters.”

“Nonbelievers are lucky to never understand the desperation you feel when it feels like your very essence of who you are is being unraveled and re woven into something entirely different in mind, body, and soul. But they will also never know the sheer, ecstatic relief you feel when the process had been stopped by a benevolent god.”

“Why, I think that the Prophet was on the cusp of achieving perfection before our Lord restored his soul, that must be why he’s the only one of us with four fingers on each hand.” The lost one behind the Bendy statue mused.

“The Prophet’s existence alone is proof of His benevolence.” Grant added. “Our Lord has tamed the fiercest of Shrews with His mercy, and led it to care for, teach, and protect all of us, even the wasters who doubt Him. And THAT is why we serve our Lord, Waster, why we worship Him; We all have been at the mercy of the dark puddles and seen that it has none. While He has let us keep our minds, hope, and sometimes even memories for another day.”

“And perhaps, He’ll even free us from our bodies of ink themselves!”

“We just have to believe...”

“I see.” Henry hummed as he pulled himself up. “Well, thank you for your time, all of you. It was interesting to hear your side of the story. I never really thought about why anyone would serve the Ink Demon before hearing you out.”

“...Thank you,” Grant waved him off “and good luck on your travels, Stranger.”

Allison could have sworn she had him cornered this time, but the more she searched his base, the more it seemed like the slippery ink man was always two steps ahead of her, even when the race had been rigged in her favor.

The sword-wielding angel hacked her way through rubble and rubbish, keeping her eyes peeled for the tell-tale ink stains and or signs of something heavy being dragged through the area. She did spot a splatter here and there, and some drippings that could have been what the former musician’s sweat, but no signs of the ink machine.

“How does he keep doing this?!” She groaned in frustration. “I swear, it’s like he can teleport or something!”

Despite her annoyance with the way her mission turned out, she was alert and aware, but she heard nothing aside from the sound of herself searching through the now apostate Prophet’s deserted base. She certainly SAW the signs that he had at least been there; the ink-stained remains of his leftover meals (livestock, mostly sheep.), a large collage of occult related stuff, flower related stuff, and ancient myth related stuff. (parts of the story of Narcissus had been highlighted and that story was the centerpiece of this thing), and the weirdly out of character taunts written on the walls;

‘LOOK AT YOU, NOTHING MORE THAN A PUPPET ON HIS STRINGS’

“Projecting much, Prophet? Okay, that was uncalled for, I really hope he didn’t hear that.”

‘IF YOU REALLY WANT TO SEE “SAMMY” AGAIN, YOU COULD ALWAYS DIE. YOU’RE BOTH GOING DOWN TO THE SAME PLACE AFTER ALL.’ Accompanied by an arrow pointing downward.

“Why did he put his name in quotation marks?”

‘YOU’RE NO BETTER THAN HER AND YOU KNOW IT “ANGEL”.’

“...I never said I was any better than her...”

All and all, on the surface, it seemed that he left, she had been too late, and now she would have to spend god knows how long searching for another lead on his new whereabouts. But not wanting to go back empty handed, she decided to continue looking through the abandoned base.

She found nothing that indicated a bed or bed-like sleeping spot anywhere in the building, at least, not one that had evidence that it was used by him.

“I guess he doesn’t like to sleep on the job.”

She also found nothing that indicated that he cooked the dead stuff that he was eating, but she did find a variety of flowers that looked like they were mostly eaten.

“At least he’s eating a somewhat healthy and balanced diet?”

And found some of his messier leftovers.

“I really hope he’s wolfing down what he considers ‘food’ as fast as he can before hitting the road again. Please someone tell me he’s not going slowly but surely going feral...”

Eventually, she found a tape, and decided to play it.

“What are you doing, Sammy?”

*Click*

“The more I travel alone with Her, the more disgusted I feel. When I am not with a human companion, She whispers to me, tells lies and truths alike, ones I learned the hard way and ones I did not know before. She mocks my mission, my goal, for She does not know how far I’m willing to go to achieve it.

Even if I wanted to, I can’t give into Her demands, Her gluttony is an endless pit that only goes deeper and deeper, never being able to be filled.

I know what I will have to do to destroy Her, I will have to be embraced by the deepest deaths of the abyss in order to strangle it into submission. A god can be created by men, it can be birthed by a machine, but it cannot be destroyed by anything less than another god.

They have ripped away so much of my humanity already, knowing that I will have to sacrifice what little of it remains makes the divinity creeping through my blood taste like bitter bile at the back of my throat. I hear the calling of that deep, dark abyss, and it tells me I will never never be the same. That the humanity I had is forever out of my grasp.

But no matter what She says or tries, nothing will ever be as bad as the depths of the dark puddles she had condemned myself and so many others into. I am willing to embrace godhood for my sheep’s sake if it means that they will never fear the deepest depths of the dark puddles ever again.

He might have failed to set us free, but I will.”

“Seeking godhood, huh...” Allison’s eyebrow raised in suspicion as the tape ended and she tucked it into her bag. “Tom might want to hear this.”

She took one more sweep of the area just for good measure and decided to take down the myth collage on the wall to bring it back with her. As she was doing so, she noticed that the parts of the Narcissus myth that had been highlighted were: The one that stated that He was the son of a river god and a nymph, and the end of the story where the man had drowned as the nymphs he rejected pulled him in and his body was turned into a daffodil by the pool of water.

“I never liked that story, and I don’t think Linda helped by pointing out that Narcissus really never did anything aside from reject people and be rude about it.”

Attached to the highlighted ending was a pin holding down a string, which she followed and found a ripped out page on the wall that seemed to be about the language of flowers as it talked about how the daffodil was a symbol of hope, rebirth, and new beginnings.

“Oh that’s surprisingly nice!”

She smiled to herself, at least Sammy was trying to do something positive with this? Maybe? But she couldn’t lie and tell herself that the page about the flower of rebirth washed away the pit of dread that started to grow deep in her gut. With the way he spoke about the Ink Machine, the way he seemed to change drastically every time she saw him, the fact what she knew about his goal was that he wanted to become a god for the sake of destroying gods...

It didn’t bode well if you asked her and she knew she needed to find him and bring him back before he did whatever he was going to do with the Ink Machine.

The wolf’s boots screeched against the rotting wood of the studio floors as he made a hard left, the jumbled chorus of heavy footsteps pounded in his ears, both his own footsteps, and the ones of the mechanical monster closing in on him. While the whelp had been faster, he was also running out of breath while his pursuer had no such problem. If his mind was not so heavily focused on survival and trying not to get into a dead end in the inky maze, he would’ve pondered if the ink creature had breath to lose.

A miracle station… He had to find a miracle station and find it fast! The Projectionist’s fingers were practically brushing against his back! But there was not one in sight!

Trying to use his pursuer’s size against him, the wolf stuffed the stolen heart in his mouth and dove underneath a stray table, only to realize that he had made a huge mistake as the Projectionist grabbed him by the foot and was beginning to pull him out from under the table.

The wolf clawed at the floor, silently praying for someone, anyone to save him…

*CLONK*

He scrambled away as the projectionist dropped him and slowly turned to face its attacker.

“HEY LOW-WATTS FOR BRAINS!” The bold voice of a woman shouted. “WHY DON’T YOU PICK ON SOMEBODY YOUR OWN SIZE!”

The Projector-headed monster lumbered towards the lost one with murderous intent as the heroine fruitlessly scrounged around for something else to throw at the creature.

Being an opportunistic coward, the wolf had fled.

As he was fleeing the scene with his prize, he turned back to make sure the Projectionist was not following him and he had managed to get a glimpse of his savior; She was one of the many melted-looking monsters with skeletal frames and yellow glowing eyes, ‘The Lost Ones’ they called themselves. Like every single one he had seen before, she was completely indistinguishable from her fellow ink monster brethren. Identical in all aspects except for her voice.

Their eyes had not met, thank goodness, he would feel absolutely terrible if he had looked back and had saw the dismay in her eyes, her last thoughts before being sent back to the dark puddles being that she gave herself up for a cowardly, yellow bellied whelp. But her voice… something about it picked at his brain, it made him feel weird and fuzzy, like he was forgetting something important.

Being a curious opportunist, the wolf picked up a sturdy looking pipe and bolted back to the brave lost one, and it looked like he had come at just the right time too!

*CRAACK*

With a hard and fast swing to the monster’s head, it recoiled in pain and turned to face him. The wolf had become the new target instead of the lost one, and he started to run yet again, this time however, the lost one joined the chase as well, following the Projectionist and reaching out for the cables on his back.

When it’s cold, clammy, corpse-like fingers were once again brushing against the wolf’s back, he heard a ‘bzplip’ and loud screech behind him that died out in seconds.

He flinched when he felt a cold, inky hand on his shoulder, but instantly relaxed when he turned back and saw that it had belonged to the friendly lost one.

“Nice job, Buddy.” He could tell that if she still had a jaw, she’d be smiling. “You did really good back there.”

While he was happy to be praised, he felt weird about the nickname she gave him. “Buddy.” It was like that brain itch when he heard her voice except it was stronger.

He gave her a thumbs up and nodded, as he could not verbally say “Thanks! You too.”

“Well uhh... I guess I’ll be going then, the Prophet gets worried whenever any of us are gone for too long.” She explained as she excused herself. “Good luck and stay alive.”

He grabbed her hand a little too forcefully than he meant to as he wordlessly begged her to stay. (If his face was good for anything it was ‘puppy dog eyes’ and stuffing food into his mouth.)

“I’m sorry, but I can’t come with you. I’ve got an entire village waiting for me and I can’t let them down.” she frowned sadly, then perked up with an idea. “But tell you what; I’ll tell the Prophet about you, and we’ll see what we can do about getting you set up down with us, wont that be great?”

The wolf raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to go on.

“Right... it’s a bad idea to move into a spot you don’t know anything about...” She cleared her throat. “Our home in the deep underground, It is a shanty town, and doesn’t look the best, a lot of the buildings aren’t pretty, but they’re surprisingly study. The Prophet’s messages are usually all over the place, I think he does it to give us hope? But the most important thing: It’s protected by a chained gate and a lake of ink, the ink demon can’t reach us and a Giant Hand protects us from the Angel’s boats.”

He weakly smiled and shook his head in an attempt to say ‘Thanks, but no thanks’.

“No? Well, suit yourself then. What about you? What’s your home in the studio like?”

He tapped on his throat and shook his head.

“Oh yeah... you can’t talk...” She sheepishly fidgeted. “My bad...”

He gestured as if to say ‘don’t worry about it.’.

“Well, maybe we can find something to help you get your voice, there’s typewriters and a bunch of clean paper in the writing department, that areas usually ignored for some reason so the next time we meet, we can go there and find one for you.”

He nodded.

“Excellent! Meet me tomorrow by the Heavenly toys foyer, It’s the room with the giant waterfall and all the plushies, pretty hard to miss. See you soon, Buddy!”

The wolf gave a thumbs up and then the two went their separate ways with the promise of reunion.

“AAAAURRRRGHH!!”

The Ink demon screamed his head off out of frustration, ripping up false leads and throwing the confetti-fied papers into the air, bathing himself in a shower of failures and frustration. He then slammed a small, ink stained toy Bendy meant to represent Sammy down on a map of the united states, a long with an inkwell with a custom topper (shaped like his own face and body, as it was meant to represent him), A mud-stained Alice Angel doll with the halo ripped off (Allison’s rep), and a one-armed Boris toy (Tom).

He then slammed his fists over the map and plush toys over and over again instead of working on making strategies, not that anyone could blame him knowing that the former prophet had grown skilled in the arts of bullshitting his way out of situations by bullshitting himself into other situation.

“HOW IS HE- err... HOW IS IT DOING THIS?!” He buried his face in his now perfectly matched cartoon hands. “Sure, it had the lead at first, that was a given because nobody even knew it was gone until it was too late, But now?! SERIOUSLY?! HOW IS THAT STUPID EX-PROPHET OF MINE EVADING AND OUTSMARTING US AT EVERY TWIST AND TURN POSSIBLE?! HOW IS HE RUNNING CIRCLES AROUND US AND EVEN TAKING THE TIME TO TAUNT US?! IT’S A MENTALLY UNSTABLE MASKED MUSICIAN WHO’S OBSESSED WITH SHEEP FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! I THOUGHT THAT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EASY!”

Henry, clearly woken up by the Ink Demon’s very loud shit talking his ex and wallowing in despair, wandered into the kitchen that Inky temporarily turned into his base of operation. The animator, still not awake enough to deal with this, fixed himself and the Ink demon up some midnight snacks (well, closer to 2 am snacks, but who would stop them, night snack cops?)

As the man sat down at the table, the demon leaned against him.

“Heeeeeeeeenrrrrrryyyyyyy... You’re a smart cookie and you’ve probably befriended it in several timelines. How do I get it baaaaaaaaack..?”

“The ink machine? I don’t know, guess it’s up to keeping your eyes on the news peeled and getting lucky. Sammy? Well, I don’t think you can, Inky.” Henry stated as he bit into a bologna and spray cheese sandwich. “One of the less fun parts of redemption is having to accept that not everyone can or will forgive you, especially when you’ve hurt them deeply enough and the wound’s still fresh on their end. I don’t think that Sammy’s ever going to want to see you again, unless it’s to beat you to a pulp.”

“PffftHAHAHHA! Do... do you think I cry myself to sleep over Sammy leaving me or something? That I actually MISS him?”

Henry stared at the demon blankly and raised an eyebrow of disbelief while the ink Demon’s jack-o-lantern like smile wavered.

“...Do you really think I do that?”

“Well, for someone who’s ‘completely over it and never liked it in the first place.’, you’re the most invested out of any of us in bringing him back here.  And this isn’t the first time you’ve woken me up over Sammy, it’s just the first time you haven’t been woken the house up by flooding the house with the sheer force of your eyes alone.”

The Ink demon made an embarrassed face and cleared his throat, trying to brush it off.

“Well no, I’m not looking for reconciliation between us or anything, I mean, how do I bring it back here so that it doesn’t either accidentally or intentionally use its weird abilities to &%#@ the world over?”

“I... still don’t know that pal.” Henry took another bite. “Sammy might not think like a normal person does, but it’s actually pretty smart and fast on its feet, and As the prophet, it seems to be great at finding abstract solutions to problems. I’d hate to sound like a defeatist, but it seems like the best thing to do is prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”

“BUT HE NEVER WAS THIS COMPETENT BACK IN THE LOOPS!”

“We aren’t in the loops anymore, Inkwell.” Henry sighed. “None of us are bound to scripts written by someone who hated our guts.”

“Okay fine. But how does this explain the teleporting?”

“...The what?”

“ Teleporting! I brushed it off back in the loops but he’s doing it more and more and I’m getting really annoyed. I gave it SOME perks that only come with being my prophet, but not TELEPORTING, I’m not an idiot. And I’m like, 58-93 percent sure Joey didn’t do it either..? On one hand: he’d TOTALLY give Sammy teleporting powers JUST to peeve me off. On the other hand: WHY WOULD HE HAND GIFT SAMMY THE ABILITY TO FREELY WALK OUT OF THE LOOP WHENEVER IT %&#@ING WANTED?!”

The Ink Demon snatched a sandwich off the pile and angrily bit into it. Meanwhile behind the both of them, a dark robed figure wearing a featureless white mask wandered into the kitchen.

“I want to stay mad, but this is a really good sandwich.”

“Thank you.”

The figure looked through the pantry before pulling out a package of cookies with a sticky note written in Welsh on it. 

“Good evening freed bellwether, and decent enough evening to you, false shepherd.”

“Good Evening Sleep Paralysis demon that whispers of singing the song that rebirths the universe at the foot of my bed.” Henry deadpanned.

“G’Evening masked stranger who somehow teleported into our house and has a voice and mannerisms that are suspiciously identical to my missing ex-prophet.”

The cloaked figure sat down at the table with them and passed its sleeve over the cookie package while whispering something neither of them could make out, this apparently broke a magic seal on the cookies that neither of them knew about.

The Ink demon wordlessly offered a sandwich to the figure, who hesitantly accepted it and gave a few cream and cookie sandwiches in return.

For a handful of minutes, the trio ate their food in silence until the dots in the Ink Demon’s brain connected.

“Hey wait a *$@#ing minute... SAMMY LAWRENCE?! ”

“...Oh Shit.”

“Inky...” Henry grabbed onto the Ink Demon’s elbow. “Before you do anything ask yourself if 

The figure froze for several tense seconds, slowly closed up the cookie package, hid it in its robes, raised the sandwich to his face as if taking a bite out of it when the mask covered its entire face and had no hole in it for it to eat out of, and it BOLTED with the sandwich stuck on where its mouth would be.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL THIS TIME?!” The Ink demon shouted after as he gave chase. “WHY IS YOUR SKIN BROWN?! WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE SKIN?! WHERE’D YOU STICK THE INK MACHINE?! HOW DO YOU COME BACK WHEN YOU’RE SUPPOSEDLY LIVING IT UP IN EUROPE?! WHY DO OTHER PEOPLE KNOW YOU WHEN THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE STUDIO?! HOW DO YOU EAT WHILE WEARING A FULL FACE MASK WITH NO HOLES IN IT?!”

Not answering any of those questions, the masked figure ran like mad with the full force of the inky typhoon at its heels, the latter tearing through everything behind it and the demon conducting it still shouted questions as he chased his prey.

“HOW THE %*#@ DO YOUR ABILITIES WORK?! WHAT’S WITH ALL THE PLANT $#*! YOU’VE BEEN DOING?! AND WHAT’S WITH ALL THE GREEK AND BIBLICAL MYTHS IN YOUR BASES?! DOES MUSIC EFFECT YOUR MAGICAL ABILITIES OR NOT?! DO YOU EVEN HAVE MAGIC OR ARE YOU JUST REALLY $(@*ING GOOD AT SLIGHT OF HAND STUFF NOW?!”

The pair briefly paused to open the window without breaking it, climbed through, the figure reminded the Ink Demon to close it on the other side, and the pair continued to LEG IT and the Demon continued to shout questions.

“WHY DO YOU EVEN COME BACK WHEN YOU ALWAYS LEAVE WITHOUT EXPLANATION?!”

He shouted to the empty air, completely losing the figure to the outside wilderness and being answered by nothing but the echo of his own question.

“W-why...” The demon slunk down to the grassy floor. “Why does my chest hurt so much when I think about us and how we used to be?”

“I’m pretty sure that feeling is guilt.” Henry offered as he threw a blanket over the disheartened demon’s shoulders.

“YEah..” The demon’s voice cracked with emotion. “ThAT’s probably it...” he sniffled.

“C’mon.” Henry brought the demon back up to his (feet? foot? tail?) brought the demon off the ground. “Let’s go back inside.”

“...Hey Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you can answer the other questions I have for Sammy too?”

“Some of them, maybe.”

As the pair walked back to their house, the masked figure let out a sigh of relief.

He was NOT expecting the toon to be so quiet that people rarely noticed him if he wasn’t actively making his presence apparent. He was kinda expecting the people watching, the toon was a sentient camera after all, people watching is kinda their purpose in existence most of the time. But he didn’t expect the creature to have such a dark sense of humor or the morbid amount of knowledge of human anatomy that he did, and most importantly of all, the man did not expect the toon’s murder attempts.

*Click*

“AAAAACK!”

Joey screamed as a bright beam of shining light blinded him in what was supposed to be a dark room. His heart got stuck in his throat as he heard his cane clink and clatter down the staircase and he fumbled for the wall, cursing as he couldn’t find it. The animator even heard the former projectionist’s scolding as if the man was saying it to him directly;

“Yous really should get a railing or somethin’ for these damn stairs! Or at least fix ‘em up! I swear those things are gonna be the death of somebody…”

The animator found no wall, nor did he manage to will a railing into existence, but he sure did find the little twerp who almost killed him.

“CAMERAMAN!”

As he grabbed the head of the would-be assassin, the little toon played a horrifying, monstrous, and mechanical sounding shriek that would sound at home coming from the antagonist in a horror movie as he flailed and clawed the stairs for dear life, then the creature’s frantic voice came in through the speaker on his belt.

“WAIT! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! IT’S JUST THE FLASH, I SWEAR!”

Of course he was making excuses again, he always did that when he got caught. And he kept blaming his attempts on his ‘malfunctioning flash.’ as if Joey was some kind of idiot that would give the mechanical toon access to tools it could use to give himself something deadlier than a laser beam.

“Cameraman, I’ve told you enough times that while I want to be nice and fair, I can’t accept blatant assassination attempts.”

“But wouldn’t I try to push you or something while you were staggering?!”

The animator grabbed the small toon’s torso with his other hand, if the stairwell was well lit, the animator would see the camera’s lens semi-close in a way that made it look like an eye with a dilating pupil.

“Now don’t be like this, you know this hurts me as much as it hurts you…”

“JOEY! JOEY, DON’T YOU DARE DO THI-”

With a sharp tug on both the head and body, the Cameraman’s head popped off as easily as popping the lid off of a can of some delicious Briar label bacon soup™ Just the way the little devil likes it™️

The body fell to the floor as limp and lifeless as a doll, at first, Joey was worried that the Cameraman was right about making a mistake. But he let out a sigh of relief when he heard the shuffling of the headless body picking itself back up, which the camera ‘helpfully’ illuminated with its flash and didn’t give Joey a heart attack at all, no sir.

He then waved the still terrified looking camera in front of the body that was grasping at where his head used to be.

“You’ll get this back in the morning IF you behave for the rest of the night, do you understand?”

“..Y….$..”

The speaker on the body sheepishly crackled as he slumped in shame, or what Joey thought was shame at the moment while the camera itself was making a lot of frantic sounding clicking, whirring, and beeping noises.

Joey sighed and grabbed the headless toon’s hand.

“C’mon, now, let’s get you back to your room...”

The body nor the head did not answer as Joey led him back up the stairs in complete darkness, occasionally being illuminated by the shine of the Cameraman’s flash.

He gestured at his body as Henry’s mouth twitched as the old animator fought back the urge to smile, he knew the action would quickly turn into him laughing and crying on the floor so hard that it would hurt his ribs.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t answer your questions.” Henry whipped out the seeing tool and began to scan the room for new messages. They never changed as long as he could remember, but it never hurt to look. “But maybe some of our old friends downstairs can help. I know Sammy’s been deeply invested in the occult and dark arts ever since his ‘enlightenment’, and Susie seems to know a thing or two about how and why humans turn into ink creatures. I’m sure they’ll be happy to help us.”

Joey audibly gulped, his eyes widened in fear, and he fidgeted with the collar of his pajama top that was now far too big for him while chasing Henry, who was seemingly physically on autopilot as he was going through the top floor of the studio.

“H-hey H-Henry C’mon! We still have time to turn back-”

“No we don’t.” He deadpanned as the pair passed by the dead Boris. “The door always locks behind me when I enter.”

“I- uh- Okay, so you’re right… but we don’t have to start the story! We’ll just keep the machine off and we’ll just live on the top floor of this studio for the rest of our possibly endless lives!”

“Okay.”

“I know it’s not the most- Wait, what, really?”

“Yep, sounds like a plan.”

Henry walked down to the breakroom with Joey following on his heels (occasionally tripping on his own pants/bathrobe), grabbed The Illusion Of Living, sat down on a couch, opened the book and began to read.

The newly minted Imp was both relieved and confused, while he liked the idea of not having to face the horrors he created, he thought that Henry would fight back a bit more than this.

“...You’re not even going to argue?”

“Joey, I’m too tired to argue right now and honestly, it’s nice being able to just... slow down and not be rushed by invisible puppet strings to go through the same hopeless horror story over and over again.” The man adjusted himself on the couch into a more comfortable position and stuck the book into his face, ending the conversation. “It’s also nice to finally get to wait and have a damn break to myself where I’m not unconscious or imprisoned against my will.” He added under his breath.

The imp nodded and left Henry to his reading, sensing the hostile tension in the room.

It took roughly fifteen minutes for Joey to realize that living in the safe, monsterless, top floor of the studio was boring.

He couldn’t draw for self-entertainment as in addition to the issue of his new four-fingered hands, his art skills had been “Comedically” diminished to being no better than a kindergartner's, and it hurt him to look at his new works when seconds ago he was a master of the art form.

The reels upon reels of cartoons in the storage? The man already knew them all by heart, no need to waste time by setting them up in the projector.

Read the books? Pretty much all the books on this floor were in the breakroom. …So not while Henry was very obviously still mad with him.

Darts? Same issue as the books.

He tried stacking as many soup cans as he could find but that got boring quickly as well.

For the longest, most agonizing two and a half minutes, he just laid down on the floor and stared at the ceiling waiting for something to happen.

Okay, he couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was just itching to do SOMETHING productive. And why should he be stuck as an imp in the studio anyway? He knew the path back to his own world like the back of his hand! (both as a human and an imp.) It wouldn’t be TOO difficult to just accompany Henry through the usual romp of the set story and have everything go back to normal afterwards.

The toon made up his mind and started setting up the ritual, plugging in the ink machine, and realized he still needed Henry, the ink, and the book. Luckily for Joey, the tension in the air seemed to be lifted when he went back inside the break room.

“Henry, I changed my mind, we can’t live here.”

“Figured you’d say that.”

“Oh thank goodness...”

The two stayed there in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time as Henry read his book.

“...Well?”

“Just wait until I finish this book, it’s getting interesting.”

Curious, Joey peeked at the cover, something that Henry noticed.

“So about Kyle…”

“OH MY GOD!” Joey tried to snatch the book out of Henry’s hands, but the old man was faster and now much taller than him. The animator simply stood up and held it above his head. “GIVE IT BACK!”

“Nope.” Henry grinned. “You have to wait until I finish it before I hand it over.”

“YOU MONSTER!” Joey shouted, his face was a bright red, and tears of embarrassment were prickling in his eyes, which if you brought them up to him he would swear were just from the stress of losing his humanity and all that jazz. “I BET YOU WERE JUST WAITING TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS ALL ALONG!”

“Nope, I just saw the opportunity and took it. Now sit down and wait until I finish the book and we can talk later. I’m sure if you continue looking, you’ll find something to entertain yourself with, something much more interesting than a forgettable old man like me.”

The imp balled his fists, let out a wordless frustrated scream, and stomped off to sulk somewhere.

His assumed savior hoisted her body up with ease, while the Boris with the mechanical arm had glared at both of them.

Henry tried to explain the situation to the newcomers, but the angry looking wolf simply ignored him as he walked up to the man and whacked him out with the pipe.

Both the angel and the Animator woke up in a cramped, tiny, makeshift prison while one of their kidnappers was singing and painting on the wall.

It was very tense and awkward when that happened.

Malice was clearly pissed off about sharing her cell with Henry (the man had similar opinions on the arrangement as he was rightfully upset about what she did to his Buddy Boris), but the animator could tell that she also seemed scared, outright terrified, of their captor.

While he wasn’t her biggest cheerleader, he did see some flickers of Susie still in there, there were still glimpses of a woman who poured her heart and soul into her role, and loved every minute of it until her betrayal broke her. Seeing the fallen angel so scared, and dare he say, helpless in this instance, reminded him of that tape in the Angel side room.

“Everything feels like it’s coming apart…”

His own heart broke when he first heard that tape, while he had never seen Susie get her role as Alice, he did see her voice some of those talking chairs, dancing chickens, and other minor roles. She always seemed to have fun with them and if Sammy didn’t pick her for Alice first, then he would’ve asked her himself.

The animator reached out, then hesitated, wondering if it was better to try to comfort her or to give her space.

The one who broke the silence between the three was the free angel who noticed that Henry was up when he moved.

“I know her, but who are you? Why are you here?”

“I was invited by an old friend, and now I can’t leave.”

Malice rolled her eye and muttered something under her breath.

“Then you know more than we do. One minute we don’t even exist… just… thoughts. And the next minute, this place.”

“Henry.” Malice whispered in his ear as she grabbed his hand. “I know I’m the last person you’d listen to, but don’t fall for her act! I know her, and I know she’s no better than Joey...”

Henry nodded in acknowledgement and turned back to the captor angel.

 “Are you gonna let us out of here?”

“She’s dangerous and down here, strangers aren’t good things. How can we trust you?”

“If we’re so dangerous, then why lock us up instead of killing us when you had the chance to?” Malice spoke through gritted teeth. “Why bother with the cage at all?”

The other angel stayed silent as she did not have an answer, leaving the other two in silence as well.

-----

It’s only for a few hours. No need to worry, I won’t go far… Only up to level six. Just stay here. Keep an eye on them, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

The Boris menacingly slapped the axe against his palm while watching over the pair, Malice refused to look him in the eye as he did so.

-----

“You’re drawing him again?” His cellmate asked curiously.

“Yeah, it’s just… I miss him. He was one of the only good things about this studio.”

While he was focused on his work, he did notice the twinge of guilt cross her features before her face fell into thought.

“...If it makes you feel any better, he’s not truly gone. The ink probably spat him back out a while ago and he’s probably wandering the studio looking for you.”

Henry raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think that?”

“He disintegrated when you defeated him. Have you ever noticed that when you die, you come up somewhere else and you don’t find a corpse of yourself laying around the spot you were killed?”

“Come to think of it… I have noticed that.”

“When the Ink’s done with people, it leaves their bodies alone. When it’s not done with them, then if they die, it disintegrates their bodies and spits them out of the puddles somewhere else.”

“I have a feeling you know this from a lot of experience…”

“How very observant of you.” She deadpanned.

“Thanks, it’s a strong suit of mine.” He also deadpanned.

-----

“Henry? Susie?”

Malice shot the ‘clueless’ angel a glare as she set two bowls of bacon soup on the edge.

“Here, you two must be hungry.” She sheepishly looked down at the bowls. “Sorry, it’s all we have.”

The free angel turned and walked away while the Boris put his arms around the bowls, turned to glare at them, knocked the bowls onto the floor, and made a threatening gesture before leaving himself.

“They never planned on giving us the soup anyway.” Malice whispered to Henry. “It’s just their ‘good cop bad cop’ routine; “miss goody-two shoes” is the good cop who generously gives us dangerous monsters some of her and her guard dog’s limited portions of endless soup, while the “Mean wolf” is the bad cop who knocks over the soup and threatens us, out of her sight, but not out of her earshot.”

“Huh, ...Did they lock you up before?”

“No, I just know what they’re like; the happy little Bonnie and Clyde couple…”

------

“I know you’re watching me, it’s just... a little creepy.”

“It’s not like we have anything else to do.” Malice muttered under her breath.

The animator would’ve stayed silent, but as he watched his vocal captor write on the walls, he noticed how similar her own handwriting was to the messages on the other walls.

“You’re the one who writes on the walls!”

“Everyone does that.”

“-We all do.” The captor angel interjected as if she did not hear her prisoner. “For some poor souls down here, it’s the only way they can be heard. But you don’t want to touch the ink for too long! It can claim you… ...pull you back. That’s how I met Tom. I was messing with things I shouldn’t have been and he... ...he was there.”

“Why do you call him ‘Tom’?”

“He just seems to respond to it.”

“Well I don’t think he’s very fond of either of us.”

“Let me show you something...” She approached the cage. “A while back, I was mapping out one of the upper levels… ...when I noticed something reflecting off a piece of glass. I held up the glass, looked through, and on the wall behind me was a hidden message! Right there! In plain sight! So I kept looking, and found more and more messages everywhere in the studio! But you can’t see them with your eyes. Only through this! Take a look!”

Malice scoffed dismissively as the freed angel handed Henry the seeing eye tool.

‘SHE WILL LEAVE YOU FOR DEAD.’

“I don’t know who’s leaving them, but I think they know how to get out of here.”

“Where does it all lead to?”

“Nowhere.” she sighed. “I followed them for a long time... just leads me in circles. I don’t think I’m meant to leave this place Henry, but maybe… you are.” 

“And yet, you keep him locked up like a little bird…” Malice muttered.

“Alice, please let us out of here.”

“...Tom thinks you’re both dangerous.”

“Of course.”

“And what do you think?”

“I… I think… ...you’re the hope I’ve been waiting for. Go to sleep, maybe tomorrow will be better.”

-----

“I Hope you’re not taking everything she says at face value.”

“She seems harmless enough...”

“That’s what she’s trying to do- Look, I know you don’t trust me, and I can’t say I blame you for that. I don’t expect you, or WANT you to trust me. But Listen to me when I say this: I ended up as what you see me as BECAUSE I trusted her. Don’t make the same mistake I did, Henry, if you really want to get involved with her and make it out unscathed, then keep your guard up.”

Henry gestured for Malice to come closer and held the seeing glass up to show her the ‘SHE WILL LEAVE YOU FOR DEAD’ message.

“...Did you write this?”

“Yes Henry.” She sarcastically droned. “While I was working to achieve my perfection and setting up Bendy land’s obstacles, I went down to the secret lair of my worst enemy aside from the Ink Demon, both risking my life in the process and putting my goals into jeopardy, and wrote that message in invisible ink, just on the off chance that if she’d capture both of us alive instead of killing me.”

“I see.”

-----

“That was really stupid Tom! You shouldn’t have gone out there! Now that he’s seen you... it’s only a matter of time…” She grunted through adjusting his arm. “before he finds us here.”

She then waved at her captives, something that Tom noticed and began threateningly slapping the axe against his hand again.

-----

“We can’t just leave them! Not with the Ink Demon right outside the door!”

“What’s going on?”

“He’s coming. We have to move on.” A loud rumble echoed above them as Malice curled up in a corner praying for her safety. “Tom! We have to let them out!”

She pulled on the boards, Tom shook his head.

“...I’m Sorry.”

“No you’re NOT! DON’T LIE TO ME!” Malice Snapped. “YOU HAVE A SWORD! HE HAS AN AXE! IF YOU REALLY CARE ABOUT EITHER OF US EVEN THE TINIEST BIT, YOU’D CUT THE SHIT AND CUT DOWN THE BOARDS!”

Alice hesitated, but ran anyway, with Tom close behind her. Leaving them to their doom.

Malice fell to the ground and started to cry, she was shaking violently and saying things that Henry couldn’t make out because she was bawling so hard, but he could definitely make out the words ‘Ink Demon’ and ‘We’re going to die’ here and there.

“Alice?” He put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “Alice, we’re not going to die here.”

“How…” She sniffled. “How do you know that?”

“Well, I think you’re going to have to trust me on this, but...” He held up the seeing eye tool, showing her the messages in their cell itself. “I think whoever’s leaving these is trying to help.”

“You know, Allison’s gonna be soooo heartbroken when she finds out you picked up THAT old habit again…”

Thomas rolled his eyes and reached for the notepad, only to be betrayed by it as it was too full of his concepts for an ink proof prison to hold Sammy in and keep him from escaping. There wasn’t even a single bit of space left for a single word for him to write.

“Well, c’mon big guy! Use your mouth-words!” The Demon crossed his arms, looking like a mother scolding a child. “If you’re gonna go through alllllll the trouble of SUMMONING A %@^&ING DEMON LORD WHO’D KILL US ALL WITHOUT HESITATION BEHIND OUR BACKS, you might as well use the fancy new voice box he gave you!”

“I down't wawnt tuwu tawk wight now.” Thomas growled as he saw the demon smile in that way where it was obvious he was holding back laughter out of the corner of his eye, only to snap back into his angry/disapproving pose when he turned to look at him. “i'm nowt in the mood fow iwt.”

The mechanic grabbed the pack of cigarettes and walked out of the house, hoping to put enough distance between himself and the nagging demon to actually hear himself think.

When he thought he’d walked far enough, he leaned against the graffiti-covered wall, took a cigarette out of the pack, and lit it up.

-----

Smoking with a wolf’s muzzle was weird and kinda hard, especially since he wasn’t used to doing it. He was half expecting to accidentally swallow a few as canine instinct mistook them for food. He was definitely expecting the coughing fits, and was expecting them to be bad as since he was a cartoon, his actions and the ways the environment interacted with him tended to be exaggerated at times that he felt were inconvenient.

“Fuck uwu Sammy Wawwence…” He grumbled under his breath as he lit up his sixth one. “Fuck uwu, youw dewusions of gwandew, youw stupid, god awfuw shape-shifting abiwities, youw cowawdwiness, awnd whatevew the fuck awwowed uwu tuwu be capabwe of doing ovew hawf the shit uwu've done duwing this… nightmawe!”

“HEEEEEY TOMMY!”

The wolf gritted his teeth as he heard the sound of a large inkwell rolling towards him at high speeds, and was tempted to punt it away when it rolled around in a circle and landed upright, but the exhausted looking cartoon demon popped out of there *just* has he had his kick ready and primed for it.

“I…*huff* finally found you! Jeez Louise, would it kill ya ta hear a guy out before storming off?! Oh that’s right! It will .”

The wolf raised an eyebrow.

“Look, smoking as a human’s bad and all that jazz, smoking as a toon is also technically bad, but only in the sense we only show villains smoking so when you smoke, you’re saying “Look at me! I’m a terrible person.” get yourself some cigarettes made of ink and you’ll get some glares, but nothing worse than that. As for smoking normal, non-ink cigarettes meant for HUMAN consumption’s even worse for you as a toon! Look at yourself, you’re made of INK! You’re flammable as *%#@, the only reason why you haven’t sentenced yourself to death by being fired up from the inside out is because you got lucky!”

“Nice twy asshowe, uwu cawwed 'wowf' too many goddamned times, how duwu I know if uwu'we tewwing the twuth ow nowt?? I suwe as heww can’t!”

“Well, I’ve been HELPING everyone as much as I can!” The demon clenched his fists. “I get it! I’m ‘Drew’s demon-son’ and ‘we’re just two sides of the same *@#^ing lying coin’ and all that $#*!... But unlike Drew, I’ve been trying to make this right!”

“Uwu duwu know thawt uwu'we the weason why I was despewate enough tuwu gow tuwu him in the fiwst pwace, wight?”

“Huh?”

“Inky, I twied tuwu awsk uwu fow my body bawck, whewn uwu wefused, I asked fow a body simiwaw tuwu my owd owne, I wouwd've settwed fow being a cawtoon if I stiww wooked somewhat human wike Susie does! Heww, I wouwd have settwed fow uwu juwst giving me my VOICE bawck! But duwu uwu know whawt uwu did instead?”

“...What did I do then?”

“Uwu said no tuwu aww of thawt awnd instead of coming fowwawd with the twuth uwu juwst made excuses at evewy tuwn awnd couwdn't even wook me in the eyes whewn uwu made thewm. Awnd duwu uwu know why? Because uwu awnd I both uwu thawt uwu wike seeing me wike thiws: as 'youw cweation'...” The mechanic got up in the demon’s face and jabbed his finger into his chest. “Inkweww Bendamnin Dwew, uwu'we nowt doing thiws because uwu wawnt us tuwu be bettew, uwu'we doing thiws because uwu wawnt us tuwu be YOUWS instead of JOEY’S.”

“I... Well... you’re ri-” The demon’s shocked and somewhat guilty expression fell into a frown. “If I’m such a ‘Joey Drew 2.0′, then why would you turn to SAMMY *%#@ING LAWRENCE of all people!? I’ll admit that this whole reformation thing was a lot harder than I thought, but Sammy hates your guts and I’m convinced the only reason why he doesn’t try to kill you is because he think’s death’s too good for you or something!”

“I didn't know thawt thawt was Sammy's summoning ciwcwe, wituaw, whatevew. I didn't even make the connection thawt the cocky, weiwdwy fwiwtatious, cannibawistic fish demon thawt wiked tuwu wiwe me up because he couwd was the same entity as the masked woony ink monstew thawt wouwd apowogize tuwu a stwangew if they pouwed soup own him.”

“...I’m Sorry...”

“Huh?”

“Everything you said about me was right,” The Ink Demon fidgeted with his gloves nervously. “I was being childish and greedy and I’m sorry that I hurt you when I was only thinking about myself and what I wanted from this new situation. I was so focused on the fact I was making new bodies so that people wouldn’t be suffering in their current ones, I never once stopped and asked myself if the bodies I made made them happy too.”

“Wow...” The wolf stared at the demon in a subtle mix of pride and awe. “Thawt's actuawwy weawwy matuwe of uwu tuwu say. I down't even think thawt joey wouwd even get those fiwst two wowds out of hiws mouth, wet awone twy tuwu expwain whewe he went wwong.”

“But don’t forget that YOU *#@$ed up here too!” The Ink demon jabbed Tom in the chest twice as hard as he did to him. “The reason why everyone in the crazy inky town hates your guts is because in addition to your involvement with the ink machine, your whole ‘lone wolf’ thing makes you impossible to work with! Allison TRIES to get other people involved in her ‘lets kidnap a mentally unstable searcher’ plots, when she’s here, she interacts with the people around her! You just lock yourself up and do things behind everyone’s backs! Can’t you at LEAST run some of your ideas through someone else before doing them? I’ve seen the blueprints for your torture machine/prison and I gotta say, even if I was still an excellent super villain demon lord at the time of seeing that $#*!: NO. That’s WAY too far! I don’t even think that’s the slightest bit ethically sound and it’s 100% a violation on privacy, even for a creature that’s in a hive mind. Seriously: Talk. To. Other. People. You. Edgy. &!*^#.”

“...In hindsight; I shouwd've at weast asked Buddy whawt he summoned in the studio awnd why he did thawt instead of juwst bwindwy doing dangewous shit awn my own...”

The wolf grumbled as he blew out a puff of smoke.

“That’s the spirit! Now come with me, I think I know a way to get your voice deep and gravelly without you turning yourself into smoked wolf brisket.”

The novelty of Joey accompanying him as a friendly, (Henry used that term loosely considering what he knew now.) tiny, cartoon demon wore off the second the story actually kicked into play. For starters, the former animator knew that whether either of them liked it or not, Joey was going to be clinging to him whenever he felt like it and following him like a lost puppy.

At the moment, the imp was running ahead of the animator, tapping his feet impatiently as he ‘waited’ for the old man to catch up before scurrying off again and occasionally tripping, but Henry knew that by the time the Ink Demon came into play, the little devil would use him as a meat shield.

 Speaking of the two devils, Henry approached the freshly boarded up ink machine room which Joey was already peering into with an uneasy expression on his pale face. The animator also peered into the room, but instead of being greeted by the Ink Demon popping out of the hole and starting the chase, he watched the Ink demon pace about the small room with an expression he’d never seen on it before: a grimace.

In addition to the demon’s seemingly much more expressive face, he seemed to have a different approach to his role as a villain now that he had no script from Joey to follow; a villain who was much more dangerous than a smart animal.

“SAMMY! JACK! JOHNNY!”

The Ink Demon shouted and called up three figures of ink.

“Alright, now listen up you three good-for-nothing, sewer-water-brained Lackeys, the creators will be here ANY second now, and if I find out YOU STUPID INK BLOTS let them get away, I’m gonna wring your necks out like wet towels! Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes, your vileness.” The swollen searcher with a bowler hat replied in a tired sounding tone.

“Clear as day, your assholiness.” The Prophet added, sounding like more of a smartass than he had ever been when he was alive.

“Y-yes… Lord Ink Demon… We’ll take good care of them all right! W-well not good, but- EEEP!” a third searcher that appeared to have teeth made out of piano keys meekly stuttered and hid from the Ink Demon’s untrusting glare from behind the safety of the Prophet’s legs.

“Good! Now listen up: they’ve started up our machine already so we don’t have much time to plan: So what do we do to stop them?”

“Uh... ...Same thing as always?”

“W-well… I’m sure that you’ll have the best plan out of all of us, your rottenness!”

“You can stick your hand out of the holes in the boards and watch them run and fall to their doom like a pair of stray sheep who don’t see the cliff.”

“ NO! When Joey’s not in control, I’m calling the shots around here! And I say: We’re not going to run his stupid story through the machine any more! We’re doing something completely different, something that will really make ‘em suffer...”

“Henry!” Joey tugged on the man’s pant leg and whispered loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to grab the ink monsters’ attention. “He can think and talk! He’s not supposed to do that! Hell, aside from Sammy, none of them are supposed to be any smarter than feral animals! Not to mention, they all look different… I think that stuff on Sammy is supposed to be hair, but it’s never been THAT long before...”

The Ink Demon slapped his forehead and grumbled under his breath.

“Speak of the %*#@ing devils…” He then stared expectantly at the confused trio of searchers. “WELL?! THEY’RE HERE; RIGHT OUTSIDE THE DOOR! ARE YOU GONNA MAUL ‘EM OR ARE YOU JUST GONNA SIT AROUND WAITING FOR THE COCKROACHES IN YOUR HEADS TO CHEW UP THE GARBAGE YOU CALL BRAINS FIRST?!”

“Why not take the pleasure in offing them yourself, your dicklessness?”

“Uh, Yeah, and when you fail at that, we’ll set up traps for ‘em downstairs. It’s not like they’re gonna escape the studio.”

The searcher with piano key teeth sheepishly nodded along.

“What?! But I had this cool dramatic entrance planned out and everything- ARGH! FINE!” The Ink Demon grumbled as he started breaking the boards. “If you want a mauling done right...”

Henry held Joey like a football as he ran through the rapidly flooding studio as the Ink Demon cackled manically throughout the chase.

“READY OR NOT HEEREEE I COOOOMEEEE~”

Henry found himself having to jump and duck to avoid a lot more falling debris and had felt the demon’s claws at his back at times, the situation was not helped by Joey screaming and crying the entire time.

He felt more dread than relief as he saw the exit coming in, no matter how close it got, he never got to it, like every time before, the floorboards broke underneath his feet. He always fell, and now, someone would try to catch him.

“HA! NOT WHEN I’M IN CHARGE, CREATOR!”

And would succeed.

It happened so fast that Joey couldn’t tell if he did it intentionally or not, but he had slipped out of Henry’s grip and had fallen down to the depths of the studio with a loud ‘splash’ announcing his arrival.

Announcing that he was alone, defenseless, and weak. In a studio that Joey now knew no longer was his to control, and was filled with many, many enemies who would fully take advantage of that.

“Y-you just need to stay c-calm, Joey...” He pulled himself up on a floating piece of stray wood and started paddling towards the valve. “There’s an ax nearby, all you need to do is get to it and you’ll be fine. you’ve seen Henry do this hundreds of times, you’ll be alright, you just need to believe in yourself.”

In spite of his reassuring speech, the scared little imp felt a large pit of dread in his gut. The former Music director, former lyricist, and the former organist would probably hesitate if it was Henry instead, but those three caught him... Joey shuddered just thinking about it. 

As the ink drained he took his miraculously unstained bath robe off of the floor and put it back on. He was also missing his pants now, but it wasn’t like he could go back up to get them, and even if he could, he wasn’t going to fight the Ink Demon for a pair of fucking pants that were too big for him anyway.

“Get the ax, get back with Henry, get the ax, get back with Henry, get the ax, get back with Henry...”

He repeated to himself under his breath as he repeated his task of descending and turning valves as an attempt to keep himself from jumping at every twist and turn. The imp also kept his eyes peeled for anything that looked suspicious or out of place, fearing the looming threat of the searchers’ traps.

The ax and the room was exactly how Joey had left it, not a single thing changed, which did make him feel relieved.

When he moved forward, he didn’t find any evidence that Sammy was worshiping Bendy at all when in the shrine room, there were plenty of ritualistic circles, plenty of cryptic messages, but they all had the little devil as a thing that was meant to be sacrificed, not as something worth the former musician’s worship.

“Of all the runs for Sammy to not worship Bendy...” He groaned. “It HAD to be the one where I became an imp...”

He wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or even more afraid when he didn’t see Sammy moving the cutout around.

------

When Joey got to the music department itself, he heard the sounds of laughter, pool balls clacking, cheers and glasses clinking in the distance. Following the sounds, he found the three searchers lounging around the pool table in the middle of a conversation and a game.

The upbeat atmosphere fizzled out when the three noticed him. The Swollen searcher muttered something about the game just getting good, the Piano key-toothed searcher groaned about Joey spoiling all the fun as usual, and the masked mad maestro smiled at him.

Not in a sarcastic or forced way like how his human self smiled at people, it seemed genuine enough. But it also wasn’t a warm or kind smile, it seemed more ...hungry.

“Hello little Lamb.” The prophet stood up and got into the imp’s face,  “Are you interested in playing a game with us?”

‘Oh fuck, he’s still crazy.’ Joey thought to himself. “N-no thanks!” He smiled and waved hoping that he didn’t look as terrified as he felt. “I’ve got a friend of mine to get back to and I really don’t have a lot of time to play.”

The imp dashed out of the break room and slammed the door shut behind him, completely unaware that the merriment had returned to the room.

“Thank god he didn’t go for it.” Johnny sighed. “If The Ink Demon found out about this room because of that little runt...”

“I told you it would work.” The prophet took the mask back off and set it aside on a crate. “...But he’ll probably come back to pester us into trying to help him find Henry, maybe even take up the game offer.”

“Yeah...” Jack poured himself another shot. “Kinda surprised that you didn’t jump at the chance to make his life hell though.”

“Less is more.” The prophet hit the eight ball and watched the rest of them knock against each other. “If you get one big punch left to linger, it hurts like a bitch, if you get hundreds of them, you grow numb to the pain. But I don’t think that Inky understands that.”

“Well, at least he can have fun playing his game of cat and mouse with Joey...”

“Yeah.” Johnny raised his glass. “Cheers to those two being each others’ problems instead of ours!”

“Cheers!”

It was her first week in the big apple, and she already landed a job interview at the promising, brand new animation studio simply titled ‘Joey Drew Studios’. It helped that she had a very impressive vocal range, a lot of pep, and eagerness to work with new people.

And when she presented her resume to the Music director and he in turn offered the role of Alice Angel, she was completely over the moon! While naturally, female characters tended to be underwritten in personality compared to their male counterparts, the personality the Angel did have reminded her so much of herself! She was a friendly gal who loved to sing her heart out and dance, and according to Sammy, would be fleshed out more during the show’s run.

“While they might be reluctant to her at first, she’s really something special, maybe could even be more popular than Bendy someday.”

But as great as the job itself was, the people she worked with were pretty hit and miss, with the acceptation of the music director who was both at the same time.

Luckily, there were more hits than misses, but the misses really... well, missed. Like that projectionist that was often skulking in the shadows and pulling mean pranks on people. Admittedly, she was still upset by their first encounter where he spooked her into dropping hot coffee on her favorite skirt. How on earth could somebody that tall be that quiet?!

But aside from his... odd quirks, the projectionist seemed harmless enough and as long as she did her job and he did his and they didn’t bug each other, then they’d be fine.

-----

Due to Norman’s hobbies, he got good at judging reading people over the years and his new coworkers and bosses were no exceptions. Some were easier to read than others, but he got the gist of most of them down;

Joey? Friendly on the outside, but was hollow on the inside, perhaps soulless even. And not in a way where the man was drained of stuff inside him. He seemed that he was just always like that.

Sammy? Aggressive and weird on the outside, is less aggressive on the inside but only gets weirder the deeper you dig. Norman wasn’t saying that the man was an escaped loony bin patient... but he wouldn’t be surprised if he happened to be one.

Jack? A genuine and friendly fellow, seemed to go with the flow and had a high tolerance and or fascination for crazy. No wonder he seemed to be so close with Sammy.

Susie? A chipper, seemingly headstrong, and naive young woman from the south if he was hearing her accent correctly. She was a sweet singer and good at voices, he’d give her that, but she seemed to be over hyped if anyone was asking him. He wasn’t annoyed by her himself, he was just annoyed with how most of the musicians acted around her, they weren’t inappropriate, but they weren’t hiding their feelings either.

He tried to keep his distance from her most of the time, partly because he sensed he was still mad about the prank going wrong as he didn’t know she was carrying coffee, and partly because he didn’t want to get too close to her only to see the big bad city chew her up and spit her out once it was done fawning over her.

Watching that happen wasn’t as bad as watching what happened to people at his old job, but it would still tug his heartstrings the same way, even if it wasn’t as hard.

-----

It was by chance they met up late at night, Norman was fixing a stubborn projector and Susie was looking for a script that the Janitor accidentally threw out. At first, the former didn’t notice the latter, she came up on his blind spot and he was too busy listening to the projector’s weird sounds to notice the click clack of her high heels.

The machine he was handling was being unreasonable lately, and he was cursing under his breath because of it. He eventually figured out that the machine had a problem with itself AND it’s plug. If he left, he left his booth at risk of catching on fire again, if he didn’t then he’d be leaving the band room at risk of getting caught on fire.

“Too bad I’ve only got the one eye ta keep on yous, I could use another...”

“Oh! I can help with that!”

The man wasn’t sure what he was more caught off guard by: Susie’s presence or the fact that she had just popped her discolored eye right out of her head and set it gingerly on top of the projector. All this time he assumed that it was just infected or something, not made out of glass.

Norman doubled over in hysteric laughter and composed himself a few moments later.

“Well, I do appreciate a good eye for jokes, but I hope you’re bein’ serious about this here projector, I was startin’ ta worry which would catch on fire first...”

Susie gave a thumbs up as she put her eye back into her head. “No problem! I just always wanted to do that joke ever since I got my glass eye, but I don’t mind watching it for a bit for you.”

The projector between them sparked up a bit, making both of them back away.

“...I was starting to worry about that thing myself, actually...”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head no more, now that I know what the problem is, it’s good as done.”

As Norman handled the situation, he returned back to the booth to give her the all clear.

“Situation’s handled, hopefully it won’t make a fuss again for a while.”

“That’s good!” She chipped back, and her eye went to his name tag. “Wait a minute, your last name is ‘Polk’?”

“Yes? At least, last time I checked it, it was...” He looked over her own name tag and something clicked. “...And yours is Campbell?”

“Yes! You were the local undertaker back in Pineville, Louisiana, right?”

“Yeah, but as ya can see I retired from that a while ago.”

“You won’t believe this, but I think I used to live across the street from you!”

“Definitely knew some Campbells in my neighborhood.” He nodded. “All of them were read heads like yourself, so I wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, I think I met your brother a handful of times... ”

“Yep! He told me a lot about you! Who’d think we’d end up meeting up at the studio of all places?”

“Yeah, sure is a small world alright.”

“Well, enjoy your night Norman.”

“You too, see ya tomorrow.”

It was weird to work alongside someone who worships the guy who tore you in half and is the biggest reason why you’re stuck in a nightmarish, inescapable studio, especially when it wasn’t the nicest or friendliest person before getting claimed by the ink. (Although, as he thought back on it, had he ever met Sammy before it was claimed by the Ink?)

But ANY ally was better than an enemy, especially when that ally knows the studio better than anyone else down here. Besides, it seemed like the Ink man was either unaware of their past or didn’t even know who they used to be, and even if it did, it wasn’t angry about their past issues.

At the same time, working on scavenging trips with the former musician was a nightmare; it was way too tranquil about the situation, and there were too many weird murderous monsters that the wolf and gofer were aware of.

“I do not need to run, little wolf. I can evade these creatures without issue through my Lord’s gift.” The Prophet calmly stated as Buddy gestured confusion about why it didn’t run when the pair heard something that sounded suspiciously like the projectionist’s screams. “Besides, running through these halls is risky, I would be heard by those… more unsavory denizens of this studio and get ambushed by them.”

He wished his typewriter was quieter in instances like this, being able to type out ‘But what if you get caught by your lord?’ and other messages to hand to him without risking alerting the Ink Demon would be great. Or just having his voice back in general.

“If my Lord decides to send me back to the puddles, then it is his right to do so to prove I have changed.” He answered the unspoken question. “But it does mean that I have to work harder to get him to notice how much I have improved, get him to notice me…” 

‘Please don’t read my mind unless I give you the “go for it” gesture. It’s creepy otherwise.’

“My apologies, little wolf, while your thoughts come in quieter than everybody else’s… they’re still noticeable, especially when it’s just the two of us.”

Buddy hesitantly nodded and just tried to lead the Prophet out of the ransacked room to look for more stray supplies.

A few more hours of searching lead the pair to a locked room, something that experience told him meant that either it was another dead end or a hidden treasure trove of supplies, and not wanting to go back to the safe house empty handed, he was ready to roll those dice.

Buddy gestured for the Prophet to stand guard as he picked the door’s lock, and as the door slowly creaked open, he was thankful that he couldn’t speak because the scream that came out from his mouth would’ve been loud enough to alert every monster in the studio.

The former gofer felt sick to his stomach when he saw them. Piles upon piles of rotting, mangled, corpses. Human Corpses, not toony corpses like the other Borises or the butchered up members of the Butcher gang. Most of them were unrecognizable, partly because he had never seen most of these people in his life, and partly because they had decayed so much that what remained was hard to figure out who was who and what. The oldest corpses were nothing but skeletons and clothes, and the freshest one looked like…

...Like his own body.

“The goldfish room...” The prophet muttered loud enough for Buddy to hear, startling the poor pup out of his skin as he didn’t hear him enter behind him.

The wolf shuddered and continued to scour the room for anything worth the hassle of all of this. Boris wanted to take a few of the bones, which Buddy unenthusiastically obliged.

“Don’t eat those!” The Prophet interjected so loudly and harshly that it startled both the former gofer and the wolf toon. The ink creature’s anger was so much scarier with how rare it was to see now. “Especially not him! He’s my-” The Prophet stopped itself by covering its ‘mouth’ with its hands as if it was about to reveal a big secret and just took the skeletal arm out of Buddy’s hands and put it back where he found it. Its voice went back to it’s normal calm tone that reminded him of someone who was on the verge of falling asleep, but Buddy heard somberness in the musician’s pitch. “...they’re unclean...”

‘Prophet?’ Buddy gave him the “go ahead, read my mind” gesture. ‘Prophet, what is this place? Who are these people?’

“...You’ve seen your own corpse among them, correct?”

Buddy nodded.

“I know you’ve met Joey, but tell me; ...Has he ever called you ‘Henry’ before?”

‘Yes he has, but what does that have to do with…’ he gestured at the bodies on the floor ‘this?!’

“Henry’s been gone for a long time now.” The prophet stated, but there was a hint of recollection in his tone that weakened the calmness, and the more he talked, the more broken (for lack of a better term) his voice became. “Do you think that you were Joey’s first replacement goldfish? That after Henry left the studio, you were Joey’s only other other Henry?”

Buddy’s ears began ringing and he heard music; it was loud, distorted, fast-paced, and all over the place, the type of music that makes your heart pound out of your chest and makes your hackles stand up, the type of music that tells you to run, but doesn’t clue you in to where or why. The prophet’s body started to shake and tremble.

“The first Other-Henry was actually named Henry as well. And like his predecessor, was an excellent artist who really connected with the characters...”

‘Sammy? What’s going on? do you hear this too?!’

“But unlike Stein, Ross was a very stubborn person who refused to let anyone push him around, especially by either Joey or myself. Surprisingly, I liked that man, but he didn’t last long...”

Fear kept Buddy’s legs frozen to the ground as he covered his ears in a fruitless attempt to muffle the music, it felt like it was being played directly in his head, and then it clicked when the whispers started up, whispers in their tone, but not in volume, they were loud enough to drown out parts of what the Prophet was saying;

‘Sammy help us!’

“The next one was more like you, a younger, less experienced and more skittish person, his first name was ‘Lawrence’ so everyone called him ‘Larry’ to avoid confusion...”

‘Sammy, where are you?’

“...But he was also too nosy for that poor boy’s own good.”

‘you’re too weak!’

“The one after that was a scatterbrained fellow, very passionate about his work but didn’t focus very much on one topic or another...”

The Prophet’s monologue was completely drowned out by the music and chorus of desperate and angry “Other Henries” at this point. Buddy knew he was still talking because of the musician’s gestures, but didn’t hear a single word out of him. 

‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’ ‘You’re such a spineless coward...’ ‘Sammy please save us..!’ ‘Why did you let Joey kill us?’ ‘The ink... it’s so cold...’ ‘No wonder Susie hates you so much...’ ‘Sammy, please! It hurts!’ ‘Why did you let us die?’ ‘Why won’t you help us?’ ‘You’re no better than Joey.’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘I thought you loved me...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘You promised me that you’d always be there!’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘They were right about you...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’

He knew that the lost ones, searchers and Prophet could hear each others’ thoughts, but didn’t understand what that was like until now that he was hearing Sammy’s thoughts. No wonder most of them were always so depressed and on edge...

‘Sammy?’ the gofer shook Sammy gently, only to hear his own voice join the chorus of other Henries as one of the ones who sounded like he was mad at him. ‘Sammy, snap out of it!’ he shook the Prophet harder, still not waking the Ink creature out of its trance. ‘SAMMY!’ Doing the first thing that came to mind out of desperation, Buddy slapped the mask clean off of it.

The music and voices died as if they were a candle light snuffed out by the wind.

For a few seconds that felt more like hours, Buddy and Sammy stared at each other in silence before Sammy put its mask back on as if nothing happened and led the toon wolf out of the goldfish room, took a key out of its pocket and locked it behind them.

-----

Back in the safe house, Buddy started up a pot of bacon soup, the stuff tasted a little bit better when it was hot while Sammy tuned the banjo in the dining area and Dot tried to stir up conversation.

“So... how did the supply run go?”

“Fine.”

Buddy involuntarily let out a snort as he took the soup off the stove and took out his typewriter.

[It was the scariest one we’ve ever done so far.

While looking around for stuff, we ended up in this place S The Prophet called ‘the Goldfish room’ and it was filled with dead bodies. HUMAN dead bodies. And mine was in the pile! I couldn’t tell if it was haunted or if it was just the prophet’s thoughts going]

“Little wolf, I do not wish to think about that room again...”

[Sorry.]

The wolf sheepishly put the typewriter to the side and poured the soup into bowls. As the toon and lost one ate, the prophet mostly just stared into his bowl as if he was watching something in it.

“...Before my enlightenment, I was not a good person.” The masked musician stated unprompted.

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t an evil person per say, and I wouldn’t go as far as to call the man I used to be a monster.” He sighed and adjusted his mask. “But I was certainly a bad person, an asshole, a coward who hid behind physical strength, and I had more vices than virtues.”

[Prophet, what are you talking about?]

“I’m trying to answer the questions I know you have before either of you two pester them out of me. Maybe when you’re sated my Lord will allow me to forget again.”

[Are you sure? you seemed really upset back ...there.]

“Well look at it this way, maybe getting it off your chest will help you feel better about it?”

“I suppose...” The prophet sighed again.

“So what does you being a crackhead before finding the Ink Demon Religion have to do with a room full of dead bodies?”

“Dorthy!”

“...I’ll just listen before asking anything else.”

“Thank you.” It readjusted its mask. “Now where was I...” it hummed to itself for a bit before speaking again, with venom slowly but surly pooling into its words. “I had more vices than virtues, and Joey could see all of both, using my virtues to his advantage, and using my vices against myself, he did everything he could to keep me from leaving him too, and it worked.”

The prophet took in a deep breath to stabilize itself.

“Every time I tried to leave, he did something else to make me stay; ‘I love you’s turned to gifts, gifts to false promises, false promises to threats, threats to blackmail, blackmail to going through with it, and when he felt me slipping through his fingers he turned to taking advantage of my addictions... That... monster was a parasite in all aspects except physically... And I didn’t even notice until I might as well have been a walking corpse as I was seeing others march to my fate, but I couldn’t even so much as squeak out a warning without Joey swooping in on his behalf. Some Henries, heads of the art department, didn’t need to be warned by me as they found out what would await them and fled. But Joey didn’t like that... When I tried to warn the ones who needed to be warned, it was easy for him to dismiss me as a loon, a drunk, and an addict, until eventually I just gave up. I couldn’t even save myself, let alone anyone else... let alone the other art departments...”

“...I just stopped trying to keep Joey from leading the sheep to the slaughter, maybe they’re right to be angry at me for being such a coward...”

It then turned to face the wolf and put its hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve asked yourself if you’ve ever met me before the Ink had claimed me, as for that, I don’t know, nor do I think it matters, Buddy. I was nothing but a shallow and beaten husk of myself long before I even had tasted the ink. Even if you met me before then, you only met a ghost, not a person.”

The three then stayed in silence for a while before the clicks of Buddy’s typewriter caught the other two’s attention.

[Well, if it helps you any I think you’re not as bad of a person as you tell yourself you used to be.]

“And I don’t need to hear everyone’s thoughts to know that you’ve really stepped up to the plate when it counted. I don’t think a coward would try to do have the stuff you’re doing now.”

“Thanks you two” The Prophet’s voice cracked with emotion. “That... that really means a lot to me.”