Kenosis, a bendy and the ink machine fanfic

A/N: A lot of artistic liberties have been taken. The idea of who Susie Campbell was and what became of her started two days after watching the walkthrough. Not beta-ed. Forgive me.

Kenosis
"The self-emptying of one's own will and becoming entirely receptive to God's divine will."

Susie positioned the microphone closer to her mouth. She was amazed anything could be heard with the constant ink droppings around, but she could not complain. Her throat and head were clear, and when her lips parted to vocalize, she felt the lovely tingle down her throat, the sharp vibrations that followed every silly voice her vocal chords managed to sound.

Opening her mouth and keeping it so was an important key to her success, she believed. Her teeth protruded awkwardly whenever she barked or chirped or sang an unbearably on-key tune. This was how the job went, how it was supposed to be.

The mechanics might have changed in the transition, but voice acting was not much different from on-screen, or on stage acting. The greatest challenge was getting viewers to feel, as well as hear, the range of emotions present in the characters' voice. They had to feel through their actions, fluid and blotchy, and their voices needed to carry their thought process to the viewers, be it silly or diabolical or simply mischievous.

Of course, their range of emotions was exaggerated compared to reality. That was hardly the point. When Susie stepped in front of the microphone, she knew what to do, who to be, what tone and timbre worked, and what volume was necessary to get the job done. Her smiles dimmed during work, as the process was more of a strain than one would expect, and her hands constantly moved in accordance to the script's detail.

Time was a pin drop in the back of her mind. She knew it continued, and she knew they were on a strict time schedule. On the other side of the recording room window, the others sat in silence as she performed. Their eyes, all male, targeted on her, and she kept her eyes focused on the right light above the window. Red during recording, always blinking, she let her gaze focus on that, and she breathed through her nose, holding it for her dancing tree segments.

Soon, the script reached its end, and the red, blinking light above the window dwindled. The recording finished, and she gasped lightly, letting her shoulders slag from the strain of the work. Staring into the window, she smiled softly at her audience, the only audience she would ever see, and walked out of the room to meet them. The routine was second nature to her at this point, and she nodded to them, their applause casual but genuine.

"You're doing great, Susie," Norman chimed at the head of the band. His brown eyes were warm and cool at the same time, and he carried a large, black case with him. She imagined his guitar, something he always seemed to carry even though there was rarely a chance to play, carefully held in its case, surrounded by black velvet.

Norman smiled the same smile he did whenever a recording session reached its completion. Aware the chances of another incident were abnormally high, completing whatever work they could was an achievement in itself, "Look at you, starting at the bottom, and now you're here. You're really out there, you know?"

His raspy voice had a kind quality she never thought it would possess the moment she met him. He was a tall man with a slim figure and a gleaming smile. One tooth was capped in gold, and his black hair was smoothed back with moss, giving it an additional glow that couldn't be seen in the poor light.

"It's more than I thought I'd be getting!" She leaned on the tip of her toes. Her left hand clutched her right arm awkwardly, "you know…on my first day I was so nervous, but there was nothing I could about it! If I wanted to get paid, if I wanted to keep working, had to bring out my best! Just gotta do it day by day."

Norman's laughter was as raspy as his normal speaking voice, "Yeah, day by day, sugar pie. It's all we can do, but day by day gets darker every time I come in," the glimmer in his eye lessened, and she followed his gaze around the music room where their music and voice recordings occurred.

It was something she never discussed with the others. Norman, the band, and so many others had spent more than twenty years at the studio. She knew only two of them, aside from Mr. Drew himself, were present when the original studio w.;p mki9 /as bui; JHNN t development, not something that happened over night.

But it was difficult for her, as she and he started walking together, to reconcile what was and what could be and what it used to be. The blackest of ink was splattered on the walls, on the floors, near the projectors. There was not a surface the ink had not touched, and though her recording had gone splendidly, the drumming roar of the ink machine over their heads warned very little of what she had recorded would be of use. This nonverbal warning's consequence was another recording session would be due soon, and the final project pushed to a later date.

Susie chewed her bottom lip, and turned to Norman, "We're still making it okay, I suppose," and she smiled a little, not wanting to let him know she was worried. After all, she was new to crew, and she had no room for complaint, "And besides, all of this new material will make Disney jealous, I tell ya."

Norman looked as if he wanted to believe those very words. The dark lines around his eyes and mouth betrayed him, "I certainly hope so, song bird," he sighed, "it'll be a miracle if we're not shut down before then."

Her expression must have written her thoughts clearly to him as he back pedaled immediately, waving his empty hand at her, "Now, now, don't get all worried because of me. Just ol' Norman shit talking, but we gotta be careful of how things turn out. We gotta be smart." He tapped the side of his head two times with a wink.

"I think we're all very smart," she grabbed a hold of the door knob, "but I think we have to make sure we stay talented. No ink machine is going to keep Susie Campbell down."

Upon opening the door stood a small, little man with a crooked grin on his face. Beside him was a bucket with wheels filled with soapy water, and on his side dangled a ring of keys of various sizes. Norman and Susie blinked at the man, then smiled, and then their laughter waned for speech.

"I thought you'd be outta here by now," Wally creaked as he rolled his washing bin, mop included, into the music room, "everyone else is leaving for the night."

"And you aren't?"

He turned too quickly for comfort, and he gripped his neck in response, "I don't know about you, Norman, but I'm a janitor. It's what I do, and I don't clean this stuff up before Sammy comes in later on tonight, then I'm outta here."

It was something Susie had grown used to. Every little thing was an opportunity for Wally to get out of here, and while there were close times when dismissal was evident, as in losing the keys for the fifteenth time, he remained their ever-faithful janitor. He didn't seem faithful as he dipped the mop into the bucket and let it splatter on the floor. The movements were the same. He would dip the mop into the water, sweep across the floor where the ink was most prominent, and it return it to the bucket. But this short observation proved that this method was less than efficient.

The ink merged with the water, and by time Wally splashed the mop back on the floor, it was a mix of inky, black bubbles. It was more liquid than it was before, and Susie covered her mouth at the sight. Wally's tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth, almost oblivious to the greater mess he was making. An idea came to mind, and she passed Norman, whose expression was twisted in similar sympathy and amusement.

"Wait, Susie," she heard behind him, but she didn't want to let this idea pass it up, "where are you going, wait, don't tell me?"

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Norman!" By time she went up the stairs, he was gone, and she heard his heavy footsteps move towards the exit, that was helpfully free from flooding.

Sammy's office wasn't too far from the main music-recording room. She remembered it like she remembered the back of her hand. Not that she had been there often, many people were not given permission, but she recalled the day she was finally hired as clear as if it had happened only yesterday.

She had been nervous, and yet, oddly secure. She recognized her talent early on, and she needed them to recognize it too. And they had, in a resigned sort of way. They were short of staff, so many had quit due to the circumstances surrounding the studio, and others had retired, their wacky, light hearted vocal chords had fallen to strain, weak and roasted. They needed new talent, and she was more than happy to supply.

Rounding the right corner, she practiced what she intended to say. Her thoughts were constantly a jumble of potential ideas, never closing in together, and connecting them would be delightful in throwing out her pitch. She would never go to Mr. Drew with this; she was lucky enough to be one of the few Sammy tolerated.

Standing in front of his office, closed for the night, Susie clutched the ends of her skirt in concern. Being in the back of the basement, the furthest side of the basement in her opinion, must have been a raw deal. Sammy didn't seem too troubled by it. From the open window she saw his hunched back hanging over his desk, eyes glued to a music sheet with a dull pencil in hand. At this angle she couldn't see his full face, but she felt the way he grinded his teeth in concentration, knowing she was nowhere near close to his thinking process at the moment.

Pepper and salt stubble grew freely on his jawline. His eye sockets were sunken, dark crescents filling the space where skin existed, and Susie's stomach toppled. She could go in right now. He might not mind in the slightest. But common sense told her that when a man was doing his work, his profession, it was best to leave him be.

"After all," common sense reassured her, "it can wait until morning." Feeling more embarrassed than she could ever be had she gone in, she turned on her heels and started away. What a childish thing to do, she chided herself. An adult would have thought it through, and an adult she was, or she tried to portray herself as.

But as she started her way down the way she came from, a harsh tone called out to her, "If you're going to do all that to get to me, you should at least come talk to me."

Spinning around, she saw Sammy's face was no longer aligned with the music sheet, and he stared at her with the same impatience he afforded to all his subordinates. Upon looking at him, a bright smile chiseled on her face, and she nearly skipped into his office, not caring that he could see the full enthusiasm in every step.

"Joey, I'm sorry." She pulled a chair near him and patted her lap excitedly, "And really, this is something that can wait. You're doing a lot of work anyways, and I-,"

He raised a hand to stop her. He fished into his desk drawer and pulled out a lighter that was paired with the cigarette in his left hand, "Now, now, no need for that. I spend all my night here now, and I wanted to talk to you anyways."

"You did?"

He nodded, "It can wait," he nodded towards her, "what did you want to tell me?"

Susie flushed, and she tucked her hair behind her ear, "Well, I had a funny pitch that I thought of, but now that you've mentioned this, I think it takes precedence."

He shrugged casually, taking a strong whiff from his cigarette, "All depends on how you determine your worth, or the worth of what I have to tell you."

"Get on it with it, and tell me," she wanted to shout at him. She held onto her skirt like a lifesaver, and she felt her throat clog in anticipation. He smoked casually, closing his eyes in relief at every puff, and when he opened his eyes again, a short grin formed on his lips.

She would have thought it was handsome had she not been suddenly caught in a bundle of nerves, "Sammy," she teased tightly between her teeth, "what's the news?"

On his fifth puff, the cigarette was ready to ends its life. The bud was met, and Sammy stamped it roughly on the ashtray on his desk. He turned to her with a flaccid expression on his face, sunken so deeply in exhaustion that emotion as it was known couldn't possibly exist, "We've got a new character coming up, and I recommended you," he jabbed his finger at her, "to voice it."

"Okay."

"Okay?" His flaccid, blank look dragged into something more skeptical, "I've just gotten you a gig, and all you have to say is okay?"

"I voice a lot of characters, Sammy." She laughed softly, "It's just another one for me, but I can't say I'm not happy. I like the work."

Sammy, to his credit, didn't roll his eyes, but smacked his lips very loudly, "Yeah, whatever you say, but this isn't some background we're talking about."

"What do you mean?"

Going back to his desk, he opened one of the side drawers, and from there, retrieved a sheet of paper. Where she was seated she saw images scrawled messily on black ink, a name on the upper right corner.

"She's on the writing boards as we speak." He handed the paper to her, "Still modifying her look and character, but she's meant to work with Bendy. His Minnie Mouse, if you want to call it that."

Susie took hold of the paper carefully. The pictures drawn weren't completed. Six female figures were shown, all without faces, and of different body types. An hourglass figure, big feet and big hands were the direction they wanted to go with her, keeping it natural and consistent. In bold, sharp writing, a name was solidified, and Susie eyebrows perked.

"Alice Angel," the name rolled off her tongue delightfully, and the possibilities of what she would sound like floated in Susie's head, "the name's classy. Alliteration really fits too. Bendy is going to have a lot of fun with her."

"That's the plan." Sammy answered, "But we're trying to beyond Disney. She isn't going to be just a cute angel that Bendy's going to flirt with every now and then. She has to have star power, and seeing you've got the stuff, we're using you."

Susie stared at the concept art, and she returned her stare to Sammy. His smug expression told her more than she wanted to know, and her stomach flipped flopped. Alice was still a concept, not fully formed. She had no face, no voice, no character, an empty slate, and she stared at the scrawled pieces given to her. She felt the corners of her lips pull together, and a light bark of laughter slipped through, echoing on the office's creaky walls.

"Wow!" She gasped, and her arm to her waist, "I-I can't believe it, Sammy! Can you believe it? Mr. Drew really wants me to voice her. Wow, just, wow. Golly, wow!"

"I know." He admitted, "I didn't think he'd go with it at first. He hasn't been completely sane these past few months ever since," shaking his head dismissively, "either way, he approved it, so now that you know, you can prepare for whatever comes. I doubt he'll give you a warning when he wants to start recording."

"Thank you!" Returning the paper to him, he tucked it back into the drawer, and she saw the lines around his mouth grow dim, "Aw, shucks, Sammy, I can just hug you right about now!"

"Please, don't." But she had wrapped his arms around his back, pushing her face into his chest, and when she raised her head up to him, he sighed and wrapped his arms around her in return, "Congrats, kid, you deserve it."

"Sammy, you don't know how much this means to me."

"Trust me, I do." He stepped back, "I have to get back to work. These cartoony melodies don't write themselves you know."

Her heart was ready to burst. It could burst right in his office, and she would have died half-content. Leaving his office wasn't a problem, even with the ink machine roaring menacingly above them, and she pressed a hand to her chest, tears swelling at the corner of her eyes. This was more, more than she had ever dreamt of, and better yet, it was happening in real time. Her idea pitch fell through the void of discarded ideas. She would have more in the mean time, and she continued to the exit with her head held high, eyes filled with a new fire in them.

Mrs. Bornstein's Boarding House was a fifteen-minute car drive from LaughDrew Film Studios. Calling a taxi wasn't a pleasure her savings could indulge in, and besides, she told herself as she wrapped her sweater around her shoulders, the walk would give her time to process the news. Her thoughts stirred clearly whenever she walked, and trimming down her absurd surge of bouncing energy would give Mrs. Bornstein little reason to scold her.

Dinner started at eight and ended at eight forty-five. No excuses.

Summer nights were unusually cold. It was different from her youth, stuck in sticky heat at night, forced to throw her blankets on the floor. Tightening her sweater around her, she stuffed her hands deep into the pockets, and the sound of her light footsteps filled the darkened sky. In the distance, the boarding house came into view, and the upper and lower lights were on, signaling she hadn't returned too late. Dinner was already starting, she knew, but Mrs. Bornstein would have no reason to scold her aside from her poor timing.

Up the stairs she went, panting along the way, and she rolled her hand around the curved door handle. Through the glass portion of the door she saw quick movement coming down the stairs. Their skirts were laced in white and lavender, and their hair was curled, styled in the popular fashion. Susie patted down her clothes, straightened her sweater, and did what she could with her hair; aware the wind had done its work on it.

Her reflection was murky, rippled through the glass's design, and she breathed steadily, pulling the curved door handle towards her.

The women came down in swift formation. It wasn't mandatory for them to dress themselves as they did, casual formal, but they knew it would put their land lady in a good mood to see them tidied up. Seeing an opening, Susie fell in line behind a woman she knew as Martha, whose clothes and hair of lemon soap.

"I can't believe it," was whispered behind her, and her shoulders tensed, shooting straight up, "no, seriously, first of all you're late, and now, you're going to cut the line."

"You make it sound worse than it actually is," she whispered back, and made the turn at the doorway. The dining room was much larger than it looked from at a distance, and her stomach growled angrily at her, "Besides, I was at work, and work is important to me."

The woman behind her scowled, and she clucked her tongue to demonstrate her displeasure, "Well, yeah, work is all fine and dandy when they're not having scouts coming in and around."

"Scouts?" Fully turning her head, she grabbed a plate and took her seat, "Did they come for an inspection?"

Inspections were carried every other week. It was a method Mrs. Bornstein enforced to ensure the integrity of the boarding house. In other terms, she made it so that no young men were to be found on the premises. Many tenants had lost their room for those exact reasons, which meant their neighbors changed every other week.

Susie's back straightened as the servants entered from the kitchen, "I have no reason to be afraid. The last thing I would ever do was bring a boy back here," she sniffed quietly, "but someone did?"

"You sound like you didn't want to know."

"Nora!"

"Oh fine." Motioning to one of the waiters for the peas, she spooned them on her plate, "It was Cindy Marks. She had evidence of debauchery, or so they say. It's really hard to tell what's dirty and what isn't."

"Cindy?"

"Yes, I can show you her now empty room." Another wave for the hot rolls, and they smiled as they were placed carefully away from the mashed potatoes and Salisbury steak, "But enough about that, how about you?"

Susie tore a piece of her roll and squashed it into her mashed potatoes, "Nothing much really. It's all very busy, as you know, but I think they're starting to like me."

"I'd hope so. You've been working there for a month."

"It doesn't feel like a month." She went for the Salisbury steak next, slicing it in perfect squares, "With all the singing and dancing and so many other stuff. It just feels so heavy."

"It's show business for you." Nora smashed her peas with her spoon and scooped them into her mouth, "At least you don't have to be pretty to be a voice actress. All those makeup and dance lessons, honestly, I'd lose my mind."

Chewing her steak and bread, Susie chuckled, and quickly downed her food with water, "It isn't easy, even without the makeup and dance lessons, but I'm happy to be doing what I do. Besides, after dinner, I have big news to tell you."

Mrs. Bornsetin watched from her separate table. Her sharp eyes didn't miss a single thing, and she took note of every poor demonstration of table manners. Her sqwuaks, that they knew were the calls of displeasure, made the wince, but even she couldn't ignore her stomach pains. She ate quietly to the side as the rest of them chattered about their day, and what they intended to do for tomorrow.

Nora spoke with their neighbors, and Susie ate quietly, musing. It seemed surreal to think of it. Alice Angel, a leading character in her own shorts. That was the impression she got from Sammy, and she couldn't stop thinking of that impression, of what it entailed. The food was delicious, roasted and steamy, and the juices filled her mouth. But the more she ate, the less driven she felt to finish her meal. The sooner she went to bed, the sooner she would able to go to work the next morning.

"You don't think you can wait for me?" Nora cried to her as she went upstairs to their shared bedroom. Closing the door behind her she discarded her day clothes and found her fuzzy bathrobe and cleaning supplies, "Oh, this better be good, you know," Nora chirped when she spun out of the room a second time.

She returned promptly, taking a thirty minute shower wasn't easy when the shower was warm and comfortably, and Nora was propped in her bed with a magazine in her hands. The dressing table lamp was on, and seeing her in the door frame, she tipped her glasses down the bridge of her nose, waiting for a report.

"Well…"

"You were so excited to tell me the good news." She set her magazine aside and folded her hands on her lap, like a mother would at the end of the day, ready to hear her child's report.

Standing at the dressing table in front of the mirror, her reflection revealed what the shower's humidity had done to her hair. Her hair was naturally wavy, but it grew uncontrolled faster than she could brush it down. Using her best brush, she found a stool to sit on, and she parted her hair as she spoke in rushed, hushed tones.

"You know I've been doing a lot of background work, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I got a chance to speak to Sammy." In the mirror, Nora's confused shrug made her sigh dramatically, "You know, Sammy Lawrence, the guy who writes all the songs. Keep up."

"Oh, you mean your boyfriend." Nora grinned, "Oh, don't give me that look. He's very fond of you."

"Hush, now." Susie snapped without any bite, and she parted the other side of her hair, beginning to brush from that angle, "Sammy is my friend, but he spoke to Mr. Drew about a new character they're working on, y'know?"

"A new character? Don't tell me it's an angel character."

"It is!" Her milk white teeth showed, and she turned to her friend, hopping on her bed with her brush still in hand, "Can you believe it, Nora, they want me to voice her."

Arms grabbed a hold of Nora's neck, pulling her down, and Susie pressed her freshly washed face against hers, "Oh, Nora, I'm so happy. Got a job I love, and a new character! Alice Angel, he told me. She's probably gonna do some songs with Bendy."

"I can't say I'm not happy for you." Nora's arms were skinnier than hers but no less strong, and gripped her tightly as they lied in bed together, "This is a big shot for 'ya, especially if she turns out to have star power."

"I know." Rubbing against her chest, she felt her eyes growing heavy, "I just can't imagine they would've chosen me, especially after all those retirements. Golly, it feels like a dream."

"Good for you honey," Nora murmured, "this dream isn't playing by the book. It's real."

After hearing the click of the lamp, the room was spurned into entire darkness. Nora's breathing soothed her as she drifted far from the bed she slept on, and she trailed after blurry images waiting in front her. Her hands reached for them, grasping at their fitful tails, and she heard children's laughter. But when she went to chase after them, darkness had surrounded her. And she was not afraid.

Time was a component. It fluttered around her, teasing her with its potential, and she remained silent, quiet of what she had learned.

The mornings after when she arrived to work, she kept her silence. It would do her no good to confess what Sammy had told her. "Give it time," she calmed the worst case scenarios in her head, "if it all works out, they'll know."

The recording booth was readied in preparation for her. What did it matter that black spots decorated the podium spotted on the flimsy line sheet, now faded to a brownish yellow. Norman's band performed against the ink machine, blasting and fighting for control. The melody trembled, and the instruments dried in protest.

Time was all she ever needed. When her voice echoed in the recording booth, when the band finished their time and waited to listen, she thought of time, and how it would turn its hands towards her. She did not approach Sammy again about the subject. He had given her the needed information.

"Did you lose your keys again, Wally?" Having finished early for the day, Susie closed the door as the band started their beginning prep, "Or are you lost?"

Of the employees, Wally was the last of the original crew to surf top through bottom. His cleaning supplies were useless against the ink that seemed to overrun the place. Dressed in his overalls, he carried an oversized broom and dustpan in his hands. Surprise tightened his face, and the glazed gleam in his eyes wavered when she spoke.

"Susie? Ah, Susie, nope!" He swept the hallway eagerly, "Nah, nah, none of that. I don't think. I found my keys, told you I would, and now I'm coming down…sounds like Norman's picking up again."

"Yes, Sammy just finished a new sheet." Choosing to walk ahead, her long strides met with his crinkled pace, "Norman was upset for the suddenness, but he seems to have taken to the change well."

"And hasn't changed?" Wally barked, "First the ink machine, now donation, weird stuff."

Susie frowned, "I suppose it isn't exactly normal, but after everything that has happened," she scratched her wrist absent-mindedly, "we can only give him the benefit of the doubt."

Wally's hard gaze crystalized, and he jabbed a stubby finger towards his ear, "Benefit of the doubt, we've been giving him that! And look at us, got ink up to our ears!"

It was not an inaccurate observation. Susie had seen photographs of the studio in its prime. Shabby yet pristine, animators at their desk, hurriedly scrawling the finest of animation sheet after sheet. Now, the floorboards oozed black ink every other step. Pipes were recently installed to current the flow of ink the machine produced, but it caused more messes, choosing to squirt a kiss on any poor person happening to be near them at the time.

Unfortunately, the poor persons happened to be the animators, and Wally, from time to time.

"And the offerings," scratching the side of his head, Susie winced at the white flakes that showered off his hair, like dwindled, saggy snow, "or as Tommy likes to call them, donations."

"Offerings?"

They stopped in front of the music department hall where the banner was laid out for everyone to see. Wally stared at her with wide eyes, "Wait, don't tell me you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

He slapped his forehead and cursed, "Of course, you're not gonna know nothing being down here! Sammy may know, but he's keeping away from Joey at the moment. Still upset about the machine, y'know?"

"Yes, Sammy is not fond of the machine." Stretching, she sent Wally a straight stare through narrowed eyes, "But you haven't told me about these offerings, Wally, what are they?"

He knew more than anyone else on the crew, even though he scarcely realized it. It seemed to Susie Wally's inability to fully comprehend the happenings going on could be used to her advantage, and these offerings, as he put it, were known to everybody except her. She did not want to be out of the loop.

Her pleading stare drew Wally near, and he rolled his neck with a groan, "Now, don't you start the puppy dog eyes. You're as bad as Bendy himself!"

"It isn't like our little devil is going to pop out and scold us." She stomped her foot, "Come on, Wally, please."

"Quit your whining." He snapped, and scratching the back of his head, he sighed, "Look, if you wanna know so badly, help me clean some of this stuff up. It's in the janitor's closet down the way, you remember?"

Susie nodded, "I do. You need the mop, or another broom."

"Broom." He stared around the room and growled, "Makes no sense to even try anymore."

Going down the hall was no easy stitch. Her heels were slightly higher than they were before she moved to the city, and she was careful not to step through any loose holes in the floorboard. Ink swished through the pipes, a harsh swooshing sound rattled against the walls. The utility closet was on the right side of the hallway, and she did not have to walk very far.

"Everyone's been so nice to me," her heels skidded to a slippery stop in front of the utility closet, "can't say I can complain about this."

She opened the door and found the broom, but there was more to that. The room was larger than she expected it to be. Not as spacious as the music department hall, certainly not as large as the upper area. Stepping in, Susie grabbed the broom poll, and the door closed quietly behind her.

Unintentional, she reached for the door but pulled back at the last second. Shelves surrounded her, and although there was elbowroom, she felt confined. Gripping the broom, she grabbed onto one of the shelves to balance herself, and groaned when an oozy substance tied around her fingers.

"Oh goodness," grumbling as she straightened her posture, she pushed forward with the broom still in hand, and she reached for the ceiling light. A beaded string dangled in the darkness, swinging to and fro, and gaining her stance, she took hold of it.

"What the heck is that?" She hadn't realized she spoken until pressure formed around her hand, jerking her arm down, but it was a slight motion. A little bit of weight she would not have noticed if she had not been enclosed in the room.

Unsettled but refusing her nervousness to yield her, Susie pulled the dangling line down, and the light clicked on. The dull illumination filling the room did not settle her imagination, and she stared at the shelves, at the floor with wide, confused eyes. The broom bristled in the palm of her hand, and the splinters that dug through her skin. Her nerves throbbed at the pain.

Faded, black ink dressed her fingertips, and she closed it solidly, feeling the muscles tense stiffly, "I really need some reset," she whispered as she closed the door. Back pressed against the flat surface, her breath rattled in her lungs, and she let her heels click on top of the unsteady floorboards. They creaked underneath her.

Fearing Wally's thin patience, which usually resulted in unending complaints, Susie resumed her path back towards him when the pitter patter of nails scurried past her ears. Stopping short of another full step, she whipped her head to the other side of the hallway, feeling a rush of lightheadedness as she did so, and saw eerie light filling the empty passage. Almost identical to the utility closet's ceiling light, she felt familiarity rather than confusion, and assumed this to be the same with the majority of hallways in the building, upstairs and downstairs.

Watching the dust particles float listlessly within the illumination, a scene lacking in her earlier sightings made her pause, and she tilted her head. They were far more visible as they littered in the light, and they danced towards her, bouncing as close as the light would allow.

At the hallway's end, near the right corner, a light flickered against the wall. She could see its brightness at a distance. It dimmed then glowered then dimmed again, and without processing what she had chosen to do, she fell in line at its direction. The broom handle remained in her firm grip, and it dragged at her side, scrapping softly at the ink beneath it.

Susie did not know what she was intended to find there, and surely, there might have been reason for her to have this sudden fullness in the pit of her stomach. Enthralled by the sight, her senses did not detect the slight alternation in the lair's scent. It had transformed into a less ripe odor than what it was. It tickled the nerves her nostrils, and in response, her nose twitched in aggravation.

Tired of the broom, her fingers released its hold loosely, and the broom fell to the floor quietly. Around the corner, the strange glow brightened hotly, and the reason was laid out for her.

All walls in the building were now decrepit. A combination of materials meshed together to leave unknown stains and blotches on the wood, but what she viewed was an entirely different entity.

A Bendy cutout was propped upwards. Its back was not cut out, but not set openly so that it could stand on its own. She knew that was not the issue at hand. The Bendy cutout was one of many mass produced cutouts sent to theaters and rival studios. She had heard of them, a teasing jest to competitors, and she had seen more than enough down in the basement where a countless amount were stored. It wasn't the cutout itself but what stood behind it, or rather, what its body concealed.

She did not dare move the cutout, feeling an immeasurable pressure on her shoulders, and determined what image the cutout obscured. An encircled star, the recognizable triangle points stuck out beyond Bendy's body, was painted in black ink. Placed precariously on the floor below, the candle's melted wax sunk and stuck to the floor, and their dwindling flames glowed darkly.

The drawing and cutout were unusual together, and the candles, while neatly placed, were unnerving. But it was the objects spread across the span of the cutout, on the floor, that gave Susie pause. Little, tiny trinkets, a strand of hair, a discarded napkin, and an old, worn photograph that was wrinkled beyond recognition were lined in no particular order. It was neither unsightly but confusing, and Bendy's blank, disarming smile did no curb her confusion.

Stepping away, her eyes never strayed from the dancing devil, and she was ready to round the corner when she spun around where alarm stomped on her heart.

"Wally!" Her high pitched hiss echoed down the hall, "What are you doing!?"

His broom in hand, Wally blinked at her, then at the observance.

"Huh, ain't it weird." He said and went back the way he came from, "That's where our donations are going to."

Susie followed him eagerly, "What was that thing?"

Wally shrugged, "Joey's muttered some business about prayer circles, but I think it's all because of…you know," he huffed off his discomfort, and she said nothing more about the reasons.

"If it helps him," quietly said after a moment's time, "if it helps him feel better, then I can't complain."

"But it's weird."

"Yes, it is." She thought of an appropriate, tasteful word, but the words she thought of did not satisfy her, "I don't understand out of the ordinary, even with my voices."

"Out of the ordinary. You wanna call it that, go ahead," using air quotes, he smacked his lips, and stumbled back into the main hall, "I'm gonna call it weird, maybe crazy, and Sammy's getting on it too!"

"Now, you stop that," hearing Sammy's name spoke in such a way made her chest rise, and she frizzled at Wally, giving him her best, firm stare, "Sammy's always been nice to me, and if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have a job. Last I heard from him, he sounded perfectly fine."

Her reprimand did not warn Wally. He rolled his eyes and started back to sweeping, pointing to the other side of the hall where a pile of inky dust had collected.

"Go on and believe what you want," he said, eyes trained to the floor as he swept, "this place is going absolutely bonkers."

With a frown, she forced her snapping retort back. Wally was not a dumb man, and he was not a smart man. He spoke his mind freely, thoughts barfing as they came. These thoughts were not always spoken with the type of clarity others would have preferred, and it did not mean he always comprehended their meaning. And most importantly, hand gripping tightly around the broom handle, Sammy was nothing like Mr. Drew.

She hiked her skirt halfway up, and peeled away the stale cobwebs from the corners. Wally did not pay attention as her olive skinned thigh, dressed in beige pantyhose moved downwards, and she was mindful of its length, concerned if she moved the wrong way it would split.

"He's a very sad man, that Mr. Drew," she said to herself, and she plucked away an inky cobweb with her finger, "and there is nothing we can do about it. We've gotta make sure those cartoons are made in time."

"Yeah, but I don't think cleaning is going to help."

Gasping loudly, Susie glanced up, "Sammy, what-what are you doing here?"

She rose quickly off the floor. Acutely aware of the disarray of her hair and clothes, she flicked off random dust particles, and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. The broom lied forgotten in the corner.

"Was trying to find you?" A perfectly arched eyebrow quirked in vague interest, "What are you doing?"

"I uh…," she motioned at Wally on the other side, still sweeping, pretending his boss had not walked in front of him, "was helping Wally clean."

"Clean?" Sending Wally a hard stare, one the shorter man visibly flinched at, Sammy sighed and pinched his temples, "I came looking for you. Norman said you were around here somewhere, even after hours."

His hard stare reprimanded her for her refusal to go home, and the quirk of his lips told her otherwise. He was somehow relieved she had stayed. His slumped shoulders and dangling cigarette told her so.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." A faint flush accompanied her apology, "I wanted to help Wally, and now, I'm making more of a mess."

"Which is why you shouldn't sweep." He said nothing more, going off in the opposite direction that was not his office. Wally continued to sweep at a distance, and she stood helplessly, confused and embarrassed and a little bit excited.

He did not have to say anything to her. She knew it was her time, and she whispered a tender 'Sorry' as she hurried after him.

His feet seemed heavier than they were the last time she had seen him. They slowed across the floor, pulling at one another, and when he breathed, it was a strained, rattling noise. Nothing could have sounded more grating to her ears, except, perhaps, for his singing.

Quiet for the duration of their walk, he kept ahead two spaces, and she walked softly behind. The great hallways did not feel as great, having grown cramped and fitted, and the stuttering her heart, the confusion, fluttered away on weak wings. Twiddling her fingers, a habit she was not resilient enough to quit, she waited for any sign of speech. He preferred to initiate conversations, to lead them as he led his songs. As they walked further down the hallway, away from Wally's casual sweeps, the less likely it appeared that he would.

Sammy Lawrence was not a talkative man. This made the silence bearable. She knew whatever her crimes may have been were minor, and easily fixed. His silence was sullen, guarded, and was tied to a distinct exhaustion that made her heart ache for him. It was the same ache, she recalled loosely, that she held for her father when she was a child. A tiresome, sluggish job was, and she watched on the outskirts, careful to maintain a clean house, a quiet house.

Joey Drew Studios was not a house, but it had become, in the past month, a home to her. Although the home was in disarray, there was no doubt in her mind of its positive influence. Watching Sammy from afar, his expression slack, dull even, and eyes grey, she felt no words come to mind. She knew whatever tricky voice she concocted would be useless on him, and having seen his rage, more of a dark fire that spurted in quick bursts, she was overtly cautious.

Ahead of her, his head bobbed up and down. His thumbs stuck out of his pockets, and his dragging feet did not go faster or slower.

"I've called you a cab."

Unable to make out the words the first time, she questioned his statement, and pulled back with a faint scowl, embarrassed by his generosity.

"You didn't have to do that."

"It's late. You're a woman, do the math." He kept forward, and smoke trailed from his head where his mouth was, "You're going home, and you're coming in for a test recording."

Her pale cheeks flushed crimson, and she forced her steps to match with his, "What do you mean test recording?"

They went down the stairs towards the exit. He did not look at her the entire walk, and the question appeared to irritate him as his flaccid lips suddenly curled in a crooked snarl. Her refusal to pull back in herself or to dismiss her question all together unnerved him. For him, the answer was obvious, but she stood there, waiting in pleading silence.

He said nothing to her. Opening the exit door, he pointed to the cab that waited for her at the curb. It's yellow body and head lights stood out in the late evening, holding onto its violet glow rather than its impending royal blue. Cool air rushed at him, and she straightened her sweater. Her wide, confused stare did not let him free, and she remained glued where she stood.

He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, stomping on it, "You really are stubborn, aren't you?"

"I'm stubborn about things I care about." And I care about you, she wanted to say, but she knew Sammy well enough the sentiment would not be appreciated, not in this moment.

He huffed. His dark eyes rolled to the side towards the drumming sound of the taxi cab's engine, "We're going to have a meeting in a few days. Short, Alice's final design has been approved."

"She has?" Her lips bloomed in an awed pout, "You mean, I get to voice her now?"

"It's a test." A recent rain left murky puddles on the concrete, and mist lingered in the cool, summer air, "Joey wants to hear you too."

"He does?" Her heart throbbed, clutched, and she could not tell whether fright or validation had struck her. For months she offered her voice, performed even for radio shows, and their compliments stroked her confidence. She purred for them, and when they released her, without reference, she shed no tears. Not a single drop.

Hearing those words, the touch of a man's strong hand tingled on her arms, and she stared down at the raised hairs on her forearms, goosebumps peddling underneath them.

"He likes the sound of the background characters." He opened the back door, "And thinks you've got the potential for a costar. Scripts are already underway for Alice Angel's debut."

Slipping onto the worn leather seats, she stared at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. His far away, sluggish stare told her an embrace would not be welcomed, and she shrunk away, forcing the door in her direction. Other sentences were uttered, sluggishly she believed, but she could not absorb them as she reclined on the seat. He stuffed a handful of bills into the driver's hand, pointing in the direction of where her home was.

"See you tomorrow." She heard in the distance, "And don't let the nerves get to you."

Forcing her head forward, her neck grew stiff from the effort. Sammy was not the type to wait at the curb, and she did not think he would have. As the car drifted ahead, the rearview mirror jumped, and its angle was pushed an inch to the right. There she saw him. Camouflaged in the night, another cigarette was lit between his lips, and he stood with a great crook in his back. His lanky form did not appear so out of place under the street lights, and his eyes, they came to her in vision, were locked on the taxi cab that drew further away from him.

What was it, Susie wanted to know, that caused her heart to leap, which caused her cheeks to flush? She folded her hands on her lap, and listened to the radio playing in the front.

"You work for Joey Drew don't ya?" The driver peered into the rearview mirror, "My kid loves Bendy. Can't get enough of 'im and Boris! Yeah, but as much as she loves the boys—she really wants a dame to look up to! Like Minnie and Betty!"

He smiled. His front teeth were missing, and the gap was immeasurable when he smiled. "My dad used to smile like that too," and her expression twisted into something similar to disgust but not quite. She could not reason why he had appeared in her thoughts, why of all moments, but as quickly as he appeared, just the thought of him, he receded back into her subconscious.

The cab pulled slowly to the sidewalk, and she left with ease. Her skirts blew against her knees, and she thanks the driver, cheerfully grinning at his gap-toothed smile.

"Don't worry, sir, I think your little girl is going to have a dame to look up to soon!"

The same gap-toothed appeared for a final time, and the window rolled up, obscuring it. But she saw it still, saw the lightness and sweetness, and she realized, standing on the curb as it sped off in the distance, that this was something she missed.

"I want to go places." Her chin ducked low, "What's so bad about that?"

Joey Drew was an eccentric, recluse of an artist.

Susie couldn't say how long this was, but she had accepted this as a part of her job. But by time the end of the month arrived, her reservations were teasing at the edge.

Her recording session started smoothly, as they often did, but they lacked the comfortable eyes of the band observing her. Even Sammy's usual lucidity appeared troubled in Mr. Drew's presence, and she understood why, even though she would never say it aloud.

For his eccentricities, there was nothing eccentric about him physically. Taller than Sammy, standing at about 6'5, his pepper-grayed hair was slick black neatly. His skin was swallow, with a tinge of yellow in it. His arms were crossed against his thin, broad chest. His weight loss was obvious, a combination of exhaustion and grief.

His thumb ran along the line of his bottom lip. In spite of his worrisome physical state, there was life to him. It was not larger than life, nothing excitable but anxious and unconstrained. It was a stark contrast to Sammy's annoyance and exhaustion. His glassy eyes stared from him to her.

Their inscrutable expressions followed her voice, and threatened to silence her vocal chords to their satisfaction. Delirium pounced on her nervousness.

Explaining how she succeeded in her performance, giving them what they wanted, was impossible for her. When the last line was spoken, when the red light fizzled down, she let out a weak little gasp, not realizing she had held her breath longer than she meant to.

Like statues they stood. Rain must have poured endlessly on them for she saw the creases and dark lines around their eyes and mouths. Wrinkles folded on their cheeks, and were pronounced on their furrowed brows. They did not share glances, mouthing sentences too quiet for Susie to hear, and her hands fell on the podium, the metal digging into her skin. Which face was harder to read? Which expression was crueler?

Susie tried to determine the expression she was intended to rely on. They did not want to be relied on just as they did not want to carry her on their shoulders. Something existed far beyond them, far beyond what their eyes showed, and she rolled on her heels, counting the seconds until Mr. Drew raised his hand for her to approach.

She walked quickly out of the recording booth. Standing in front of the two men, she laid her hands and arms flat at her sides, and pressed her lips in a needle like line.

Their gazes settled. They settled comfortably on her, and her pale cheeks grew hot under their combined stare.

"Miss Campbell," Mr. Drew said, "you have been working here for one month, haven't you?"

She sent a worried glance at Sammy, and saw absence in his face, "Yes, yes I have."

"And do you like it?"

"Yes, I do." She said with a nod, and her nails grazed her skirt's fabric, "Everyone is very nice."

"I'm glad."

"Me too." A scratchy cough burst through her lips, and she gasped hotly, forcing down the embarrassment with a creaky smile, "I'm sorry. I-you know how it is. Yes, I'm very happy everyone is so nice, and Mr. Lawrence is a great instructor with vocals."

A bushy though finely plucked eyebrow rose in disbelief, and Mr. Drew gave Sammy an incredulous stare. His dried lips parted gently in a smile, and that smile, Susie noticed, made him look twenty years younger.

"I see, Sammy. You're normally not so nice to up and starters." His returned to her, "He must really respect you then."

"I don't need you to speak for me, Joey," Sammy croaked.

"Ah." Smacking his lips, he dropped a hand on Susie's shoulder, "Of course not, I'd never speak for you, but your actions, yes, they are quite telling, aren't they?"

Susie refused to tense. Her sluggish shoulders were unmovable in his grip. While shivers danced down her spine, the faint sense of falling told her of the gesture's significance.

Was she dizzy? Yes, but she wasn't going to show it. The rest of her limbs felt like glue, heavy and sticky, and she hoped the heat didn't reveal too much on her blouse and forehead. Sweat beads dotted her forehead, and she felt the same on the dark curls under her arms.

"I…Mr. Lawrence is a great coach," she murmured softly.

"Sammy has always gone beyond perfection."

He was satisfied. His smooth, easy talk reassured her, but his gentle smile wasn't confirmation. It kept its innermost thoughts to itself. His eyes were salt fragments that tried to be gentle and kind, but couldn't match up. She tried to see the sincerity in his playfulness with Sammy. His strained, quiet voice led to a forcefulness of the same nature. Their banter might have been a regular occurrence in the past but had reached its peak some time ago.

For the sake of this interview, attempts needed to be made. They needed to united.

Sammy rolled his eyes, "We know she got the part. Let's show what else we've got to show her," and on a lower, aggravated note, "I can't afford anymore distractions, Joey. Deadlines are due, and people are talking."

"I see." He blinked at Sammy, "No, I do, but there's more important work to be done."

"I can get back to work." Feeling abandoned between the two men, she watched them carefully, waiting for any physical change her eyes could spot, "If it's what you want, there's no hurry for you."

"Why would we want that?" Mr. Drew asked, "You have to meet her first."

"Meet who?"

"I forgot how it is to be young and afraid," Mr. Drew chortled, and this sound truer to what he used to, or what she believed him to be.

"Alice." Sammy flatly confirmed, "We're going to give you a proper introduction."

Going upstairs crunched down her expectations. The Music Department Hall's recent relocation kept her confined to the basement for the past month and two days. This was not a problem to her, as the circumstances appeared to her to be a grand adventure compared to the other dull aspects of her life. As they moved upwards, the ink pipes trembled with exceeded vitality, and they traveled far longer than she originally thought. Her familiarity with the basement made her unsure of what was in store, and she maintained their quick strides, eager to see the world they belonged to.

"Make a right, kid," Sammy directed.

"A right?"

"We'll be taking the lift."

Her heart skipped a beat, "The lift?"

Rumors of the lift swarmed the lower floor, and most of them were ridiculous. Workers getting locked inside, stuck in there for hours, and returning different, drained of energy. The last part made sense when one took the time to think about it. Hearing she would be one of the person to enter the lift, her feelings were indescribable.

"I've been getting up in age, dear." Mr. Drew explained, "It makes it harder to go up and around like I used to."

Her embarrassment shown on her cheeks, and she coughed roughly, concealing her mouth with her hand, "I am so sorry, Mr. Drew. I didn't mean-,"

"No, no, growing old is a part of life we all must accept." He crossed his hand around his back, and she noticed the way his body bobbed left and right, not exactly balanced, "We grow old, we die, but memories remain. Our creations, Bendy, Boris, and now Alice, will live for us."

Breathing softly, she was at a lost of words, and when he looked back at her, she flinched at his stare. His deep gray eyes were not cruel, not nasty. A watery film threaded them as if his tears webbed around his heart.

An incredibly soft man, Susie observed, and one of the most distinguished animators in the world. His creations brought relief and laughter to countless of people, rising alongside Disney and Warner Bros. during the War, but when his eyes met hers, they were not kind. They were not cruel. A tenderness surrounded them, but their tenderness was not of the kind sort.

When he smiled, his face crumpled like paper, "That is a very wondrous thought, Mr. Drew," she lowered her gaze to the floor, "it's amazing how our actions and choices can affect others."

"And your actions will belong to them, Miss Campbell."

Hearing those words succeeded in stroking her ego in a way that even the most handsome man had failed to do, and she recalled the hours when slender, soft hands curved around her body, her neck and realized pleasure of that nature had never touched her until that moment. It was satisfaction, and her demure smile, afraid to rise too high, beamed.

"I'll be waiting in the lift whenever you're ready," Sammy called to them.

"I'm sorry," shaken, she scurried into the lift, pushing herself against the left side of the wall, "we should hurry. I don't want to keep you waiting."

Mr. Drew entered a slower pace. He stood in the middle of them, "Alright, lets do this. We can't keep Alice waiting."

The lift ride was short, as she expected it to be. It was larger than an average elevator, and Susie reasoned it was for the merchandise that was in constant production, or so she heard. The lights flickered on and off during the ride, and by time it came to its creaky stop, the knots in her stomach had reformed.

On their way to his office, Susie counted the amount of animator desks pushed into abandoned corners. Most of them did not raise their heads in question. She saw the familiar lines at the corner of their eyes and lips, and their unshaven jaws and cheeks sagged with exhaustion.

"Don't look at them, kid," Sammy warned, "we'll never hear the end of it."

"But they look so tired." She waved at one of them, whose face was still light enough to be considered young despite the greyness of his skin, "I can't not wave at them, Sammy. It'd be impolite."

"Now, now, Sammy, think as to why everyone doesn't like talking to you now."

"Sorry for being the person responsible for ensuring our deadlines get through!" He huffed beside him, "If it weren't for me, nothing would get done around here."

His mocking tone caused shivers to go down her back, and she looked to the animators, who must have heard Sammy's mild outburst.

They were aware of what was wrong with the place, but none of them had the gall to state it so bluntly, and to Mr. Drew no less.

Where she anticipated for Mr. Drew's demeanor to change dramatically, he merely shrugged his shoulders and chuckled dryly, "Now, Sammy, you know this is a process. You continue to do what you do best, and I will do my part."

As they neared the office, she noticed an unattended desk. Its differences did not vastly overwhelm the others, but the lack of body was noticeable. Separate from the others, it was tucked into another room they passed, pushed against a wall with a great whole forming next to it. The faded ceiling light revealed the dust stacked on its surface.

Spotting her intrigued expression, Mr. Drew grinned, "He retired some years ago. You may have heard of him at some point."

"If retired is the word you want to use," Sammy drawled.

"It is the word I want to use." Mr. Drew's voice was soft as a feather, and he stopped at the room's entrance, "And besides, it's where we're going to have our meeting."

Sammy frizzled, and his head shook in disappointment, "Really, why not go to the office? It's sensible, Joey."

"I don't mind." She walked behind them, eyes taking in every odd sight in the abandoned room, "It seems…rustic, as if we're traveling back in time. He was a friend of yours?"

"Yes, and when he quit-," a sharp look from Sammy to Mr. Drew told her there was more to the story than they wanted her to know, "he left behind a few sketches and concept art. Unfinished pieces."

"The others thought I should have thrown them away, but he was the best animator on staff." Picking up a yellow sheet off the desk, he stared at it with a fond smile on his thin lips, "It would have been a waste to discard them."

The room was cramped, comparatively larger than the animators' quarters. The office was left in disarray. The furniture was torn and ragged, the walls' paint started to chip, and a stale touch ruined the air, causing her nose to wrinkle in disgust. But it was fascinating to stand in there where the magic used to happen, and she took hold of the sheet he handed to her.

"Oh my." It was just a sketch. She had seen many sketches before, but the smooth lines, the vividness. It almost appeared to be a portrait rather than a cartoon, "Yes, she's absolutely lovely. Whoever designed this was very talented. It's such a shame he's no longer with the studio."

"That's our Alice," Mr. Drew grinned, and he picked several more sheets from the desk, "I had them sent upstairs when he originally departed, keeping them until the right time came. I've heard such great things about you, Susie."

"I don't think I'm that great." She moved to scratch the back of her head, then thought better of it, "I'm just so happy to belong to a great group of people."

"We are glad to have you, Miss Susie Campbell," there was the inexplicable ripple within his watery gaze. She could not describe it in normal terms, and knew there was nothing else to match it. In the decrepit office, pieced together only by thin threads, she felt a swell in the pit of her stomach.

She looked between the two men who held control over her career and future, "I will not let you down."

"I know you won't."

Sammy glared at Mr. Drew, "What do you want us to do now? Alice Angel's first short is due in a few months."

"That gives us enough time for the recording and music, Sammy," Mr. Drew replied, and he received the concept art from Susie, whose face hadn't lost its glow, "Susie can return to the recording booth. We left the scripts there."

Clapping her hands, she licked her lips, "Oh, this is so exciting," the fluttering sensation in her stomach tickled her, "I'm going to make sure I give Alice a really good voice!"

"Let her be sweet," Mr. Drew said.

"She can't be too sweet." Sammy reminded them, "She's part devil after all."

Seated in the booth, she brought the glass to her lips and slurped the beverage down. Not nearly enough to leave her with the wave of tipsiness she had adapted to, she smacked her lips bitterly, and swallowed the rest in one gulp.

"Impressive." Nora smirked and bit into a piece of bread, "I didn't think you had it in you, or anything else really. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." She ringed the glass' rim with her finger. Her eyes lacked their luster, the rich darkness that perfectly lined the rest of her face, "I'm tired, and there's no shame about it."

"I didn't say there was shame." Nora grabbed her apple cider and sipped it deceptively. Her lighter colored eyes searched for any clues, and were disappointed to find none, "I'm worried for you. You've been working longer hours than usual."

Her resting head rose in concern, "You've noticed?"

The olives at the bottom of the glass bounced excitedly. Her throat was dryer than she was comfortable with. Late nights were not unusual, and were an accepted method of winning the approval and respect of the staff. But this was the first time her late nights came with irritation, and this must have shown on her face for Nora's expression was sympathetic, concernedly so.

"It's hard not to tell, sweetie." Her milk white teeth matched her complexion, and she raised a glass to her lips, "Your eyes are dragging you down, and I don't think you've heard a single word I've said."

"I don't mean to."

"I know you don't." She reached for her hand, clasping it softly in the palm of her own, and Susie marveled at how sweetly soft it was. The nerves in her center giggled, and she grinned, laughing airily, "Just make sure you take care of yourself."

"It isn't like I'm not enjoying my job." This was the truth, and she said it freely, without remorse or bitterness, "They're still very sweet to me. Norman's always blows his horn when I come in, and…Wally always takes me around the basement. He's too kind."

"And Sammy?"

A twitch of her right eye disturbed the calm of her creamy skin, and her eyes fluttered to the dance floor. People danced to the band's music, swing to and for, and there was a rough gracefulness to their feet. Men flipped women, women jumped over men. It was no less a miracle that no one collided or fell as bodies steamed upon each other.

Her fingers tapped on the glass, and her lips brushed on top of the rim, "Sammy is doing well. He is. I can't say anything else about him, but Norman is tired. They all are."

Nora picked a cherry from her plate, "You have a choice, if it's too much for you. You can leave. You're pretty enough."

"It isn't too much for me."

"But what about that machine-,"

"I worked for this." Her eyebrows furrowed, "There wasn't anything for me on Sicily Island. My family was furious with me. I know they haven't forgiven me, and I know they never will. I can't get my Pops' eyes out of my memory, so angry, so stubborn."

"You came a long way," Nora said softly, ignoring the tightness in which Susie held the glass. Her veins' faded, blue tint peered through the creamy paleness of her skin, "You should be proud of yourself. You're working with one of the best studious out there."

Reassurance often soothed her. Her father's fury, the way he pounded on the walls and thrust a meaty finger at her, "You ain't going anywhere, lil' girl." His eyes were a watery, ruddy blue, and she sat at the sewing machine, abandoning him in mind with an equally watery gaze of her own.

He screamed, spat in her face as she sat at the sewing machine. Her mother was long dead. Her siblings were possibly alive out there, but they had been gone for so long it was like death had already taken them.

But her mind had been made up. She knew what she was going to do, and she knew when she was going to do. She let him scream until his voice cracked over its volume, and when he slept, having drunken himself into a euphoric dream where her mother lived and his other children remained, she crept from the small shack that she had called for sixteen years, home. There was not a lot to pack in her bag, and there was no question of returning.

She knew the distance would save her the trouble of having to explain herself to others. Her creamy pale complexion diverted dreadful questions that could have revealed her. Her dark hair and eyes, so brown they were regularly mistaken for black, led many to assume she carried Italian blood, and this was smarter, safer, than what the truth was.

Wanting to forget pushed her, and she grabbed Nora's hand, dragging the two of them to the dance floor. Lost in the songs and the body aligned with hers, her father's face and fists receded to the depths of her subconscious. They would return, she knew, and she waited for the flashing moments when they would. Their fellow dancers blinked no more than twice at them, the two, seemingly unmarried women dancing freely among them, and Susie doubted they would have cared had they been married at all.

Nora laughed as she spun around; fingers clamped around Susie's, "I don't want you to dry out!"

"You worrisome, little fay!" A flair of energy swept through her arms and legs, and she tossed her thick hair over her shoulders. Husky and thick, her normal voice giggled inconspicuously, and a defiant gleam masked over her murky brown eyes, "I can't dry out. I'm basically made of ink!"

"Damn you, Sammy Lawrence!"

"Aren't you afraid of him hearing you?"

"And you think he gives a damn?" The vein on his bald head throbbed. It pulsed right down the middle of his head as he lit his cigarette, inhaling it stiffly, "We'll wait until he's finished doing what he was doing."

Benny, one of the clarinet players, resigned himself to waiting, and sat with the others whose weary expressions matched his. Susie held a damp tissue, twisting it in and out, and chewed the side of her mouth. She was worried, but this worry was well known to her. It didn't ache, or burn, as this was routine. It was normal. The projector was turned on, and a tranquil voice was heard on the other side, whispering, weeping.

"Just give him a little time, Norman," she whispered, "just give him some time. He'll be okay."

Norman scoffed, "Okay if you wanna say it," he began to pace with smoke floating from the cigarette tip, "I have half a mind to tell Mr. Drew about this."

"And what he's gonna do," chortled Danny in the back. He lied on the floor with his long legs propped up in the air, "He's just as loony as Sammy."

"Don't say that, man." Benny groaned, "We need our jobs. They can always replace us."

"And you think they will?

"C'mon, he can hear us."

"And you think he cares?" Danny scoffed and looked away, "Deadlines aren't getting met, and the cartoons are barely pushing out. Johnny upstairs told me the animators are at their wits end, some of them have already signed their two week notices!"

Her stomach dropped at hearing it, "We shouldn't say these kinds of things aloud, not while Sammy's so near."

"What of it, Susie?"

"Leave her be, Dan," Norman warned. When the puff of smoke cleared, his stare was hard, icy even, and Danny's face reddened, turning away sharply with a huff.

"I didn't need you to do that."

"Can't let them take their frustrations out on you, kid." Norman leaned against the wall, listening to the projector and strange noises coming from it, "And you shouldn't either," his eyes rolled on each of them, the ones whose silence was often taken for agreement.

"Sent From Above did great though." Benny whispered. His stubby fingers plucked at loose strings near his belt, and when he looked at her, his thick eyelashes curled to hide his eyes, "My cousins love Alice Angel, and everyone's talking about it upstairs too, or that's what I've heard."

"Thank you, Benny."

The projector booth came to a sudden stop. Everyone sealed their lips, staring at the stairwell as boots as black as the ink that dripped on the floor came down the stairs.

"What are you doing here?" He clear speech was slightly slurred by an echoing that recently appeared. It slurred his speech, making it difficult to hear, and their bodies stiffened at the slight approach as he descended the stairs.

His skin grew rough, acquiring a grayish pigmentation, and his eyes had sunken completely into his skull. Their looks of concern and frustration made his lips part in a toothy snarl, and she noticed his normally square shaped teeth were filed angularly, sharpened to the top. He would have no problem in biting into tough meat, and Susie stepped back, feeling his eyes on her, a cold, listless stare that made her heart skip three beats.

"Are you okay Sammy?"

"Do you pray?" He asked, and searched their faces for the answer, "Tell me, do any of you pray?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Benny, please," Susie whispered, never taking her eyes off of Sammy.

Sammy didn't seem to hear him, and if he had, it didn't incite anger, just frustration, "We need our savior, and he needs to know we appreciate them. It's time for prayer, for all of us, so this scourge…so we can be protected."

Their silence and worried stares infuriated him. His gray skin flushed a dim, weak red.

"Weak minded sheep." He hissed, but his volume remained neutral. It took a haunting tone, and he shook his head, unable to understand their confusion, "Non-believers cannot dream of salvation, if they don't try to reach Him. He knows our hearts. He knows our souls, and He will preserve those choose to give their hearts to Him."

No one said a word. They stared in deafening silence, and he stared back, blinking at them, seeing them, but seeing right through them. Susie's heart sank, and Norman stepped in front her. Taller, broader, his rich eyes glared at Sammy, and he nodded his head towards the direction of his office.

Sammy's bleak glare was weak but strong enough to match Norman's, and Susie's finger clenched into fists at her side. What was she going to do? What could she do? They wouldn't fight, not here, not ever. Norman was a smart man, a much smarter man than most, and she didn't want anyone to get to get into trouble.

He took one stepped back, leaning on the heel of his shoe, and his tongue slipped over his false teeth, "Fair enough, my apologies for taking up your time, but when He calls, I must answer."

Walking away, he watched them for a while, and when he exited into the darkness, his eyes lingered on them. A feeling of unsettling, of cracking, of breaking, but she did not realize its nature then. She couldn't grasp its meaning, and she watched him disappear, wanting to reach for him instead of Bendy. But she knew he wouldn't reach back.

"He said Alice would be as popular as Bendy someday." She sat on one of the chairs. Her fingers trailed podium's metal, and she stared at the yellow music sheets. She couldn't read the notes, but she read the lines, each happy little word popped at her.

She knew the words. She had sung them more times than she could count. Their melodies swirled around her, became one with her, and she sighed sadly, watching the men pack their belongings. Her nails scratched her skirt, and the light in her heart fluttered weakly.

Norman packed the saxophones, passing the cases to the others with ease, "She's getting there, you know," he handed one to Benny, then to Tony, "all the folks are talking about. She's as cute as Minnie, but as devilish as Betty. Can't get better than that."

"Do you think we can do anything?"

"Can't do squat," Norman said, and he picked up another case, smaller than the others, "Sammy's gonna do what he wants to do, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Shouldn't we try?"

Handing the last case to another, his sympathetic stare didn't go unnoticed. Lines cradled his smooth brown eyes, filled with warmth and hot foreboding. He was dressed in a loose fitting blouse and pants that were strung together by a tight, leather belt. He seemed older, less filled than he usually was, and Susie was surprised that this was the first time she had realized it.

He pressed his large hands onto her slim shoulders, forcing him to look at her, truly look, and she saw a mixture of sorrow, regret, and a third sensation that sent shivers down her spine, "Susie, you're a kind girl, a good girl. You can make it away from here, and no one would hold it against you."

"Norman, I know you're concerned, but I have to do this." She didn't want to admit what she had given up for this job, what she had offered for the sake of possibility, "I have worked hard for this opportunity, and I am not going to waste it just because the staff is getting a little silly down here."

"It's more than silliness, Susie." Norman released her shoulders and scowled, "Some dark stuff is going on here, and I am not taking any risks."

"What do you mean?" She watched him pick up the last of his cases, stepping out of the orchestra room, and a feeling of dread went down her throat, "Norman, you can't be serious."

"I am, and so should you." He pointed his finger at her. He stopped at the door, staring at the area that had been his place of work for over twenty years. He lived, breathed his music, and did his best to transcribe Joey's words and notes into live music, "This place is not going to be the death of me, Susie Q, and you shouldn't let it be yours."

His sweet face drew tighter, twitching, and he shook his head sadly. She opened her mouth to stop him, to convince him this was a mistake, but the words didn't reach her tongue. The harder she tried to speak, the quieter they grew until he disappeared beyond the door, down the hall, leaving her in the orchestra room, alone.

Sitting there, she knew there were options. She had options. She could change things if she tried. Sammy liked her, and Mr. Drew, she wasn't sure what he thought of her exactly. But she felt he tolerated her for what she brought to the table.

The opportunity, Susie thought in the dusty, ink stained room, was not the complete truth. He knew about her, of what she truly was, and he never said a thing aloud. It was easier for men like him to spot women like her. Their kind was indistinguishable from the rest, but it required an innate knowing rather than close inspection.

He never discussed this with her, and she refused to broach the subject. From that, a unique bond had formed, and if the others had guessed, had suspected, they were kind enough to keep their silence. It was easier, yes, easier for her to work this job. This was her golden egg, and she wasn't ready to let go of the goose. And it was easier to tell him this, that she liked her job with its steady pay and behind the scenes star status.

"But there's so much more." Alice's face appeared in her thoughts. Her doe black eyes, silky black hair was all she needed to see.

With the microphone to her face, the sounds came naturally, and so sweetly. It was never too sweet just as it was never too naughty, and the connection she possessed with Alice, she knew the term was accurate, was one she never had with any other character.

"Alice and I are going places," she whispered to herself, affirming a belief she didn't know she had, "and one day, one day, she'll be as popular as Bendy. Maybe moreso than Bendy himself."

Looking at the clock, 8:30, the time for dinner had passed some time ago. The pain of hunger did not tackle her stomach, and she sighed, picking up her purse and sweater. Walking down the hallway, she twisted the gold band on her left, middle finger, her thoughts were in disarray.

His office was not far from where she walked. He was an odd man, strange even, and his demeanor had changed during the last two months. But his kindness hadn't wavered. He hadn't grown cruel or distant, and she spoke freely, happily, around him. In his presence, she felt safe. Her concern was for him, not her person, and being certain of this, pushed her towards senselessness.

"He won't listen to me," the sound of her heels clicking on top of wood echoed down the halls, and she stared ahead, lips fixed into a thin line, "but he may listen to someone else."

She had visited the outskirts of Mr. Drew's office on the day she was hired. No one was allowed upstairs without his explicit permission, and although she feared what he may have to say about her unannounced appearance, his calmness steadied her. He was a smart man, an intelligent and diligent man, and Sammy, whose aggravations with him were well known, held immeasurable respect for the man.

Instead of heading to the exit where the thick summer air called to her, Susie carried on towards the animators' studio. Ink did not have an odor, but rotting wood did. The further she went, the stronger it became. Her nose twitched in disgust as she rebuilt the building in her mind, remembering which turns to make and which ones to avoid.

Soon she neared the abandoned animator's office, his name familiar as it passed through her mind, and she thought, if for a moment, that she had seen his face somewhere. Mr. Drew's office was past this point, and she saw the staircase ahead, yellowish light flooded the stairs.

"Mr. Drew?" Laying a hand on the wall, she was surprised to see there was a slight crack in the door at the top, "I apologize for coming unannounced."

On the first step a loud creak stretched in the still air, and she swallowed thickly, "I understand if you don't want to talk to me, but I'm…I'm worried about Sammy, I mean, Mr. Lawrence."

She took another step. Its creak was shorter, quieter, and she ventured for a third and a fourth. Losing count of how many steps she had taken, her fingers slid against the wooden wall, unafraid of the splinters that pricked her skin. The sounds on the other side had stopped abruptly, and she saw movement, quick and fleeting, like a shadow disappearing into light.

At the door, she pressed her ear against its cool surface, and the soft scratching, the low mumbles ceased. Heart palpitations made her knees weak, and she counted down from ten, gathering the courage she knocked on the door while holding the door knob with her other hand.

"Mr. Drew?" She said clearly with a light tremor in her voice, "Mr. Drew, may I come in?"

"Of course, Susie, you're always welcome."

Opening the door, she expected Mr. Drew to be seated his desk, arms folded neatly over a small stack of unfinished sketches. She hadn't prepared what she was going to say, and decided to rely on her natural instinct that came through during the heat of the moment.

He wasn't there. When she stepped through the threshold, she visualized his slim frame and thinning, pepper grey hair. He appeared to have been there earlier. An oily cinnamon scent filled her nose, different from the stronger odors she'd grown used to. Unfinished sketches were abandoned on his desk, spread on different parts, and a cinnamon oil scent was draped over them, sweet and spicy. Keeping a safe distance, the discarded papers were a cool gray color, and on them, she saw shapes drawn on them.

On closer inspection, she recognized the star inside the circle, and she tilted her head for a better angle. It held her attention for a minute before she saw the photograph that had fallen near it. She hadn't meant to touch the frame, and she didn't realize what she was doing until she was staring the photograph in its face.

The photograph had been taken some time ago, but at which time, Susie could not determine. The colors were pristine, highlighting the woman's hazel, almond shaped eyes, and through thick curls of strawberry blond, she smoothed her finger on top of silver strands. Her lips were painted a lovely shade of rogue, and were curled into a mischievous, inviting grin.

Age lines had aged her gracefully, and Susie stood transfixed on her face, as if she wanted to come through and show her something special.

"It was taken two weeks before she died."

Susie jumped, pressing the photograph against her breast, and spun around to see Mr. Drew leaning against the door frame. His hands were in his pockets.

"Oh my word!" Susie gasped, "I am," she looked at the photograph and flushed, "I am so sorry, Mr. Drew. I wanted to speak to you, and – please, don't fire me."

"Fire you?" He chuckled weakly and limped in the room. Without nosy eyes, he had not reservations, and he made his way to her, glancing at the photograph, "No, no, I would never do that, Miss Campbell, far too valuable."

"I'll just put that back."

"What did I tell you?" He sat in his chair and sighed, rubbing his eyes, "You're in trouble, ma'am." His sunken eyes crossed to the framed photograph, "What do you think of her?"

"You're wife?" At a loss of words, his patience silence weighed on her. Her purpose did not slip from away, "Well, it's my first time seeing her. I had heard only through the grapevine. I didn't think she was so -,"

"Robust?"

"Drawing." Glancing at the photograph upright on the desk, she nodded in affirmation to the woman's dark curls and piercing but mildly teasing gaze, "You can see, no hear, the characters," she looked back at him, "she reminds me of Alice."

"Well!" His hoarse laughter was muddled under a sheet of pain, "She should. She was the inspiration."

Susie stared at him blankly, and her confusion raised his laughter, "Henry, my dear. He didn't think I knew, but I did. All he had to do was ask her."

"Ask her what?"

"Ask her out." His eyes glazed over. She was quick to realize that although she stood right in front of him, she was no more than stained glass, "She would've said yes. Henry was a good man, not always a nice man, but a good man. But he was shy."

"Was he now?" Henry was spoken of here and there, and hearing him confide in her about him was unheard of now, "I never got that from the shorts."

"Good." He grinned softly, "He wouldn't want anyone to know. Besides, he was a great animator, and she nearly lost her mind when she saw his original sketches. She gave him a big, wet one on the lips." He pointed to his lips and chuckled, "He was ready to faint, I tell you."

"She sounds wonderful."

"She was." His stare fixated on Susie, clearing away the fog that had settled in them, "And her voice, its range was immeasurable."

"So I've heard." And she had heard, seated in the movie theater, watching the cartoons dizzy and dozy about, and she and her friends could never pinpoint exactly when one she had given life to, "Betty Drew was my inspiration."

"But that isn't why you've come here."

"No." It was strange. It was not so unlike talking to a father, if her father had been that cooperative. His smooth voice was calming, and where she expected reproach for entering his office without permission, he changed the course with talks of his deceased wife, "It was about Sammy, Mr. Drew. I don't think he's well."

"You don't think he's well?" Flipping through the pages on his desk, Mr. Drew cocked his head to the side, "I must admit we have been overworking ourselves lately, and Sammy's work ethic has always been a little bit strained."

"He's pushing everyone away." She whispered weakly, "I believe Norman and more than half of the band has quit."

Mr. Drew's dim smile flat line, and his expression turned grave, "Well, that is serious. Norman's music conduction has kept Bendy alive for years, and we can't have Sammy running him off," he pushed himself to the right, "Isn't that right, Sammy?"

Turning around, Sammy stood with an ashen color on his face. His hands were hidden behind his back, and his eyes were wide, sunken completely into his skill. He sputtered for words, then shook his head, and he stepped in with a slight hunch in his back.

"What are you doing here?" He looked to her to Mr. Drew, and said in a darker tone, "What is she doing here?"

"Miss Campbell approached me herself."

"Why?"

"She was worried for you, Sammy," he explained firmly, and the look he gave him, that crooked stare, was one of an admonishing father onto his wayward son, "and hearing this, I am as well. Norman has left."

A low groan came from Sammy, and he stumbled onto the wall, pressing a skeletal hand on it for balance, "No, no, no, Norman, I wanted him gone. He was no good for this," his body sunk to the floor and tears dribbled down his face, "why are you hear, Susie, tell me why?"

Forgetting Mr. Drew behind her, Susie ran to Sammy, kneeling in front him. She grasped his hands and was frightened by how small, how weak they were, "Sammy, sweetie, Sammy, you have to listen to me. We're all worried about you."

"She's right, Sammy." Mr. Dre said behind them, but strangely, his voice echoed when it shouldn't have, "And after all, we have to believe in Him. Think of what He wants."

"I have!" Sammy hissed, and his eyes carried the same faraway stare Mr. Drew's had, "I have, and I have, and you don't think I've given enough. But she's…she's…they're too, oh," he rolled his head to the side and whimpered.

"Sammy, baby." She pressed her lips to his knuckles, "Listen, I know you're scared, but we can help you. We just need you to get up."

"No." Half-lidded eyes fluttered against a weak light, "No, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. It's cruel. I'm sorry, please, forgive me."

"Sammy, what are you talking about?" He wasn't a heavy man, not as heavy as he used to be, but he refused to move. She refused to move without him.

His watery eyes opened, looked ahead, and they were clear, Susie swore, and frightened. He worded something, trying to get her away, but his body was too weak, and so was his mind.

"We must accept His will as our own." A whisper clutched at her ear, and she was jerked away from Sammy. An arm wrapped around her throat, and her hands flayed about, nails scratching at the unusually strong hands, "And you will learn this, Sammy, all of you will."

A napkin was pressed against her mouth and nose. She kicked at his legs, but her feet seemed to sink. When she saw her hands, there were black, a black blacker than night, and what she inhaled, chloroform her mind supplied, caused an almost drowsiness. Soon, her kicks and scratches started to weaken, and the office, with Sammy in it, started to darken.

Senses numbed, and she was dragged into a deep slumber, one she was afraid she would never awaken.

"It could have been anyone else!"

"There is no one left. We tried and failed with Alice before." A sad, weak little voice said, "We cannot fail again. We will not fail."

Susie rolled to her side. Hearing returned first, and the voices, while audible, were terribly misshapen. Someone was crying, she thought, and a second person tried to comfort them, to dismal success. Touch pursued, and she gasped loudly, slapping her hands around to get a feel of where she was.

Wood, the floor, she was on the floor. But wait. The floor was not clean, something was scrawled on it. The lights were weak, dim, almost shadowed in the room, and she strained to see. Pushing herself up, black marking decorated the floor, and again, yes, in its entirety she understood. The pentagram mocked her as she lied unconscious on top of it. On her knees, she rubbed the back of her head and whimpered.

Where was she? She didn't know. It was another part of the studio she wasn't acquainted with, but that didn't matter. Standing up, seeing her shoes were missing, she circled in her confinement, searching for some kind of sign. The voices were too far away. She couldn't tell which direction they came from.

"I would not do that if I were you." Said someone from behind, and she turned around slowly, eyes clear and lips pressed in a confused but angered frown, "You could get hurt."

"What is this?" Her voice was quiet, still, and she was secretly impressed at the distance, "Where am I, Mr. Drew?"

"You are safe." He explained softly, "I know it appears cruel, but trust me, it is the only way for us to survive."

"Survive?" She marched towards him, and on the edge of the circle, an invisible forced pushed her back. Stunned, it was not enough to knock her off her feet, but one that warned against any future attempts of escape, "What is this?"

She heard his voice, but she could not see him. Where was she? There were no booths or windows from what she could tell, and she breathed harshly, forcing tears back into her eyes. What had she gotten herself into?

"We must make sacrifices." The voice echoed solemnly, and within the voice, Susie heard another, weeping, "His will is our will, and we must accept his divinity in our hearts, into our souls."

The floor and walls began to tremble. It all began to tremble, and somewhere in the distance, growls emitted from the darkness. The circle chimed, a soft bell, and sparks spun to reveal violet flames. She took a step and crunched down. Susie removed her foot, and her heart sank when she saw the picture she had stepped on.

"Lord have mercy." Horror spilled over the ruined sketch, "Please, no."

A mangled scream clawed up her throat, slamming out her mouth as black ink pooled in the circle. Trapped, there was nowhere for her to go, and with little mobility she possessed, she tried to push against the force.

In retaliation a hand, a claw with pointed nails sprouted from the circle's center, and wrapped around her ankle. The sketch still clutched in her hand she tried to free her leg, jerking and fighting against the claw when another, as black as its twin, grabbed ahold of her left.

It called for help.

One after the other, hands formed in ink stained her clothes, snatching at her flailing arms. A larger one, she presumed to be larger in her panic, wrapped around her waist, and hot breath slithered down her neck. Its texture was warmer than the ink, wetter than ink, and she whimpered as the weight began to pull her down.

Legs and lower torso completely submerged, she saw a light ahead. Her weakened grip discarded of the picture, and the picture was swallowed by ink. Using the last of her strength, she forced her arms upwards, fingers stretching as far as they could. The pale cream of her skin was drenched, but she made out their shapes.

Her fingers wanted to blister under the light. Let it bleed and peel, let them be touched, but in that light came a voice, a voice so light and feather soft it sent chills down her spine. It was not a voice but many voices, two voices tied in one, and she saw his face gazing down back at her. His sneer was masked under a perpetual smile.

"You have to believe, Susie."

Her mouth opened for a fraction of a second, and ink poured through, pushing through her pearly white teeth, slipping down her throat, sloshing into her stomach. The ink went wild at her lungs, and the voices squealed in delight above her. She gasped, choked, and gurgled. She flailed, splashed, and started to weaken.

He watched her from where he stood. He titled his head to the side, unable to comprehend her distress, and she supposed he couldn't, with him being a devil and all.

He waved goodbye. It seemed so innocent, so childlike he was in his cartoons. It made seeing him as he now was almost sad. If she could have waved back in return, she would have, but she couldn't see her fingers anymore.

Her fingers, along with the rest of her body, seeped silently underneath the puddle of ink, leaving only a faint, drying stain in its wake.

Her name was Alice Angel.

In a past life, she might have met him. In another life, she could have met him. In this life, she did not meet him, not yet.

He was felt. The moment he opened the door, Alice felt him.

As all of them were, her body was not what it appeared to be. It was not what it was intended to be, but she, unlike so many others, could alter her appearance at will. Not even Bendy demonstrated this sort of ability. His lack of control infuriated him.

He was an envious little devil, Alice thought, and it was expected, for him to be envious.

Bendy wanted him.

He was a smart man, an old, a kind man.

"He's a good man, not always a kind one," a soft, mature voice mingled in her head. It was rich, full, and reminded her of something warm and good, a hot cup of tea although she had no way of knowing what tea tasted like, "We won't let harm come to him. We will try."

Alice agreed. In the heat of their united resolve, sounds were eradicated from her mouth. They were shredded, tattered, and she blushed, remembering why she normally maintained silence inside the building. It was best to be quiet. Bendy was watching, and so was she. She knew what he was planning, and she had to stop him.

At least, she was not alone. A semblance of another person, not complete and whole, mingled in her head, and its presence was comforting. This did not stop Alice from weeping. Always, always, she felt there was more inside, more than one, more than two.

What Alice would have said to the mingling voice that lingered in her head, "I know he isn't nice, and I don't want him to die. We have to try." She decided to try.

Bendy was faster. He made it to the ink machine before she did. Alice was smarter. She was, and they knew it. She boarded the ink machine before he had the chance to strike, and how angry he was! He was angry, and he searched for Alice. Searched and searched, and when he could not find her, he found another.

Sammy was desperate, and a fool. Alice felt him die. His fear was palpable. It was like having your heart ripped apart, crushed in the palm of the killer's hand. He found Henry first. He hadn't realized that Bendy wanted him.

Her anger with Sammy would never sway. Her forgiveness was not amendable, and would not ease her wounds. His dormancy condemned her. But she mourned him nonetheless, as Bendy knew she would. Disobedient children suffered consequences, and this was one of many.

As big, black tears ran down her cheeks, smearing her porcelain white skin, and she rubbed them dry, hating its rubbery, papery touch.

"We cannot save them all. We have to persevere," the voice rich tone tried to soothe, and Alice smudged her tears away, angry she had fallen pretty to emotional weakness. It appeared her humanity persisted through pain and betrayal, and she spat ink onto the floor.

He escaped Bendy, and Boris found him. She was not sure how she felt about that. Could he be trusted? He was not like Bendy, and did not seek to harm others. He called to her through thoughts, and Alice knew the time had come for her to appear.

"Give him instructions, guide him," she whispered through the vents, through the inky puddles Bendy could not claim, "and lead him to me."

In the depths where her tomb lied, decrepit and forgotten, he would find her there, and she would look upon his face. In another life, she had loved him. In another life, she had known him. In this life, she needed him.

"What will I say," Alice asked, and she waited for the response, knowing its directions would be unfair but just.

"Oh, my sweet Alice," the voice that mingled in her head moaned bereft, "we tell him the truth, your old song will teach him."

"What if he doesn't believe me?" She did not like to disagree, but this was a thought she had since he arrived. Her broken wings, dressed in black, fluttered achingly.

The mingling voice grew quiet, and she knew this was a moment the voice preferred to be left undisturbed. Seconds passed before it returned, in a simple but austerely forgiving tone, "If that is the case, Alice, then you will make him believe in you."

A/N: The goal was to write a character study of Susie Campbell of what she might be like, and what her final days at JD studios were like. Wanted to try my hand at horror, which I'm not strong in (yet). Thanks for reading!