A/N: This story takes place about two years before the events of BATIM. Insert usual disclaimer here: I only own my OCs and blah blah blah.

Chapter 1: Welcome to Joey Drew Studios

"Yeah… yeah, I'm driving up to the place now," I said into the phone. I pulled my car up in front of the decrepit building. "I'll call you once I've found something interesting we can use. If you don't hear from me in a few days, assume I didn't find anything."

"Alright," Paul said on the other end. "But I trust you, Jason. You're our best reporter; if there isn't a story, I'm sure you can make one."

I smiled. "Yeah, because making up fake stories always works out well. Don't worry, I'll find something. See you tomorrow, hopefully." I hung up and placed the phone into my pocket. I turned off the car and got out, looking up at the building in front of me blocking out the midday sun.

It was about four stories tall, and the architecture betrayed its age. Not only were the designs old, the building was worn down from decades of abandonment. Broken windows, rotting wood, peeling paint, the usual. Above the main entrance, three massive gears spun slowly, somehow still powered. Overlaid on them was a sign proclaiming the name of the building:

"JOEY DREW STUDIOS."

There was a locked gate between me and the front door, but that was OK. The front only led to the visitor area. I wanted to get into the workshop. If there was a story here, and Paul insisted there was, I would find it there. Grabbing my camera out of my car before locking it, I made my way around the building. On the side was a door labeled "WORKSHOP ENTRANCE".

"Bingo," I muttered to myself. There wasn't a fence here, although rusted bits of wire poking out of the ground suggested there once was. I tried the knob, but it was locked. Thankfully, age had worn down the lock mechanism, and I managed to turn the knob by brute force. Once in, I put a piece of wood as a doorstop to keep the door open. I didn't trust the door, and the last thing I needed was to trap myself in here.

I turned around. I was in a small hallway with three posters on either wall. The hallway opened into a small room with a few chairs, a projector, and a smaller version of the logo over the front door, its turning gears providing the only ambience in the room. I began taking pictures, making my way down one of the hallways. There were more posters, unfinished storyboards, and some cardboard cutouts of the studio's most popular character, Bendy the Dancing Demon. He honestly looked cute to me, which I guess was the point. I turned a corner, camera at the ready, and stopped. Written across the wall, in what appeared to be ink, were the words "DREAMS COME TRUE". I raised my camera and took a picture, slightly confused by the sight. After a moment, I passed it off as some sort of graffiti. After all, the building had been abandoned for almost 30 years. Homeless people and delinquent teens were bound to have come in here a few times.

At the end of the hall, I saw a chart that apparently recorded the output for something called the "Ink Machine". The last recorded output was 423 gallons. "Jesus Christ, that's a lot of ink," I muttered, taking a picture of the chart. Moving on, I jumped over a pipe on the floor labelled "WATCH YOUR STEP" and turned another corner.

And froze.

I was on a balcony overlooking a massive chamber. Sunlight filtered in through gaps in the ceiling, but it did nothing to help illuminate the massive yawning pit in the center of the room.

And dangling above it, on several chains, was what I could only assume was the Ink Machine.

It was massive. Way bigger than anything a cartoon studio should have needed. On one end there was a massive nozzle, and on the end partially facing away from me there was a massive glass container full of, well, ink. Cables sprouted from the bottom and ran into the pit below, out of sight.

I immediately began taking pictures. This was definitely a story. Why would a cartoon studio need something like this? Who needed this much ink? How did they afford to build and maintain it? And for some reason, I got the feeling it did more than dispense ink. I leaned on the railing, trying to get a better look. I guess I should've figured it wouldn't be able to support my weight, because suddenly I was falling, face-first, onto the floor below.

I managed to cover my face right before I hit the ground. After a moment of dazed pain, I got up. I checked myself and the camera. Both me and my camera seemed to be fine, though I could tell I would have some nasty bruises in a few places. Still, I could walk.

I looked up at the balcony. There was no way I would be able to get back up there. There had to be another way out. Looking around, I saw a stairwell entrance. Walking over, I opened the door. Stairs led downwards, descending into the building. I sighed. Looked like I was going down. Hopefully I'd find a story and an exit.

As I made my way down the stairs, I failed to see a figure pull a lever on the balcony, causing the Machine to begin descending into the building as well.

And I also failed to see that same figure jump down to the floor below and begin to follow me.