I acknowledge that this isn't an update to Dragon Boy, but given the fact that everyone else has submitted an entry to the Angst War on tumblr except for me, I'm gonna post this here anyway.

Chapter 21 is coming out I promise, but to you BATIM fans, enjoy some angst from a writer who has never written total angst before.

This takes place in the ask-joeydrewstudios universe (see the blog ask-joeydrewstudios on tumblr for context), and it is the product of me seeing the Mun write some angst that I decided to push further.

Read &...Enjoy the feels I guess?

When the Ink Machine was destroyed, everyone knew.

In every department and on every floor, the ink was beginning to rise at an alarming rate. It wasn't uncommon for pipes to burst or leaks to start up, but this was different. This was dangerous. The flooding destroyed supplies, and ink dripped down the walls and rained from the ceilings.

Some floors were worse than others. For some, ink reached the knees and matted people's hair with its thick, sticky texture. Meanwhile, other levels were so horribly submerged that their occupants were struggling to cobble together some higher ground. Everyone feared being engulfed by the ink.

Henry was outside the Music Department where he and the animators were all struggling to drain the ink away from the stairwell. Because their floor was located at the surface level, their branch had been easy to escape. However the relief had been short lived. Within minutes, chaos had erupted around them as people used the overhead speakers to shout to each other from every level.

Currently, Sammy was swearing up a storm, his voice rising with the ink.

"Goddammit, Batim, what the fuck is taking so long!?"

"I'm sorry!" Henry cried. He was frantically twisting the valve for the drain pipe, but it refused to budge. His hands were shaking and covered in ink. He'd balled up his sweater and wrapped it around the damn thing, but it provided him with no grip.

Good god. "It-It's stuck!"

Next to him, Boris whimpered, ears pressed against his skull. The toon was wringing his wrist and looking from the closed off door to the stubborn valve. Ink dribbled down from his widow's peak, as he helplessly watched Henry struggle.

On the other side, Sammy cursed the ink, he cursed the pipes, and above all, he cursed Joey. Henry had to bite his tongue to stay quiet. He couldn't waste time bickering with Sammy when everyone in the Music Department was about to drown. The department had been renovated to take a few more hits from the pipes, given their terrible luck in the past, but the floor's limits were being severely pushed now.

Earlier, Henry had tried breaking down the stairwell door with an axe. They needed a pathway for the employees to escape the Music Department, but after a few seconds of swinging, Sammy had screamed at him to stop. The stairwell led to every floor in the studio, and the more Henry cut into the department's door, the more ink leaked out, draining into the lower levels.

"There's too much ink in here! We can't let the other floors submerge," Sammy had shouted over the speakers. "You need to open the drain pipe!"

"Don't you have the valve for that?"

"It's busted, idiot! We wouldn't be in this situation if I could use it!" The speakers had crackled for a moment before Sammy's voice returned. "You should have one on your side too."

Just then, another pipe on the floor beneath them had ruptured. Both Henry and Sammy could hear the people below clamoring, frantic.

"Get on with it, Henry!"

It took Boris's help for Henry to find the valve. However, now it was jammed from the clotting ink. The texture was unusual, too gelatinous to be normal, and the ink stubbornly coated Henry's freezing fingers. What's happened to the Ink Machine?

While Henry and Boris worked with the pipe, the rest of the animators were set to scooping out any of the excess ink that leaked out of the Music Department. They did so bucket by bucket. However, the area was being filled much faster than they could keep up, and ink was still drizzling from above them as well.

At present, Henry shouted up the stairs, "Buckets! We need more buckets!"

"We're out!" someone called back. "These are all we have!"

Henry and Boris looked at one another, eyes wide.

"Go look for more," Henry ordered.

Boris gulped—which would have been cartoonishly excessive in any other circumstance—but nodded. "R-right!"

Without another word, Boris turned on his heel and left Henry to handle the pipe valve alone.

"And get me a wrench if you can find one!"

"On it!"

Henry swore that the cursed ink was listening to them, because on cue, he heard another pipe combusting from within the walled-in department. The speakers were still running, so Henry could hear the imprisoned occupants panic. Susie shrieked, and some of the band members were screaming. Norman shouted, "Everyone, calm down!" but no one was listening.

Henry felt his own panic rise. "Shit!"

"HENRY, HURRY!"

"SHUT UP, SAMMY!"

The struggle lasted for five agonizingly drawn-out minutes before the group heart the Ink Machine blast apart. The explosion shook the entire studio, impressively enough, and more pipes erupted over the animation team's heads. Henry threw his arms over his head before the thick freezing goops of ink could completely splatter all over him.

In seconds, the entire studio became completely quiet. At first, Henry thought his hearing had been shot, but then there arose a powerful ringing in his ears. He grabbed his head, in pain, until the sound abated. Afterwards, he could finally hear the trickling ink and the shifting wood. For years to come, he would swear that he could perceive the pounding heartbeats of every man and woman in the studio.

Above all of that though, there was still a silent aura that separated him from it all like a cushioned wall.

As soon as Henry felt stable enough, he opened one eye and looked around. His drenched animators were all clutching each other or their buckets. Once they noticed their director, they too began looking around with owlish eyes. They took in every smear of devastation around them before looking to Henry again.

Henry swallowed. "Everyone"—his voice sounded so loud…Why did it sound so loud!?—"get this stairwell cleared. Now." He tossed aside his now ruined sweater and ran up the stairs, saying, "I'll be back!"

He danced around Boris, who was returning with a pile of cups and a wrench. He continued to talk as he slipped by. "Sorry! Get that pipe fixed! Okay, Boris?"

Henry didn't even know if the toon wolf ever answered.

The creaking floors were clamorous, and the air was so…clear. The stench of ink still hung over Henry, but the atmosphere itself felt less…heavy somehow. He pressed his hand against the steady walls as he ran up the stairs. Even as he touched the solid walls, his mind insisted that the studio must be swaying. It all felt so surreal.

Wrong. It was all wrong.

After he finally made it to the ground level, he nearly slipped on a puddle of ink as he ran. He slammed into the wall instead, and his right wrist screamed in agony upon impact. However, he grunted and ignored it as he darted toward the Ink Machine's room.

He made it about as close as the entry way before freezing to a halt.

The machine was in shambles! Ink dripped out of every crack and sliver that speckled and scarred the machine. The top portion had a massive hole ripped wide open the way a paper bag would look after someone smashed the air out of it. The entire room was splattered with ink from the explosion. Henry gaped at the sight.

Then his eyes were drawn toward the petrified form in front of the mangled machine. His heart skipped into a panicked stutter, and his legs finally remembered how to move.

"Oh my god, JOEY!"

Henry was at his mentor's side in an instant. Joey was on his knees, staring blankly at the machine in shock.

"Joey? Joey, can you hear me? Joey!"

Henry grabbed the man's shoulders, ready to shake him. However, he then saw the axe held loosely in Joey's grip. Henry looked from the axe to the machine.

There were portions of metal that had dents and cuts that matched the blade's width. Some of the pipes attached to the Ink Machine were torn apart. Wires poked out of poked out of their destroyed compartment, coughing up sparks and small fits of electricity. Meanwhile, the axe was covered in ink stains. Henry's heart sank.

"Dear god, Henry."

Henry whipped his head toward Joey, who looked back at him, eyes wide. Tears trickled freely down his cheeks.

"What have I done?"

Henry looked to the machine before returning his attention to Joey. Then, carefully, he slipped his hands over the axe and took it away. It fell to the side with a loud clatter.

"I'm sorry, Joey," he said softly.

"What'll I tell the toons?"

Henry couldn't come up with an answer.

"God, what have I done?"

Ink dripped from the ceiling, each dribble loud and grating. Plk! Plk! Plk!

Activity outside the ruined room started back up. People were being freed from their floors as soon as the drain pipe was restored. Nobody truly comprehended it yet. They didn't know what had to have been done to stop the ink.

Except for the pair within the destroyed room.

Slowly and carefully, Henry pulled Joey into a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Joey."

"What have I done!?" Joey returned the embrace, his hold taut and desperate. Henry struggled to pretend like he couldn't hear Joey sobbing.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And he really was. Because this, he knew…was the beginning of the end for the toons.

Now to make Joey and the toons suffer! Karma's gonna get me for this later, mark my words. See my tumblr blog tenchikotheauthor for the illustration I created to go with this chapter.

—Tenchiko