Chapter 2: More Than Just Ink
I made my way down the staircase, stopping occasionally to peer through doors. Most of them were either blocked by debris or stuck shut with age. I'd gone down five flights, way more than I thought there would be, before I found a door that opened. I walked out into a hallway that was dimly lit, with ink dripping from the ceiling. Looking around, I picked a direction to head and began walking. As I did, I continued looking at my surroundings. This floor was even more run down than the ground floor. The walls were rotting in several places, cobwebs were in almost every corner, and several turns ended in cave-ins.
Not to mention, there was ink everywhere. It was dripping from the ceiling, coating the walls, pooling on the floor. As I made my way deeper into the studio, it only seemed to be getting worse. Once again, I questioned what the point of the all this ink was. No one, no matter how many cartoons they needed to draw, needed this much ink. There was definitely another purpose to it, but for the life of me I couldn't figure it out. What else could you do with ink besides draw?
"You could certainly make a mess," I muttered, as I stepped around yet another puddle of ink.
After a few minutes, I found a map of the floor I was on, pinned on the wall and partially stained with ink. I noticed there was an exit in the storyboard room, a couple halls down to my left. I turned to head towards it and froze. Someone… no, something was standing in the hall I had just come out of. It was black, and covered in ink. On its chest was a white bow tie, and its left hand had a white glove on it. I could make out two horns on its head. It took me a moment to process what it was supposed to look like.
By the time my brain started working again, Bendy had already started towards me.
Panicking, I ran down another hallway, barely even registering that I'd dropped my camera. All I could hear was the blood in my ears and the demonic shriek from the warped approximation of Bendy as it chased after me. Veins of ink snaked along the walls, gradually getting thicker as the monster got closer. It was gaining on me. I turned another corner and saw a small booth labelled "LITTLE MIRACLE STATION". As I saw it, I felt claws rake the back of my my lower left arm, leaving three gashes that stung. Operating purely on an instinct to hide, even though logically the monster could clearly see me, I threw the door open and jumped in, shutting myself in quickly.
I could barely breathe as I watched the creature approach the booth through the slit in the doorway. It was right in front of it. It leaned down, and peered in at me through the slit. I couldn't see its eyes, as they were covered by ink, but I could tell he was making eye contact with me, staring into my soul and analyzing it piece by piece. Then I heard a hissing noise, and I realized it was laughing. My heart almost stopped. But then it stood up, and walked out of view. A moment later, the veins of ink on the wall disappeared, and all was quiet.
Opening the door slightly, I looked out to make sure it was gone. Once I was certain, I stepped out shakily. "Oh, yeah, there's a story here alright, but I'm not dumb enough to look for it," I said to myself. I was getting out of here as soon as possible. I didn't even want to go get my camera. I headed down the hall towards the storyboard room. On the way, I saw a fire ax in a broken glass case. I picked it up, feeling safer with it in my hands. I didn't know how much it would do against something made of ink, but still, it was comforting to have.
As I made my way down the hall, I lapsed into memories from earlier in the day.
"I got a tip," Paul said, taking a drag on his cigar. He'd called me into his office to tell me something, and he'd seemed excited, anticipation flashing in his brown eyes. "And it's a damn good one too, so drop what you're working on."
"What do you mean? I can't just drop this, I—" Paul cut me off with a wave of his hand. "I'll send someone else to cover your current project. Trust me, you'll wanna change over once I tell ya what I've got."
I was confused and more than a little surprised. In my four years of working for Paul, I'd never once dropped any story. Paul had praised me for it; it was how an investigative journalist should treat his job, he'd said, and some of his employees could learn a thing or two from me. Now here he was, telling me to drop my case.
"I got an email from somebody. Said they found somethin' on JD Studios. Y'know, the old cartoon place? Didn't say what, but they said their dad worked at a place called Gent Home Office, who made some sorta big machine for 'em, according to some files they found. Maybe it's worth going and seeing what happened in there. And everyone loves uncovering old stories."
I sighed. I knew Paul, and I knew I couldn't talk him out of this. "Joey Drew Studios, you say?"
Paul smiled. "Yep."
I was taken out of my reverie by the stinging of my arm as my adrenaline boost began to fade. I needed to clean the wounds as soon as possible. My mind flashed to the first aid kit in the glove compartment of my car. Real smart, Jason. Go into a potentially dangerous building without any preparation. Even without monsters, I could very easily die in here.
Coming to entrance to the storyboard room, I gripped my ax tightly, and pressed an ear against the door. When I didn't hear anything, I opened it slowly, peering in.
The room was medium-sized, and a warm light came from a couple still-functioning lights on the ceiling. There were desks with storyboards covering them, and the floor was covered in papers, some blank while others had practically no white showing. Most of them were in between, half-finished or featuring simple character sketches. More papers were tacked onto the walls, and you could barely see the wood. I was mildly surprised there weren't papers on the ceiling, too.
I stepped in and shut the door behind me. I immediately felt safer. There was something about this room that seemed warm, even in a decrepit building full of monsters. Maybe it was some sort of remnant of the cartoonists, the artists who poured their heart and soul into these pictures to make kids happy. I looked around with a faint smile. But when I looked to the other side of the room, where the exit was, my smile faded.
The door was standing open, revealing that it was bricked up. I didn't know who the hell could or would do that, but I knew I wasn't gonna be able to get through the wall, even with an ax. I just stood there for a moment, processing this. Then I felt angry. "God fucking damnit," I muttered. Of course it would be bricked up. My life just had to be this complicated. Sighing, I sat down, thinking. Something tells me I won't be coming into the office tomorrow, I thought sarcastically. My hand moved to my pocket and I pulled out my phone, only to see it had been smashed beyond repair from my fall off the balcony. Apparently, it hadn't been as lucky as I had. I threw it to the side, letting my head fall back against the wall and trying to block out the pain from my wounds. As I looked around the room, I noticed a couple shelves. They had what looked like jugs of water and a bunch of cans labelled Bacon Soup with a smiling Bendy on the side. I guess the artists spent nights in here trying to get the pictures right. The gears in my head began turning. Maybe I could, too. It's got food and water, and if I chop up the shelves I could bar the door. The not bricked-up one, I mean. And I could use the water to clean my wounds, and maybe use the blank papers as bandages.
I stood up, grabbing my ax. If I was going to survive, I needed to get to work.
I just hoped I could find a way out sooner rather than later.
But as I began working, something told me I wouldn't be leaving for quite a while.
