FAUSTUS: Where are you damn'd?
MEPHISTOPHELES: In hell.
FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that thou art out of hell?
MEPHISTOPHELES: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it.

― Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus

As he lounged in an old armchair, half-sleeping, the radio softly playing ragtime songs, Joey Drew released that this was not how he had envisioned his retirement. He'd always imagined that he'd spend his twilight years living in some luxury mansion on a private island, not a run-down assisted living apartment less than a mile from his former studio. He thought his arrangement with Bendy would have assured that.

Still, the demon had told him he'd be famous, not immortal. There was never a guarantee it would last forever. And it hadn't. In spite of everything he had done to try and please him.

Spending his studio into ruin.

Slave labour.

Black magic.

Murder.

'Formerly famous', Joey decided, was still better than 'infamous'.

Whenever his thoughts turned toward his past, Joey strove to focus on the positives. The awards ceremonies. Journalists crowding around him to get publicity shots. Children reaching their little arms over velvet rope barriers at the opening of Bendy Land, just for a chance to shake his hand.

To the public, he had been their eccentric lovable uncle, the godfather of giggles, the cartoon caliph. Everything that had the potential to ruin his carefully crafted image was kept hidden in the shadows.

Everything.

Now, Joey treated his own memories the same way.

Distractions helped. With his worsening health and advancing age, he didn't get out much these days, so he tried to busy himself around the apartment with chores and hobbies. Right now, he really needed something to do.

Clutching his cane, Joey awkwardly rose up from the armchair, and hobbled over to his old drawing desk. He picked up a pencil and a blank sheet of paper, idly and mindlessly doodling nothing in particular... until he froze at the feel of claws clasping upon his shoulder.

"Hello, old pal."

This was no cheery greeting. It had been uttered in a low, sinister growl. Despite knowing exactly who... what... was behind him, Joey didn't want to turn around – but as the pressure grew on his shoulder, the black talons digging down further into his skin, he finally summoned the courage, and looked.

"Bendy."

Fangs were flashed in a crooked grin.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" the demon said. "I must say – the years haven't been great to you. Your star has faded. Your cartoons are locked up in old reel cans, left to gather dust. How many people out there on the street would know your name now, hmm?"

Joey said nothing. Shrugging, he turned back towards his doodles – leading the Ink Demon, infuriated, to slam him down sharply onto the desk with one hand: pinning him there, helpless, as the nightmarish creature leaned forward to whisper into his ear.

"It's about the right time to make a comeback, don't you think?" he purred, his voice loaded with venom. "A Renaissance, maybe? I can make it happen, Joey. I just need one little favour from you."

Joey was quickly turning as white as one of his old cartoon characters. Trembling, with beads of sweat flowing down his face, he forced himself to look up into the demon's eyes: swallowing hard before he wheezed out a response.

"What do you want from me?"

"A letter," the Ink Demon replied. "Just one little letter to an old friend. That's all."

"Who?"

"Henry Stein."

Clutching the fabric of Joey's sweater, he pulled back sharply: causing his victim to fly backwards off of his chair into a crumpled heap on the floor, landing with a violent thud. As the old man struggled, with great difficulty, to get back on his feet, the Ink Demon offered him no help. Instead, he took advantage of his towering height as he leaned over him, maintaining dominance – crushing his cane underfoot like a stepped-on twig.

"It's been what... 30 years... since you last spoke?" he went on. "You must miss him terribly. You should invite him to the studio – let him see what you've done with the place."

He chucked contentedly.

"I would so love the chance to meet him for myself."

"No!" Joey wailed, as helpless as an infant. "Not Henry! I'll do anything you want, but leave him alone!"

The demon tutted.

"Drew, Drew, Drew," he muttered, shaking his head in irritation. "I thought you'd have figured out how this works by now."

In one lightning-fast strike, the Ink Demon seized Joey in his claw – grasping him by the throat as he pinned him against the wall. As the animator spluttered and struggled for breath, the demon leaned into his face so closely that smears of ink began to spill onto his cheeks.

"I say, you do," he growled. "And I say that I need another soul. If you won't give me Henry's, then I'll take yours instead. Painfully. It's him, or you. Understood?"

Joey nodded frantically. Satisfied, the demon lowered him to the ground – the ex-director inhaling deeply as his dark master released his chokehold.

"Good boy, Joey," Bendy said, patting him on the head patronisingly. "Remember our agreement."

With one talon, he pulled back the desk chair, gesturing for Joey to resume his seat.

"Now... I believe you have a letter to write?"

The evening before Henry was due to arrive in Los Angeles, the Ink Demon visited Joey once more – teaching him where to stand and what to say, his cane restored to him in a strangely uneasy gesture of goodwill. The objective was simple. Joey couldn't reveal anything about his sinister actions to his former friend, but he couldn't risk him walking away, either. By hook or by crook, he had to get Henry into that studio.

From there, Bendy would take care of the rest. He wouldn't trouble Joey any more. Following this final sacrifice, he would be permitted to die in peace: sometime soon, tucked up safe and warm in his bed.

That night, Joey was too terrified to sleep. Instead, he stayed up straight through until morning, going through his routine again and again, like one of his theme park automatons performing its show piece. Perhaps, somehow, though some coded word or clever action, he could give Henry a warning... get him out of there and away from danger, whilst making the whole thing seem like an innocent misstep?

No. Bendy would know. He'd come after him.

And there was no guarantee he still wouldn't go after Henry, too.

Besides – he'd already made plans. He'd taken a taxi to the studio on a made-up pretext: something about needing to tidy the place up before Henry's visit, to alleviate suspicions when he first went in. When he got back home, he'd "forgotten" two things: a film reel, and a tape.

It wasn't much, but it would give Henry a chance. He could only pray that chance was enough to save him. To save them both.

On that fateful day, Joey was in the kitchen washing dishes – his pre-prepared activity - when he heard the sharp buzz sounding though the apartment. At the same time, his heart skipped a beat: partly out of fear, partly out of desire.

He'd suspected it for years, but now that the moment of their reunion was nigh, it had been confirmed to him. He still loved Henry. He couldn't picture him as an old man: in Joey's mind, he was permanently youthful – still that handsome creative genius that had walked out of his life so bluntly and brutally, due to Joey's own arrogance and foolishness.

Given what he was about to happen, he begged for a reason to hate him now.

Let him have grown hideous. Let him come in here and rage at Joey: shout at him, swear at him, get his blood boiling.

For Christ's sake - give me a way to justify this.

His wish wasn't granted. True, Henry was an hour early, but that wasn't any reason to resent him. If anything, Joey was grateful, as it cut down on his agonising wait.

As he called out for his visitor to enter, Henry did so calmly and politely – no ranting or raving, merely a cheery "Hello". To his amazement, Joey found himself joking out loud about Henry's punctuality, or lack thereof: the remark flowing naturally from his mouth as though only thirty minutes had passed between them, not years.

As he heard his former friend stepping through the kitchen door behind him, Joey stared out of the window in front of him intensely, dreading having to turn around. He was too frightened of what he might see.

If Henry had grown ugly, maybe due to some accident or illness, his heart would break out of sheer pity. He didn't deserve to have gone through something like that.

He didn't deserve to be broken and crooked like him.

On the other hand, if Henry was still desirable... his heart would break out of longing. Out of his unrequited want – no, his need - to be with him: to get him all to himself, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, forever. It was one of the few dreams he'd had over his lifetime that had no chance of coming true.

Joey couldn't avoid pain. It was a case of which kind he wanted least.

Drawing in a deep breath, he steeled himself, and turned.

The first thing he saw was Henry's eyes. They were as bright and blue as ever, and still sparkling, unaltered by time. His hair, formerly blond, was now a sleek silver – the locks still piled atop his head with their gentle, fluffy curl.

Yes, there were a few more wrinkles across his face, and a tad more fat on the belly, as there was with most men of an increased age... but on the whole, Henry Stein had remained a very attractive man.

And by the gods, did Joey Drew still want him.

He couldn't say anything to Henry about it. He had a script to follow, a scene to play out – just like he had done all those years ago in the recording booth whilst dubbing those demon-inspired cartoons. And he knew... he just knew... that now, Bendy was the one watching him.

The conversation happened. Henry took the bait. As soon as he'd stepped out of the apartment, heading towards the studio, Joey staggered into the living room and collapsed into his armchair – his emotions whirling, his energy drained. Sighing heavily, he looked up towards the leaking, mould-covered ceiling above him.

"I did what you wanted," he croaked - weak in voice, but with a cold conviction. "I've given him to you."

The drops of old rainwater pitter-pattering through the cracks took on a black colour, falling faster into small, scattered puddles on the carpet. As they congealed together into one thick ooze, they rose up in the familiar, frightening form of the Ink Demon.

"Yes," came the stark reply. "You've served me well, Joey."

"I love him so much," Joey went on, his eyes watering. "Even now, after all this time. If I had the chance again, I... I would have given it all away for him. All the fame. All the fortune. I know Linda made him happy, gave him a family, but... I know I could have done the same. I would have. Somehow."

"Of course you could have. But you made your choice."

"Please," Joey begged, now openly sobbing. "When the moment comes... let it be swift. Painless. I... I don't want him to suffer. He isn't like the others. I don't want him to go the same way."

The demon shook his head firmly.

"Sorry, Drew. You're not the boss of anybody anymore. I decide how it ends, not you."

As a sinister smirk crossed Bendy's face, Joey felt his hands shaking.

"And if you think that little film reel of yours that you put down there is enough to stop me," Bendy went on, "you're sadly mistaken. I'm so much more than a stupid little cartoon you dreamt up. Just for that, I'm making the bastard pay."

Before Joey could protest, the twisted creature began to slither and sink away.

"You're mine until you die, Drew," he snapped. "Never forget that."

Left alone with his guilt, Joey buried his face into his hands, weeping bitterly. The heart-wrenching words of the Ink Demon echoed endlessly in his mind, draining all hope and joy out of him... until, very slowly and carefully, as they repeatedly yet again, he began to examine them more deeply.

You're mine until you die.

It's him, or you.

He didn't hesitate for a moment. The slow, awkward hobble to his bedroom was agonising, but Joey didn't care in the least. It was his own personal road to Calvary: his chance to hopefully rid himself of just a fraction of the evil that smeared his soul, like the thick black ink upon his monstrous children.

Rustling around in his dresser drawer, he laid his hand on his pistol. He continued to hold it carefully as he scrambled over to the phone – his finger lightly brushing against the trigger as he called for a car.

Success required sacrifice.

Now, that's exactly what the Ink Demon was going to get.

In the Throne Room, Joey's body was growing cold as the self-inflicted injury overwhelmed him. However, as he lay there, cradled so carefully in Henry's arms, a spark of warmth still blazed inside his heart.

Destiny – and Bendy - had wanted him to leave this Earth in his apartment, alone and forgotten, with no one there to witness it. This ending to his life's story, whilst far more brutal, was also so much more beautiful. He was still a villain, a monster, a sinner through and through: his intended death would, no doubt, have been more befitting of his character. But now, as he lay in the embrace of the man he loved, he couldn't help but feel a little bit like a tragic hero.

By the gods... even now, he had a ego. He simply couldn't help himself.

His offering to Bendy – his own soul, in place of his dear Henry's – wasn't enough, he knew, to redeem his many sins. But now, at long last, Joey Drew could say with certainty that he had finally done something good.

Looking up, he could see that the expression on Henry's face was a conflicted one. Joey could sense that hints of their former friendship were still there... but by exploring the hell on Earth Joey had created down here, Henry now knew the whole truth about him: the terrible things he had done. It was hard for him to take in, to understand - to forgive Joey for. And the dying man could see it.

Don't hate me, Henry, he begged silently. Drop me down and leave me here to sink in the ink if you must, but please don't hate me.

Slowly, Joey grasped Henry's hand, squeezing it tightly within his own shivering fingers.

"Sorry," he croaked. "I'm so sorry -"

Henry shushed him.

"Don't say that, Joey."

These words gave Joey hope... only for him to be devastated by the remark that followed.

"You can't ever make up for the wicked things you've done. Not now."

Joey knew this, and he nodded to show it.

"No," he said. "But – at least - I can save you."

"But why me?" Henry challenged. "Out of everyone that worked for you, that you could have spared - what is it about me that makes me so special to you?"

With a weak smile, Joey reached up towards Henry's cheek, and caressed it softly – the gesture causing his friend's eyes to grow wide in shock.

"Because... I love you, Henry," he breathed. "I... I always have."

Henry tried to speak, but Joey shushed him, placing his finger to his mouth momentarily. With all the strength he could muster, he threw himself forward, drawing his head closely to Henry's, and kissed him once – swiftly, sweetly and tenderly – on his lips.

As Joey fell back down, he winced in pain. The end was growing near. Henry, still holding him, was now staring at him, confused and overwhelmed.

"Joey..." he gasped.

His old friend merely smiled back.

"Goodbye, my love," he rasped.

Closing his eyes, he breathed his last.

The Ink Demon screeched, overwhelmed with rage. Flying at Henry, he grasped the animator within his claw, and wrenched Joey's body out of his arms before pushing him away sharply. By the time Henry had steadied himself, ready to respond, the monster had clutched the dead man to his chest, and sunk back into the seas of ink – which faded away into nothingness, leaving no trace behind.. except the film reel Joey had planted.

Henry read its title carefully. It couldn't have been any more appropriate.

THE END.

Except it wasn't.

Joey Drew was back in his apartment kitchen – standing and staring through the window yet again, waiting for the doorbell to sound. In the corner, the Ink Demon lurked and watched him carefully, like a director observing an actor. In a minute, Henry would enter, as he had countless times before, and give Joey his cue. Bendy was there to ensure that he didn't change the script.

He tried it now and again. Sometimes, he told Henry not to go to the studio: first through subtle hints, then through outright pleading with him to go home to his family. Sometimes, he'd yelled and cursed at the Ink Demon, visible only to his eyes - desperate to vent his frustration. And, every so often, he declared his love to Henry – on at least one occasion, rushing towards him and embracing him tightly, longing to give him a passionate kiss.

Now that had ended brilliantly, the Ink Demon thought. Henry, panicked, had pushed Joey away, causing him to fall back and bang his head on the edge of the kitchen counter, killing him instantly. It was great entertainment.

Still, it wasn't what the script said to do. So it started again.

And even if Joey played his part perfectly - once the story was finished, it started again. And so on, ad infinitum. There were no breaks. No pauses. No respite. Joey would always be stood there in that kitchen, waiting for Henry: sending him off to fight a horrific battle that he would never win – never even had a chance to win - over and over, until the very end of time.

The one blessing in all of this was... Henry didn't know. He never would know. Only Joey was burdened with the knowledge that history was endlessly repeating itself. And it was torture.

As Joey watched Henry walk out of the apartment towards the studio yet again, he risked a glance at the walls around him. Every surface, as far has he could see, was etched with tally marks. Hundreds. Thousands. Maybe even millions. He simply didn't know anymore.

Turning to the Ink Demon, he saw the creature raise a claw lazily, and scratch up another.

Slamming his hands onto the counter, Joey groaned in agony.

This lousy, stinking, stupid goddamn apartment had never been Paradise. Now, it was sheer Hell.

A Hell from which he could never escape.

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.

Slowly, Joey Drew sank down onto his knees, and screamed.