Treize - Stupid, stubborn sacrifice.
/
The duo found Buddy quickly enough, but the loop went almost exactly the same as the previous one. It ended the same way, at least. While seeing Sammy before heading into the belly of the machine eased Henry's mind, he couldn't help but feel that the new version of the loop wasn't what was meant to happen.
At least, not this many repetitions.
The pattern had changed, but the loops continued. The only things keeping Henry's spirits up was that somehow, the Seeing Tool stayed with him since he'd gotten it back, but he somehow lost it by the time Allison and Tom captured him. One positive? Sammy always had something new to tell him. He'd got the Projectionist to slow down and look at him rather than purely attacking, and at some point the ink man happily reported his toes had returned!
He refused to remove the boots, something about staying stable, but Henry was inclined to believe him. Sammy wasn't one for empty platitudes and falsehoods, especially not like that. That the ink man was becoming less ink and more man, albeit slowly, gave Henry hope. Slight sparks in the dark cast enough light to let him know he was going the right way.
But the recent problem was that there were no changes past what they had in loop two hundred seventy-seven, Seeing Tool and toes notwithstanding. Now what?
Here they were, on loop two hundred ninety-four. Sitting in the safe house and still unsure what the hangup was when they were making progress, they waited for Buddy to come back with soup.
Sammy idly tuned his banjo, frame lax. Henry scratched at the blank pages of the notebook Sammy had returned to him. It would have been calming to be together in safety, if the bubbles of frustration weren't threatening to burst.
Henry's patience was hard to scrape away, but Sammy? Sammy was a bear trap that'd spring with a stiff breeze.
The cartoonist blinked at his work, a rough drawing of Sammy across from him, and sighed through his nose. "So."
"So." Spoken too lightly. A feather-light word that didn't bode well.
He peered over his glasses. "We both know something's wrong. Right?"
"Yes."
He blinked. "And we're over two dozen loops from where we started working together."
"Yes." The broken mask fixated on him. A wave of tension flexed at the ink man's neck and shoulders. "My little sheep, fantastic as hand-holding and running from monsters can be, this cannot continue," he muttered from the chair. "What do you think is going on?"
Henry sighed, tilting back his head and feeling a crick click free. "We're missing something crucial. Just can't figure what."
"If it helps…" Sammy set the banjo across his lap, lips pursed in thought. "I have an explanation, Henry. And forgive me if this is accusatory."
"Go on."
"I think the component we're not seeing is just under our noses." He didn't look up from staring at the banjo. "Buddy seems the faulty cog in our clockwork."
Henry lifted his head and looked to him fully, brows low. "What makes you say that?"
The musician hesitated. "He... can remember past loops, right?"
Henry nodded.
Sammy looked up at Henry, resting an arm on the table. "But he doesn't change his own path?" The index and thumb of that hand tapped in a tango. "You've asked, nay, begged, that he stay put, to come back here and hide from Susie-" the name made him stumble, but he cleared his throat to continue. "But he won't."
The cartoonist didn't like how much sense this was making. "Right."
Both arms on the table now, hands clasped not in pleading but to keep them still. If he didn't stem the racing thoughts, they may turn to burning accusations. "I think… Buddy is doing this on purpose." He shrugged, hands unclasped and palms up. "But I can't see why. You'd have to ask him yourself, and if I'm wrong, it might mean we're out on our own for a while."
"Buddy wouldn't throw us out."
"Don't want to offend our favorite wolf." He leaned back, mask to the ceiling. "Far be it from me to judge following a set path, but breaking the pattern lead me to you." He couldn't be anymore grateful.
"Could it be the Projectionist holding things up?"
"Mm. Doubtful. He still tries to splatter me, but he's less… oh, I don't know. How to put it…" His jaw worked as he thought out the right words. Words could be difficult, or even harsh or clunky. It's why he'd needed a lyricist, after all! He could thump out a melody, but words were his weakness. But the matter of old light head. "He's slower. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was doing what he thought he needed to do, not what he wanted. Besides, I don't know how we'd communicate with him once he gets free of his path." He frowned, gaze on the door Buddy had left from an hour prior. "Polk's not far enough from the pattern to be why we're stuck."
Henry sighed, eyes downcast. "You're right."
He hated that look on Henry. "Maybe. But we won't know unless you talk to him." His head snapped around to the door when the gears creaked. "And it seems this is your chance." He stood from his chair and set the banjo to the side. "I'll give you two some… privacy. He might be more willing to listen if I'm not breathing down his neck." Sammy left the front room and headed for the bathroom. It's not like he could just go for a walk and let them be.
Buddy entered the safe-house a moment after Sammy headed for the bathroom.
"Hey, Buddy," Henry watched the wolf set down the messenger bag and unload soup. "When you have a minute, we gotta talk."
The wolf perked, eyes on Henry and ears perked. He held up a gloved finger and finished unloading. Loping his way to his usual seat, the wolf sat, smiling back at the human across from him.
The cartoonist frowned, concern lining his features. "I need you to tell me why you keep putting yourself in danger."
He blinked and shrugged Henry's way.
Henry peered over his glasses, shooting Buddy a deadpan look. "Buddy, I'm not mad, I'm worried. Seeing you rip yourself open after Alice gets a hold of you hurts. I just wanna know why you're doing it." And put a stop to it if he could. He couldn't force the wolf into something he didn't want to do.
The wolf's ears drooped, rubbing his arm with a gloved hand. Poor guy couldn't look less happy if he tried.
"Buddy. Please." Henry sighed and swallowed the lump in his throat. "I need to know why. You could write it down?" He didn't know what else to do or say.
Frowning down at the tabletop, Buddy nodded slowly and reached for some scrap paper and his fountain pen. It took a minute to think out what he wanted and write it legibly like he needed, but if Henry wanted to know? He'd let him know. Proofreading and giving a soft grunt at his work, he passed the sheet to Henry.
The script, tall and narrow, made Henry's heart sink.
EACH TIME A LOOP STARTS AND SHE TAKES ME I GET MORE CONTROL BACK WHEN I SEE YOU IF I DO IT ENOUGH I CAN BE A BRUTE AND PROTECT YOU AND SAMMY
That hurt worse than being hurled at a pipe wall. "Aw, jeez. Buddy." The older man teared up and handed the paper back to the wolf. "Don't do that to yourself for me!"
The wolf crossed his arms and sunk his head into his shoulders.
Henry reached out and squeezed the wolf's shoulder. He blinked the tears away and smiled softly. "No one should hurt themselves for me. Okay?"
Buddy sank further into himself, frown deepening. He couldn't look Henry in the eye.
"I can't make you stay here, can I?"
A shake of his head.
"You're not gonna stop, are you?"
Buddy shrugged. Even he didn't know where this would lead.
Henry drew back, sighing at the entire ordeal. "Well… at least promise you'll give it a chance eventually… okay?"
Buddy couldn't, and they both knew it.
In the bathroom, seated in his stall, the prophet seethed in silence. He'd heard their brief exchange, silent as half the party was. Inked hands balled into fists against his thighs, mouth clamped shut. What the hell did Buddy think this would accomplish? It wasn't working, whatever the plan the wolf had was.
The ink that enveloped him raced and dripped. How could he be so much closer to human and still leak this much? "Damn it." The prophet pushed up his mask and rested his face against curled fists. He needed to calm himself. Remember why he was with Henry to start with. Remember… anything that would help. A key, a code, a snippet of something light and soft, not this place, anything.
Nothing came. Just anger aimed at the wolf, and something he didn't want to overthink aimed at Henry.
Was it justified? He didn't care. Buddy was screwing them over. Henry was too good to say it.
But he'd say it, even only in his head. He wanted out of this place and the delays were burning him alive.
A soft knock at the door. "Sammy, you good in there?"
"Occupied." But it sounded hollow. "Someone forgot to replace the roll."
"You're serious?"
He stood and pulled down the mask. Thinned ink slicked his palms, but he didn't want to overthink it now. Why was he crying, anyway? Was he even doing that? He didn't have eyes to cry with. Matter at hand; Henry. "My humor falls flat once more."
A huffed chuckle from the man beyond the door. "Well, I've got soup on the stove."
That… sounded nice, actually. "Fine. Let me wash my hands first."
"Won't that hurt you?"
"Probably." He pulled the door open. "You could always use another stall, little sheep."
"The other one's locked."
Sammy immediately looked to his right at the offending stall. "I could climb over and unlock it from the inside."
"Save your energy, Sammy."
"As you wish."
\
Malice Angel was a perfect name. Considering the absolute tantrum she pitched when Sammy came along instead of staying with the projectionist. If she wanted those hearts, she had to open the doors.
She did so, but made clear her distaste for the rabble in her elevator.
Sammy didn't mention her words. He hadn't really talked much during the loop.
When Susie's chuckling broke into deranged cackles, Henry grabbed the rail behind him. It didn't help, but he didn't go flying when they landed.
"You think that false prophet can save you? Your precious sycophant can't even save himself!" She screamed over the falling elevator. Henry held tight to the rails, Buddy cowering in the corner as usual. Sammy, however, braced himself in his own corner, the broken mask affixed to the voice of the angel above. "No, Henry! This is my domain! I'll take your perfect Boris and serve you that liar's head!" The lights flared wildly as darkness beat against the walls. "Then you'll really wish you'd just stayed dead!"
Crash. Dark.
Henry came to on the hums of the angel. In the hall, her black shape sauntered through the dust.
Buddy shook him sharply, trying to jostle him as he had hundreds of times before.
Sammy raced forward from the left. He held a sharp sliver of wood and threw himself at Susie.
But Susie had claws to rival a hawk and speed to match.
Susie sliced Sammy's head from his shoulders in one sharp swipe.
He didn't scream. His knees buckled, and his head fell to the floor with a splatter.
Henry's vision doubled, and the lights went out. They came back just in time for him to see Buddy ripped backwards through hell. Again.
He came to, an arm laying palm up in a cool puddle of ink. A groan, low and tired, followed by stiffly sitting up. Black coated his arm, but did no more than stain him. "That was-" He flinched as what happened to Sammy reemerged. "Sammy!" He rolled onto his knees and palms. That explained the ink! The thought made his stomach clench uncomfortably.
No more Sammy. Just a puddle, overalls and a mask.
Henry reached out, and everything ached. "Sammy. I'm sorry." He touched the mask gently with shaking fingertips. "I'm so sorry."
The puddle didn't move.
"Sammy. I don't know if you can hear me." Deep down, he knew the man was gone. "But I'll see you next loop, okay? The music room, where we always meet up. Okay?"
The mask said nothing.
Henry blinked back tears and gave a sharp nod. "Okay." He took a deep breath in and stood on creaky legs. Unarmed, alone, but ready for what he had to do, Henry did what he'd done for so many loops prior; press on.
/
He didn't miss the prison in Allison and Tom's hideout. The cot wasn't the best, and he wasn't fed often enough, if at all. Thanks, Tom.
At least he was at the part where the Seeing Tool came up.
Allison's nimble hand paused, the brush leaving a widening black spot on the wall. "Let me show you something… Awhile back, I was mapping out one of the upper levels... When I noticed something reflecting off a piece of glass." Reaching over to her right, Allison picked the seeing tool from the stool. "I held up the glass, looked through, and on the wall behind me was a hidden message! Right there in plain sight! So I kept looking... and found more and more messages everywhere in the studio! But you can't see them with your eyes. Only through this! Take a look!"
Taking the tool and looking through at her, he reminded himself she still had a halo. Too kind. "Where does it all lead?"
"Nowhere."
Thinking to himself, Henry lowered the tool. "Would you like to know a secret?"
"Sure."
"I've done this conversation? Hundreds of times now."
"Hundreds?" Allison's expression grew worried. "Henry, are you feeling alright?"
The man responded by passing her, Seeing Tool back to her. "Look at the wall behind the desk."
She took the tool back and got a look, wide eyes squinting in concern as she did. "I didn't write that."
"I know. I did." Something flickered gold, a mote in the dark. It was under the cot. "At least…" Stepping away from the boards, Henry sank down to grab what shouldn't be possible, and stood back up to face the horned angel. "I think I did."
She turned back to find Henry, holding the same tool she had. A perfect copy. She froze, only her eyes moving from her tool to his. "Henry. How?"
"Allison. Look at me." He set down his tool and gestured to her with an open palm. He wouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth, not now. "With that. Really look."
A frown wrinkled her pale face, but she obliged. The tool raised, she gave Henry a clear once over and stilled. Her mouth worked mutely before she lowered the tool. "What happened to you?"
He sighed, leaning forward to rest on the low board. "Too much. This entire place is like a cycle, a loop I can't break from, and believe me, I've been trying for a long time."
"But… I only just met you."
"This loop, yeah, you have. But now? Well, we've met a couple hundred times."
A sharp glare. "I don't believe you."
"It's the truth. In a day or so, you'll abandon me in here when the Ink Demon gets too close. Tom won't let you release me, and we'll meet up in the Lost Harbor. The false prophet -His name is Sammy, by the way- might be there, he might not. I don't know." His voice softened, peering over his glasses. "But you know it's not déjà vu."
"I…" Allison swayed on her feet, black mouth turned down hard at the corners. "I don't know if that's true. I want to trust you, Henry, but Tom thinks you're dangerous."
"And what do you think?" He asked, face slipping to a deadpan stare.
"I think… you're the hope we're looking for." The horned angel managed a smirk, brows furrowed but not angry. "Also? That look could scare almost anybody."
Raising a brow, Henry shot her a bright grin, all teeth.
She laughed, hands raised. "Never mind!"
The man huffed a chuckle and gave a nod. "Trust me, I never smile in pictures." Not with teeth, anyway. But the matter at hand. "Listen. I can't promise that the next time this happens, you'll remember anything. You haven't before. And I've never had my Seeing Tool in here with me before this turn, so something's changed."
"I can try. Maybe…" Lifting her tool, she hummed in thought, thin hand to her chin. "I mean… you control the hidden ink?"
"Kinda. Don't know how it works."
A slow nod. "Where does it show up?"
"Don't know that, either."
An eye roll. "Well, that's discouraging."
"Mm." Turning his hand over to glance at the palm, Henry looked at it through the tool. "It doesn't show my markings on me."
"Henry. I think I have an idea." She set her tool on the desk and ambled his way. "Take my hand."
He did, gentle as ever. She was almost as cold as Sammy usually was. Unlike Sammy, she left no ink behind.
Drawing her hand away, she held it palm out to Henry. "Okay. Look."
Lifting his tool back up, he gave her hand a hard look. Nothing. Just black. "Nothing."
Sighing, she frowned. "If… what you say is right about this being a loop, it might show up next time. If there even is a next time."
"Until I can figure this out-" Henry stepped away from the boards and went back to his cot- "There's always a next time. Just wish I knew the reason," he finished quietly.
She nodded, icy stones of uncertainty setting in her gut. "There's always a reason, Henry. Go back to sleep." Her focus turned from the man in the cot and back to her work on the wall. "Maybe tomorrow will be better."
"Maybe." He lay back and shut his eyes, his tool over his stomach. Next loop would be better. At least the idea of a new loop gave him a little hope.
.
.
.
Alice had only just started on the mural by the desk. Everyone wrote on the walls, but she tried to write wonderful things. Ideas, theories, guesses. Hope and open doorways. There wasn't much else to do when Tom was out. She didn't know why the damaged Boris clone was so insistent of being with her. She wouldn't complain. He could respond to the name Tom, but she lost whatever that meant. However long she'd been down here, Tom was rarely far.
He made her feel… safe.
But for now, she had her mural, and her Seeing Tool. She'd look through it now and then, just to glean if newness emerged, but rarely anything did. The wall above her cot, blank. The wall she drew upon, only her own work. The wall behind the desk, SHE WILL LEAVE YOU FOR DEAD
That... wasn't there before. Dread knotted behind her breastbone. Who wrote that?
Kind eyes. Freckles. Gold tears.
DON'T BE SCARED
What do you think?
You? The horned angel pinched the bridge of her nose to sooth the ache building above her brow. She was… what was her name? Alice? They called her Alice.
Alice… not. Not quite.
Alise? Allis?
She gasped at the weight the name ALLISON bore.
Pendle, old. Connor, new. Tom Connor. She'd- the wolf at her side. The wolf who'd- wait. No. Hang on. Not a wolf. A man. Smart, creative, hardworking. She'd been in love, he'd been there when she-
Alice Angel. Her voice. Singing in a booth to a tune crafted by a sharp-tongued composer and an introverted lyricist.
Look.
I'LL BE YOUR ANGEL
Look behind you. Look behind you now.
Into the tunnel into the tunnel into the tunnel so dark so cold who are you where am I what happened to me am I me what are you doing tom help tom help TOM HELP
Mechanical arm. Stern and aware. A good boy.
Lie with a smile. This studio is going places. BELIEVE. INK. INTO THE INK. INK DEMON. RISE.
JOEY DREW A MONSTER
Smile no joy all teeth teeth teETH TEETH TEETH
She was no angel.
Whoever she was, she looked through the tool at the gold lettering that graced the wood beside the open cell. Through the splitting headache and watering eyes, she made out four words.
MY NAME IS HENRY
Henry?
Henry.
HENRY
The tools fell to the ground. Lithe hands grasped her head. Needling pain lanced across her thoughts. The name. The memories. The loops. Blow after painful blow against the walls of her mind as it became clear as day above this inky place.
It was never déjà vu.
The HE to set them FREE was never BENDY.
Somewhere between Joey Drew pointing to the door and Henry falling through the floor, Allison Connor awoke on a scream.
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