A/N: sammy remembers another of his coworkers but a sudden splash of fresh ink from a broken pipe brings out the insanity again.

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Sammy couldn't remember the last time that he had seen a Boris clone around, and this one looked like he might have more awareness than most. One reason Sammy had for this was because he could tell that the toon wolf was wary. Boris was clearly not comfortable in the music director`s presence, nor that of the lost ones and searchers.

But Boris didn't run.

Most toon clones did, especially if they saw Sammy.

How Sammy remembered this, he wasn't entirely certain. Sammy had these...recollections, of the toons who managed to escape from him, even if those memories were a bit hazy. It made sense that they would run, because Sammy would end up drawing attention from the ink demon with the rituals he did so often. Because of this, Sammy knew that many, if not all of those trapped in the studio, took precautions to hide from the ink demon who wandered this place. And more so when Sammy happened to be around, pointedly calling the demon to him with praises and offerings of live sacrifices.

Those aware enough to be filled with fear ran and hid in the shadows.

Those who were too far gone, usually cornered by the ink demon, never to be seen again.

But this was not the case with this Boris clone.

This toon wolf was something new.

Different.

"I do not...recall seeing one of you Boris clones in the music department before." Sammy said to the toon wolf, scrutinizing Boris from behind the mask he wore.

Boris looked at Sammy for a moment, the wariness in the toon wolf's body reflected similarly on the wolf's face. Boris' reaction seemed to indicate that he hadn't noticed the music director's presence when he first entered the room, nor that of the searchers and lost ones.

One of the searchers lurched forward to get a better look, as the lost ones began to murmur amongst themselves at their visitor.

Boris started to look increasingly nervous the longer he remained in place. In fact, it seemed as though Boris was getting ready to bolt, even if that meant leaving the can of bacon soup behind.

"Let him have his space." Sammy murmured, even as he waved a hand toward the searchers and lost ones, to indicate that they should stay back. He was relieved that there was enough humanity and reason left in them that they did as he asked.

Boris' stance relaxed over this, as the toon wolf slowly straightened up with the can of soup in one hand. Boris looked a little less nervous over the way the other inky beings stayed back. This appeared to embolden the wolf, and he turned his attention to Sammy fully.

Sammy could see that Boris knew who he was. There was a spark of recognition that was hard to miss, but it was odd to see the sheepish look Boris gave him, as if apologizing for stumbling into the place while chasing a can.

"How oddly…familiar." Sammy muttered, feeling even more familiarity from Boris` expression. It bothered Sammy that he couldn't recall why the apologetic mannerisms the toon wolf had given him made him grasp for threads of memory. Was Boris apologizing for randomly entering a room that was occupied by others? Or was it something more than that? Right now, it wasn't like Sammy cared that someone had entered a room unannounced. The music director did not require any silence from outside noises, as he was not recording a performance.

Sammy hadn't, for years.

But unexpected interruptions...

Why was that so...nostalgic, to Sammy?

Boris had been watching Sammy closely, before the toon seemed to be satisfied with whatever he saw. Boris began to inch backward through the door he had come in from.

Sammy saw this, and since he wanted to figure out who this toon was, the music director took the opportunity to follow. Sammy watched as Boris crossed through another door, and lingered just inside the hallway that led to Sammy's office.

"Really, who are you?" Sammy asked again. "Do you even remember?" Sammy hesitated, frowning beneath the mask at Boris. "I am getting this odd sense that I should know you, and it isn't Boris."

The toon wolf tilted his head to the side, as if considering Sammy's words. Boris then broke into a smile, as if what Sammy had just said was a cause for joy. Boris set the bacon soup can on a nearby shelf before beckoning to Sammy with a hand. The wolf turned and began to walk away, before he paused and glanced over his shoulder, as if Boris expected the music director to follow along after him.

Sammy was a little annoyed at this, but that irritation didn't last for long, because really, Boris wasn't doing anything wrong. The toon wolf just wanted to show Sammy something that couldn't be shown within that hall.

Boris stopped partway down said hall and waited for Sammy to catch up with him. Boris still looked cheerful, though perhaps a little taken aback, over how easily the music director followed after him.

Trust wasn't easily earned or given in this place.

"What are we doing here?" Sammy stopped a short distance away and stared at Boris.

The wolf beckoned Sammy closer to a door, and waved one gloved hand at the room`s contents, which were a few broken desks and crumbling shelves that held tattered sheets of music. Boris pointed at the garbage can and then gave Sammy an expectant look.

"I don't know what you are trying to tell me." Sammy informed the toon wolf. The music director was at a complete loss. Why should he be looking at a garbage can of all things?

Boris went into the room and leaned over the can, before reaching inside it and taking out...keys?

"That's where the spare set has been this whole time?!" Sammy let out in an indignant squawk. "I haven't been able to get into the supply closet for so long." Sammy frowned at Boris, or tried to, seeing as he still wore the Bendy mask. The music director stepped back as Boris came out of the room, the toon wolf holding up the keys in triumph. "Yes? Well done finding them?"

Boris' muzzle quirked into a grin and, still holding onto the keys, mimed sweeping, or mopping, the floor. The toon stopped now and again to brandish the keys, before Boris brought a hand to his chest and stared at Sammy intently, as if waiting.

What was...

Wait.

Sammy stilled, a wisp of memory coming back to him. Keys...yes...someone was always losing or misplacing those keys. Someone who swept and cleaned up aound the studio.

Boris pointed to the door, looked at Sammy and then hooked a thumb at the door again before jogging in place, as if leaving.

"Door? Out the door?" Sammy ventured.

Boris patted a hand to his chest.

"You?"

An empathic nod.

Great.

This was charades now, but Sammy knew, instinctively, that he almost had the toon wolf's name. A human's name, from before this Boris had became a character from a cartoon.

Boris patted his chest again as he used his other hand to point at the door. The toon lifted a foot as if he was getting ready to leave.

"You want to...to get out of here?" Sammy guessed, before he sucked in a breath as memory assailed him.

He did know who this Boris had been.

Sammy remembered a cheerful grin, one that was at times sheepish when something went wrong. Brief instances of indignation over having to do more than he had signed up for. To have to deal with the massive network of pipes within the studio. Sammy recalled a readiness in this person to 'get outta there' the moment things went south.

It couldn't be...but...

"Wally Franks?" Sammy demanded of the Boris standing there, ire rising within the music director. Before and after the fall of this studio...it appeared that Sammy would never be free of the carelessness of the janitor. The man who Sammy had given the keys to the music department many times. The man who lost those same keys from that department and others countless times. A careless man who misplaced keys, and had mislaid these particular keys for the music department in a garbage can for who knew how many years. "Did you know these were here all this time?" Sammy's voice cracked in disbelief.

Boris offered another sheepish look before he gave a tentative nod.

"You didn't think to perhaps return them to me, if you were not going to use them?" Sammy bit out irritably. Had he eyes, they would have been narrowed malevolently.

Boris, who was indeed Wally, raised a gloved hand and gave it a sideways wiggle, to reflect the toon wolf`s uncertainty at Sammy's question. Or maybe it was because Wally was no longer certain that he should have let Sammy in on his identity. Particularly because said music director was currently shaking with an irrational wave of anger.

"You lost the keys..." Sammy breathed out, softly at first. "Found them, yet kept them secret..."

Wally slowly took a nervous step back, even as the music director took one step forward.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for those?" Sammy's voice began to rise in pitch, cracking a little as his mind whirled over the contents of those locked doors. Contents that he couldn't reach via the ink. "How long I have wanted access to that particular closet`s contents?"

Ink.

There would be ink in those locked rooms. There were all sorts fo supplies, no doubt, including sheets of music paper. But there would also be an untold amount of bottles of ink...

The ink.

Yes, it would be there, surely.

It had to be.

Drip.

Splat!

Sammy staggered in place as a pipe cracked overheard, showering him in a brief spurt of ink. The ink that fell hit the music director with such force that it took him to the ground. The ink was all over him, and Sammy frantically began to wipe it away. But as he did, Sammy knew that there was not much he could do to rid himself of the stuff, as his entire body had already been covered in it.

And yet...and yet it felt...

Good.

Familiar, like an old friend.

Sammy coughed over the way some of it had gotten inside of his mouth, but halfway toward attempting to hack it out, he froze.

Of course.

This was a sign.

Why was Sammy reacting so badly to the ink again? There was no reason for him to be afraid.

It was a sign.

One that had to do with the ink that had been locked away by those keys.

Sammy hadn't been able to have access to it, and now, to have a pipe crack and cover him in ink...

Surely it was a sign from the ink demon.

His lord.

Sammy's hands stilled against the fresh ink that he had been absently trying to wipe away.

His savior.

A message from a lord to his prophet.

Yes, that that right.

Sammy carried out His will.

The prophet carried out the ink demon's will.

What was Sammy doing, wasting time like this? He couldn't afford to stray. Sammy had to...he had to listen.

Listen to the ink.

Open himself up to His will, and that of the ink.

The ink.

Sammy could sense it strongly after the broken pipe had covered him with fresh ink. It clung to him, tacky, like blood, and Sammy could hear the ink calling to him. The sound was near deafening inside of his head, screaming at him. Sammy had to answer. He had to right the wrong that had been brought to his attention, no matter how small it was in the grand scheme of things.

The ink demon would set them free, but only if His will was followed.

"You kept me away from it." Sammy's breathing became irregular as his inky face broke into a crazed smile beneath the mask. "You dare keep me from my lord's intentions? All the ink is His, and that particular ink is to be used to write to Him. That ink is to be used to sing His praises, making use of those music sheets, to appease Him. The ink, that can be used on the floor before a ritual can be completed with a sacrifice."

The name of who the toon once was gone from Sammy`s mind.

All the prophet of the ink demon saw before him was Boris.

The toon wolf`s fur stood on end, bristling. Boris was no longer smiling, instead looking almost...afraid.

"Yes, you should fear His retribution for keeping the ink to yourself." Sammy's thoughts were overrun with a sudden jagged anger, a sensation that overrode any rational thought. This inky body of his felt compelled to capture this insolent sheep in wolf's clothing.

A fitting sacrifice to the ink demon.

"It seems that a sheep has come to slaughter, even if they happen to be a wolf." Sammy said in a half sing song voice, as he cocked his head to study Boris. "Soon, you will sleep, and my lord will be appeased by such an offering." It would be a demonstration to others to not abuse the ink that they had left.

Ink that did not slide and ooze within the pipes of the studio was a rare gift.

Boris took one look at the music director before the toon sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction, fumbling with the set of keys.

"You will not escape judgement from our lord!" Sammy yelled after the toon wolf as he gave chase. "He will not set us free if all is not as it should be!"

Boris reached the end of the hall and frantically jammed a key into a lock on a door to his right. The wolf turned it and pulled the ring set back out of the lock before dropping it into a pocket. With an almost pitying glance back at the music director, the toon slipped into the small room and slammed the door shut.

"Blasphemy!" Sammy spat out, all but throwing himself against the door. Ink was dribbling down what passed for lips, along with what appeared to be saliva. Sammy continued to rave as he beat his fists against the door. "How dare you go against Him! Open this door at once and pay penance for your sins!" While Sammy was focused on the door and getting to Boris, he didn't notice the searchers that had appeared. But Sammy certainly felt them when they grasped at him. Were they trying to stop him?

Unacceptable.

"Do not interefere!" Sammy whirled on the searchers, caught up in the grip of the ink. "I am carrying out His will!"

The searchers increased their attempts to hold the music director back.

"You will not prevent me from taking that sheep in wolf's clothing to our lord and savior." Sammy tugged an arm free, only to have another goopy inky hand reach out to him. "The wolf did not pay the proper reverence and respect to our lord! As His prophet, I won`t allow this insult to pass!"

A door swung open.

"Don't you see? I`m doing us all a favor." Sammy, his limbs still being grasped at by searchers making gurgles of concern, didn't notice the sound of the door or the approaching footstep. "I have to do this. He will hear me. He will set us fr-ahh!"

A sharp smacking sound rang out.

The back of Sammy's head flared with sudden pain.

Had someone just hit him?

Sammy swayed in place before the rest of his body caught up with the strike, legs buckling as he collapsed. Sammy let out a low groan as he sagged heavily into the inky arms of the searchers that had caught him, and could feel the way he was carefully lowered to the ground. Mind reeling, Sammy struggled to hold on to the sudden spark of sanity, but found that the ink was making it immensely difficult. He was drowning, even if he was not submerged within water or ink, the sound of those screaming voices in the ink threatening to overwhelm him. Sammy was unable to think properly, his head sore with a dull, throbing ache. Sammy's sight blinked out as he fully sagged against the floor with a sigh. Sammy gave in to passing out, or whatever it was called, for those who were trapped within these inky bodies.

He dreamed of ink, ritual sacrifices and music.

The music of those old songs haunted Sammy, as did the ever rhythmic, never ending sound of the ink pumping throughout the studio.