"Just where did you find this man, Mr. Henry Ross?" The officer, bleary-eyed and irritated, was just about as done with the questioning as Henry was.

"As I said before, at my old workplace. I was exploring the area when I found him covered in ink." Henry found himself explaining for the umpteenth time as he tapped his finger against the table repetitively, leaning his head against his palm. Sammy had been taken to the emergency room once they reached the hospital, with Jeanne taking a vigil while Henry had been whisked off to answer questions.

Truth to be told, Henry found that he knew little about Sammy. Joey had literally picked Sammy off the street after finding him busking for petty cash. Joey had convinced the retrenched factory worker to become his music director on the spot; Henry, on the other hand, was not convinced until the newly-employed Sammy had written his first song and performed it within less than three days.

However, Henry and Sammy had been there when Joey Drew had started his studio, and while Henry had left, Sammy remained. The delusional maniac had tried to sacrifice him to Bendy, so Henry's sympathy was fully balanced out by his closet disgust. But at the same time, Sammy was probably poisoned by the ink, so Henry was more inclined to forgive that, he supposed.

Still, this interrogation was wearing on his experience.

"I do not have records of a Mr. Sammy Lawrence, especially in this area." The officer exhaled in disappointment, "But I guess that we would be at a standstill till dawn if I insist on procedure. Do you have any employment details of him at the very least?"

"As I have already said," Henry made his exasperation clear, "I knew him when he was working at Joey Drew Studios. I left thirty years earlier because I was drafted, but I believe that it was renamed Sillyvision after I left."

"Sillyvision has been closed for twenty-five years!"

"That is all I can tell you!"

"...Sigh, we will call on Mr. Lawrence once he is discharged," The officer revealed, "You do understand that we may not be able to follow up by investigating Sillyvision?"

"I am perfectly aware of that. Who acquired Sillyvision's lot? The place seemed abandoned when I visited the area, and I was able to enter without a key." Henry thought for a while, before hastily adding, "I was invited by the former owner of Sillyvision, yet I am unsure of his whereabouts."

"I will help you check up on that, and will inform both you and Mr. Lawrence when I'm done." The officer scratched his head. Then he started. "Have you been here long, Mr. Ross?"

"Not particularly," Henry recalled, "I moved here partly because of the close proximity to Burbank, but I was previously in New York for five years." It seemed that the policeman was aware of some details that Henry was not. It was time to do some digging.

"...You may not know this, but there were some children who had broke in to play, but they had returned saying strange things. Moving cardboard pictures, rotten floorboards and what not."

"Oh?"

"Well my ma told me this, and she heard this from the local butcher, so it's all credible rumours, but the fact is that the place had been abandoned for some time, yet we haven't seen any developments. It's all a wee bit suspicious, and then you come down from there with someone who hasn't got identification papers or proper clothes!" Henry winced at that. It was a hassle for the hospital staff, especially when Sammy had woken up and struggled, uttering apologies and prayers to Bendy until a nurse had administered morphine. Were it ten years ago, Henry suspected that Sammy would have been admitted to a mental asylum before too long. However, government changes in health policy, according to Jeanne, had changed such that they were more focused on patient involvement and some other small details that he wasn't aware of.

The officer finally released Henry at the crack of dawn, which was all very well and good until Henry realised that he had two rotoscoping projects to animate. Then, he felt like going back to sleep. A good talk with an old friend after dinner had turned into a fiasco culminating in both a hospital stay for an old colleague and interrogation. And he still had work to do!

It was lucky that he had arranged himself a little break, with Jeffrey substituting him as acting animation director after next week. Louis had looked relieved upon hearing it, despite being the assistant animation director. Probably because he despised discussion meetings with 'Twiddledee' and 'Twiddledum', as he called the Lim twins. Jeffrey, who was better at communication, was a better match despite not being permanent staff, as he had worked in Fleischer and then in Paramount Famous Studios before he quit due to what he called "leadership changes". Henry guessed it was due to the kind of work he received there, but since Jeffrey wasn't willing to share, he refused to pry.

As he walked back from the police station, he encountered the dispatch clerk, who waved to him as he emerged from the mail office.

"Want a ride, Mistah Henry?" The man asked as Henry shared the last bit of coffee that Jeanne had brewed earlier on. As always, it was delicious, and Henry felt his fatigue fade away as he gulped down the lukewarm coffee.

"No thanks, gotta wait for the lady boss." He motioned to the dispatch to get on with his work, and the man responded by giving him a cocky salute, which made him laugh straight from his belly.

Jeanne was munching down some sandwiches, passing them to him even as she gulped down each bite. Henry rapidly relayed the concocted story, with Jeanne nodding or frowning as she heard him.

"Sounds good enough. I'm kind of impressed with the doctor's aplomb; he was willing to come to the hospital before the cock crowed in order to check up on the twit." Henry grimaced, but Jeanne ignored his expression as she continued, "He's in relatively stable condition; they say they're going to have to keep him in observation for the next two months before he would be discharged. But where shall we keep him?"

"I would like to hear what you say first." Henry quirked his lips up as Jeanne looked intrigued. "I will only give my opinion. After all, you are the one who runs the show at both the studio and the building."

"If you intend to keep him in the building, that's fine. However, have you thought of what this guy might feel? He probably hasn't seen the light of day for years. We will be introducing him to just a newer version of the place he had been trapped in. Our place isn't ideal." Jeanne casually waved her fingers. "If it were up to me, I think that a mental institution would be the best place."

"There is a catch to that, I presume."

"Who's paying? Any mental institution that requires inpatient treatment would be expensive, and would take a cut of our current savings. Are we able to meet that requirement without affecting our current projects?" Jeanne's brow furrowed with thought as her fingers started tracing numbers. "It will be a cool six months worth of revenue, without medical care. And since we can't find his papers nor any close relatives, relying on the state to subsidize would be almost impossible."

Jeanne raised good points, but Henry knew that there were worse options available that Jeanne had not revealed. Such as throwing Sammy out, but he was also unwilling to consider that. It was Henry who had decided to rescue him, thus he had to pay for the consequences.

"If need be, then I'll take it out of my personal savings."

"Is that so?"

"I will need you to contact David for help to apply for papers though." Henry reminded Jeanne. His niece waved it away with a huff.

"Possible. But you do realise that your dream of releasing a feature animation film before you ...retire is growing less and less probable?"

"I understand it completely. It's okay Jeanne." Henry cheerfully gripped both her hands with his left, and tightened his fingers around hers. Jeanne appeared to be distraught, but this was rapidly replaced with a forced calmness that hid the current workings of her mind.

"Okay then, Uncle Henry. I'll contact David immediately; Sammy should be awake at around 9 am if the nurses have timed it correctly." Henry resigned himself to a short snooze next to Sammy's bedside. His back was going to hurt like mad after this.


Sammy was drowning.

His vision cloaked in darkness, Sammy could feel ink going down his throat, gradually choking as more and more flowed from-somewhere. The taste of ink was bitter and metallic, yet as even as he tried to keep his mouth shut, ink continued to meld through his skin and into his body. Bubbles made what he was ripple.

"Oops!" exclaimed the dancing devil, smiling as he usually did. "Too much force!" It lifted the comically large hammer off his body, and Sammy whimpered as the pressure was released. His body, more akin to one of the many puddles that dotted the surrounding area than an actual person, was nothing but a collection of organs, blood and ink. It attempted to stitch itself together, bone to muscle to ink until he had reconstituted once more. The process was excruciating; Sammy felt as though his nerves were on fire the whole time as he painstakingly struggled to visualize his idea of what a human should look like. His non-existent heart dropped into his belly as he caught sight of the faint shadow cast over him. No. No. NO!

"Let's try again!" The dancing devil waved the hammer over him, and Sammy closed his nonexistent eyes, bracing himself for impact-

"AARGH!" Sammy opened his eyes, half expecting to see those wooden boards, the falling planks, the ink covering everywhere in sight. Instead, to his amazement, he felt whole. As though there were no hammers that had fallen on him. There was something soft beneath him, rather than the timber flooring of the studio. There was no Bendy cutout, no pentacle, no candles.

But wait, why would he be expecting candles? What had happened? Sammy tried to recall the last event he remembered.

Listen, Bendy, hear me. I have given him your blood. He has drank from the Ink Machine. He is to be your vessel, your chosen, your voice, your body. He is your body. Claim him, for he has been chosen, for he is willing. Sammy could vaguely remember someone talking. Who was it? He was...smoking? No, it was because of the candles in the room, producing sickly-sweet perfumes. The desk was mahogany, not cheap at all. There were ink wells. In fact, there were many empty bottles of ink wells. What else? A pentacle. So the ideas of pentacles came from there. Then?

His thoughts were brought to a screeching halt as his head throbbed. Sammy clenched his teeth, willing the agony to go away. He had to focus. Somehow, he had been brought from that table, that room, to this place. The air smelt like antiseptic, something which stung his nose and eyes, but that was okay. Why was it? Keep thinking, Sammy told himself. How did I come here?

Sammy decided to examine himself. He was...thinner from what he remembered. Ten fingers, with yellowed nails, long and chipped. For a pianist, this was abhorrent. Sammy knew that in his right mind, he would have never left his nails grown to this standard, because he would have clipped them in order to play. Thus, there would have been a long period in which he went without playing. If he had played until recently, this meant that there had to be a long time gap between being in that room and now.

Sammy's head continued to scream unbearably, and Sammy knew that he had to be on the right track. A long period of time had existed between him playing and waking up here. What other clues did he have? Sammy now noticed the man who had been resting his head against Sammy's arm as he snoozed. The man had mousy-brown hair, with spectacles placed to one side. There were cuts and scrapes decorating his left arm, while his right...how strange. It seemed to remain clean. In fact, it was a lighter shade than the other arm. There was ink on the rolled up sleeves of this man, and the majority of his trousers from what Sammy could see. So the man had been the one to move him here.

Just as Sammy was about to conclude that he must have stayed asleep for a long while, the man's eyelashes batted, almost as if he was trying to push himself to wake up even as the rest of his body resisted. As though he had been through something exhausting...

Oh, so that's what happened.

Blinding realization hit Sammy like a pile of bricks. Without further ado, he opened his mouth, and howled.


Henry woke up with his ears ringing. There was a little demon beating snare drums, timpani, and even a tambourine in his brain. Henry was positive that those two rascals were at it again. How many times did he tell Lim and Lim not to scare him-!

Henry was rapidly proven wrong, as his eyes focused on Sammy gasping for breath, his fingers tightened like claws along the bedsheets, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Sammy? Sammy!" His former co-worker did not appear to hear him at all, and as Sammy drew in breath for an even louder scream, Henry raised his voice and shouted, "You're safe! You're not there anymore!"

"...It's you. You came for me." Henry shook his head even as Sammy whispered in a tremulous voice, "You rescued me, even though I tried to kill you."

"Yeah, you did." Henry admitted, "But would you do it to me now?" Sammy violently shook his head, his eyes still wide with horror.

"Then it's not a problem." Henry rubbed his fingers around Sammy's hand. "I don't blame you. You weren't in the right mind." Still, Sammy seemed unable to believe him.

"Look, if I was angry at you for that, then I wouldn't have brought you here, would I?" Henry waved at their surroundings. "This is a hospital. I don't know how long you've been there, but we parted on...well, I won't say they were pleasant, but at least I did not think you deserved to be in that place."

"Oh my god, Henry. I coulda killed ya and ya still like this?" Sammy's disbelief morphed to despair. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it! I didn't!"

"Oh Sammy." Henry was less and less willing to hold a grudge. Sammy was obviously tormented and overwhelmed, and Henry felt that throwing Sammy into the streets would have been a nightmare, a stain on his conscience. He couldn't do that to his former colleague.

"Uncle Henry, I've called the nurse in." Behind him, a bustle of movement burst forth, and Henry reluctantly moved aside as two nurses helped Sammy to lean against the pillows in an upright position. As they were doing...something, Henry wasn't clear what it was, but Jeanne had patted him on the back and he followed Jeanne to an alcove.

"I've called David. He says he'll get it done within the next three days."

"That's good." Henry murmured. "I think Sammy's been traumatised by the studio."

"But Uncle Henry, how are you holding up?" Jeanne asked, and it was clear that this was one of the bigger worries that consumed her.

"I'm okay. I'm actually a bit outraged at what was going on in the studio after I left than being scared." Henry confessed. "You then?"

"You probably had a worse experience than me." Jeanne shrugged, expressing her unwillingness to get into the topic. "I would like to ask though, why you think he's worth it."

"He was the one who wrote all of the Bendy songs, back when we were popular." Jeanne wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, the later ones were pretty bad, but earlier on, they were quite impressive. And he was both the composer and lyricist, and he knew how to play multiple instruments in order to write the theme songs."

"...That's a pretty bad pitch, Uncle Henry." Jeanne remarked dismissively, "And remember? We have the Lim twins for sound engineers and Howard for vocal coaching. We don't actually need him, especially since we outsourced to United Records. In fact, we hire our soundtracks from them! Everyone does!"

"But aren't most of the copyrights owned by them as well? And we have to pay for licensing to them?" Henry slyly suggested. "In fact, I think that we could avoid that by having our own in-house composer!" Jeanne shook her head.

"You really want to keep him huh. Anyway, back to the question, I really don't want you to go back to that horror house on the hill."

"You can't stop me."

"Don't you have two rotoscoping projects to take charge of?" Henry could have spat blood at the reminder of the pressing deadlines. Instead, he lowered his head, giving her the best puppy eyes that he could muster at his age. But Jeanne held firm, tapping her pen against her arm impatiently.

"...I outgrew that years ago, and you think of using these eyes against a champion?" Jeanne reprimanded him with a half-hearted glare. "I know you arranged with Jeffrey, but you still have outstanding projects to complete. Don't overwork yourself, and I'll see what I can do."

"Yes mam!" Jeanne could have melted steel with the force of her glare, but Henry cackled as she hissed like a teapot. As the two went back into the hospital ward, Henry thought that this conversation could have been worse than what had occurred.


"...malnutrition...lucky to have survived..." The words washed over Sammy like a tide of gibberish. Perhaps it was. He was grateful for the water, but could only take it in small sips as a tube was inserted through his nose, making him gag in surprise. Now, it sat in his stomach, rubbing against his throat and making Sammy feel nauseous as a white paste flowed through it. It just wasn't natural. None of this was natural at all.

Well, praying to a cartoon figure isn't natural, and you did it anyway. Even to the point of sacrificing your friend to it. Sammy violently disagreed with that opinion. If there was no one to look after you up there, then he needed to believe in something. And Bendy existed, was active in the studio and haunted Sammy day after night after day...

Then who rescued you? Was it Bendy? Was it that cartoon figure taking you out of that inky and dark abyss? ...Sammy could not remember much of his time spent in there, but he knew that Henry must have done something. For one, he wasn't dissolving back into ink when he lost control over his body. Even if he checked that his fingers were still here, every so often. For another, the simple act of feeling was enjoyable, maybe even enlightening. Sammy wondered at the feel of starched linen, sunlight falling down upon bare skin. He missed it. There were no words to describe the euphoria of being, in the here and now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sammy observed Henry stepping back into the room as the nurses parted, tests having being done. The former animator was old now. His hair glinted silver under the light, while his spectacles were thick, making his eyes smaller than Sammy remembered. Henry sat down on the chair, wincing as his back made an audible creak.

"So I was discussing with my niece, Jeanne, and we would like to extend an invitation to you after you're discharged. I currently work in an animation studio just below my apartment, and I-"

"I have a choice?" Sammy burst out, surprised.

"Yeah. I was all for sending you to a mental asylum, but only if you want to." The woman behind him asserted, her eyes rolling, "But Uncle Henry said that we should ask you first."

Sammy pondered over this. He knew his mind was working slowly, but he knew that he had to somehow give a satisfactory answer. Where had he lived before? At the studio. At that place. It was...peaceful there, he supposed, no one to bother him.

They can't exactly bother him if they're all dead, can they? Sammy shook his head to clear his mind of that voice. It was getting exasperating, having to consistently fight against it. Sammy was afraid of being locked up in Bedlam, but at the same time, he recognized that being kept locked up was probably better for him. Kept others safe from him.

Henry wouldn't mind. Henry would, thought Sammy fiercely. He had already tried to kill him for Bendy, it would be reasonable if Henry had kept him locked away again.

What about the music? You can't play music when you're chained to the bed, can you? Sammy's mind pictured being bolted down with belts and felt a cold shiver down his spine. He did not wish to be restrained like that, he was trapped, no he didn't didn't didn't.

"Sammy? You're panicking. Breath." Henry instructed, and Sammy reflexively did as Henry had suggested, sucking in air. More of the antiseptic, and he felt his lungs twinging as he exhaled. Sammy did that repetitively, wondering just when he had forgotten how to do so. Was it when he discovered that he coughed out ink along with blood earlier on? In fact, he couldn't remember anything else but that place...

"Okay Sammy, you're okay." Henry's concerned eyes swept into vision, and Sammy was convinced that somehow, Henry could read what he was thinking. The older man adopted a relaxed posture as he suggested, "We can take you back after two days, doctor said so. You can see how it goes; I promise that if it gets too much for you, then we can help you find a new place." That was reassuring.

"I...think I can go back with you." Sammy replied, relieved at the third option presented to him. Then his mind turned to the cold hard reality of living. "How much?"

"Huh?" Jeanne seemed almost approving.

"How much does it all cost? I mean, the hospital can't be cheap. What am I supposed to do then?"

"You can compose songs, or help out around the studio. There's bed and meals, so you don't have to worry about that." Henry dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand. "Just focus on getting better and regaining your strength."

"Ah, okay." Sammy hesitantly answered. What did Sammy have? All of it was invested in Sillyvision, and look at how that turned out. The most Sammy could do was hard labour, and not with this emaciated body. He knew it must have been a long time, since Henry's niece was dressed rather differently than what his female coworkers used to wear. Jeanne had on a jacket over a ribbed skivvy, and was dressed in pants. Not a flapper, but something more boyish than the norm. Henry was dressed more casually, with no suspenders and a loosened tie. His ink-spotted trousers had been changed to a casual pair of corduroy pants.

"How long has it been?" Sammy whispered. "I can't really remember the date."

"It's May 22nd, 197X." Henry replied. "Seems like a long time, huh?" Sammy was stunned. His mouth went slack with surprise, as he tried his hardest to recollect the last time he had seen a calendar. When had he been stuck there? Ten years? Twenty? What had he been doing, other than praying for Bendy to take him out of that filthy place?

"Hey, I have to go now, so just...rest well, 'kay?" Henry patted his hand as he pulled away from Sammy. Sammy nodded. Right, Henry had a job now. Still as an animator, no less. Lucky guy. Has a job, has a life, still remembers who he was before...

The woman, Jeanne, remained even after her uncle left. Her face was inscrutable, but as the door closed, she gave a low-pitched snort.

"I'm not as optimistic as Uncle Henry, so let me warn you: I will not permit anyone to harm a single hair on him, not even his closest and dearest friend. If you dare to sacrifice him to a cartoon again," She drew a line across her neck, "I will make sure you regret it."

Shaking, Sammy watched as she departed from the room.

What a tough girl. Makes you think twice about doing anything under her nose, doesn't it? Remind you of anything? Sammy closed his eyes, intending on drowning out the voice in his head via sheer willpower.


"Uncle Henry?"

"Hmm?" Henry had been looking through the storyboards done by Theo. They were surprisingly well done for someone who just came out of art school; Louis would have a fun time with the background.

"Are you injured anywhere else other than your head?" Henry started, before reflexively gripping his right wrist. Still the same numbness, but that was okay.

"Still in the same state. It's fine, Jeanne. I'm not too worried about it."

After all, he only had one working hand to think about.