Chapter 3: Don't Get Lost!

When Allison got to work the next morning, the park was closed. Signs hanging from the gate read: "Emergency maintenance, we will be back up and running tomorrow!" A few grumbling parents and lingering journalists crowded the iron bars, trying to peak inside. While it wasn't uncommon for Joey to close the park without notice, he almost always made an announcement beforehand, promising people that their tickets for today would work the next day, assuring they'd get their money back, blah blah blah. Judging by the amount of people still pulling up in cars with strollers and packed lunches, most people had no idea this was happening until they reached the gate.

Allison knew she wouldn't be so lucky as to get the day off as well, and her heart sank a bit when she realized that she wouldn't be able to take the morning to ride the rides after all. Regardless, Allison approached the side, employees only gate, and slipped inside. The entry was a bit away from the main park, and Allison had to walk along some back paths and trees in order to get to the main area, where most of the rides were. When she got there, workers were in a frenzy. Ink was splattered against food stands, rides, walkways, and lampposts, tainting the ground and looking like a giant inkwell had exploded. Some of the TV monitors were smashed and sparking. One of the rides looked like it wasn't working either, only occasionally twitching back and forth. A popcorn cart had spilled over, uncooked kernels running out onto the street for happy birds to pick up and claim as their own, if they weren't covered in ink. Cleaners raced back and forth, scrubbing ink from the paths and the sides of rides. Others rehung up posters, replaced broken equipment, and fixed rides.

Joey stood over it all, standing on a park bench to get a better view of everything. A cigar hung out of his mouth, dripping ash onto the bench's wooden frame while he crossed his arms. He looked out across the workers without barking a word.

Allison tried to stay out of sight. She didn't really want to deal with Joey first thing in the morning, especially if he was in a bad mood. Her curiosity could wait; Tom would have the answers she needed. He always knew what was going on in the park.

She saw several maintenance crew walking in and out of the haunted house, so that's where Allison headed. Tom had his own crew to look over, so even if he wasn't in there, somebody who knew where he was would be.

There was even more ink here. Had a pipe burst? If so, why were TV monitors smashed like that? Could it be vandalism? If so, why were there hardly any guards to be seen? Allison walked along, trying to step around dark puddles that lingered in potholes. She hoped the ride hadn't broken completely. She rather liked the haunted house. The jumpscares were predictable and a little bland, but the leisurely ride wasn't the worst thing in the world, and she appreciated the spooky artwork and comical moans and rattling chain sound effects. No matter what damage had been done, she was sure that Bertrum would be able to fix it, but if it was too costly, Joey might scrap the whole thing for something else. He was always improving and replacing things, and this ride had been here from the start of the park, back when Joey had shoved it down in some broken up basement, miles beneath the earth. No one in their right mind would have come to such a shabby looking place just for a ride, but when Bendy, Alice, and Boris were in the picture, it was another story. Joey, literally, brought his creations up into the world after that. The haunted house had been torn down, bit by bit, maintained, and then rebuilt up here, in the open air. It was nice, a little callback to the original park, back when the only visitors were the workers seeking a break from the mundane overtime and countless hours of relentless pressure from Joey.

Well, that part hadn't changed much. But now there were more people than just the workers who rode the rides.

Allison followed the inky trail further into the haunted house, moving passed stalled carts with painted faces and cut-out ghosts and gravestones, making her way to the spacious middle room that was typically the final stop riders made before a deep drop into darkness. There was a small dip and hill, something that always felt like a much bigger drop than it actually was, and then the end of the ride. In the big room, however, there were more people than ever cleaning and working, and it wasn't hard to see why.

Ink was everywhere. It was splattered against the walls and pooling in puddles the size of ponds. In the center of the room, there was an odd table with straps that was perhaps the thing most covered in ink, and workers scratched their heads, wondering how it had even got there. Allison, not seeing Tom, approached one of them, a man she didn't recognize. He kept rubbing his eyes.

"What happened?" Allison asked, and the poor man nearly jumped out of his skin.

"You haven't heard?" he responded, looking around at the other workers. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell anybody if Joey hasn't told them..."

"I'm a worker here," Allison explained. "I work in the studio, specifically, I voice Alice Angel."

"Oh! You're Allison Pendle! You're the one Tom talks about!" the boy said with a wide grin. "I guess you're okay to tell then. Actually, you can go talk to him if you want. He's over there," he said, pointing to the part of the room where a large accordion sat. Tom was seated on the stool with his head in his hands. She hadn't recognized him, bent over like that.

Allison thanked the man and headed over to Tom. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up with a start. "Oh. Hey Miss Allison."

She frowned. His eyes were red and there were bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"How long have you been here? What happened?" Allison asked.

Tom hesitated. She could see his eyes look around the room, his mouth open and close slightly. Finally, he sighed. "Joey gets here early in the morning. Earlier than anyone else I guess. Well, he found something today. Called me in early. Real early. Said he had something I needed to take care of, as soon as possible. So I come in and..." Tom swallowed. "Geez..."

"Tom?" Allison said, coming to sit beside him. "Tom, what happened?"

"We don't know if it was kids who snuck in the park, or if it was just some prank or something, but Boris? He was all...cut up."

Allison's eyes widened, but Tom continued, words rushing out of his mouth in a frenzy.

"His chest was all ripped open, bones sticking out, I-I didn't even know they had bones at all, but his guts were all there and his eyes were all crossed out, like some joke in a cartoon, like where one of them dies as a joke or something, but it wasn't a joke, he was dead and parts of him were missing and just thrown about the room, and all that ink it, it came from inside him, like it was blood, but it was just ink. Joey had me carry the body away, take it back to that ink machine, and then leave it there. I..." he ran a hand through his hair and swallowed. "There was something else too."

Allison waited for him to continue, but he just stared down in front of him. "What?"

Tom shook slightly, and Allison was taken aback. She'd never seen him this scared before. Tom was tough, he was strong, he was rugged, and sure, he was also a big softy who couldn't stand the thought of hurting anyone, even animals, and that's why he wouldn't eat meat, but she'd never seen him scared. She'd seen him tired, angry, frustrated, happy, sad, but not this. This was different. She saw the way his eyes moved back and forth, brows furrowing as he tried to work out the words in his head, tried to make sense of the things he had seen.

"I don't think I can work here much longer, Miss Allison. But I'm not leaving without my damn machine," he whispered under his breath.

Allison walked into the recording studio a few hours later, trying to make sense of what she had seen, as well as what she thought Joey would do. Boris was gone. Dead, but it was hard to wrap her head around something that shouldn't have been alive in the first place dying. He was just a cartoon, right? So how could he die? And couldn't Joey just make another one?

This brought up more uncomfortable questions too. The cartoons had organs? Bones? Could they feel pain? Did they feel anything at all?

Suddenly, Allison didn't blame Tom at all for wanting to leave. If these things could die, then that meant Joey was creating life. You can't create something out of nothing, this much Allison knew. She didn't want to stick around while he continued to play God.

"What a nightmare," she murmured, running a hand through her hair.

"Long night?" Sammy asked with a chuckle, coming up behind her with some sheet music.

"Long morning, actually," she admitted.

"You should just go home, rest for the day. We finished your recordings yesterday," he said, and it was true, Sammy spent Fridays writing his music, clearing out the studio of all the band members, seating himself down in a quiet little office that he finally, finally convinced Joey to let him have after claiming to quit otherwise.

"Joey won't pay me if I'm not here," Allison said, taking a seat in one of the empty band chairs.

"Ah yes, chivalrous Joey Drew," Sammy murmured under his breath. "Did you hear about what happened today?"

"Yup," she said. "Not sure how they're going to replace Boris, especially so short-notice. I mean, the signs on the gate say the park will open back up tomorrow, and I don't know how Joey made those things, but surely they can't be easy to replace."

"Actually, this isn't the first time a Boris has died."

Allison blinked and looked over at Sammy, who was fiddling with a banjo. He plucked a few notes, humming a melody to himself.

"It's not?"

"Nope. Apparently, this is theeee...fourth time? I forget. It's always the Boris's though," Sammy said with a shrug.

"Fourth, what...how do you know that?" Allison asked, leaning forward.

Sammy smiled devilishly. "I'm in charge of maintaining the audio logs. Storing them for...what was it Joey called it? Legal reasons? That's hardly what the staff use them for, most people use them as diaries to vent about their problems. They talk about how things work in this studio. Some things that I don't think people are really supposed to say, but they do, and Joey's got no idea. Wally, Tom, Joey, Susie..." Sammy trailed off, but then looked back to her. "They record these things for whatever reason, and then I'm in charge of storing them and making sure they're filed away nice and neatly. And if I choose to listen to them now and then, none are the wiser."

"That sounds very illegal, Sammy," Allison said, the corner of her mouth twisting into a smirk.

"Since when has anything in this studio ever concerned itself with legality? Joey Drew doesn't understand how legality even works, otherwise, he wouldn't think these magical audio recordings would be so useful. They're not, they're trash, they're pointless, or worse, some of them point out things that could get Joey in a lot of legal trouble. But he makes me keep them anyway and insists people keep them too. It's not required, otherwise he'd be breathing down your neck all the time. After all, you don't have any recordings, do you?" he asked.

Allison snorted and leaned back, crossing her arms. "No, I don't, and knowing you listen to them means I never will. What a breach of privacy."

"Aren't you curious?" Sammy said plainly, playing a little tune now, barely looking up from his work. "Aren't you curious how people think around here? The things they wonder and worry about? There's a lot about this place I know, Allison. There are secrets I've put together that have led me to know more than you could possibly imagine."

"I still don't think it's morally right," she said. "It's pretty violating, Sammy."

Sammy sighed and put down the banjo, frowning at her. "If people didn't want me to know something, they shouldn't have recorded it in the first place. At least I keep them safe and make sure nobody else can listen to them."

"Are you sure about that?" Allison said.

Sammy paused for a moment, but then chuckled. He leaned his head on his hand. "I keep that door locked tight, Miss Allison. The only way someone else could listen to those recordings is if they could walk through walls."

Tom finished his recording, pushing the stop button and leaning back in his chair. He rubbed the back of his neck and stared up at the ceiling of his office. Ink dripped down, drop by drop into a bucket he placed underneath. His office was small, pushed back into the corner, not so much an office as an end of the hall where he could sit to catch a breather every now and then. And that was fine by him. He had his own crew, sure, but Tom preferred to work with his hands. Anything paperwork was just annoying. He was intelligent, but putting his thoughts into words was always a struggle for him. Too much to think about. Working on things, fixing things, he liked that, he liked seeing the direct results of his actions. Leaky pipe? Fix it. No more leak. Broken floorboard? Replace it. Good as new. That's what he liked. He liked figuring out how things worked. Hell, there was a time he considered himself more of an inventor than a mechanic, but things like "inventors" didn't get good jobs nowadays. Mechanics did, whole world was breaking, so mechanics were always needed. Fix things, not build new, expensive things.

Except for that machine. That ink machine.

He never should have built that thing for Joey. He knew it when he was building it, when he was installing pipes and ink, but he swallowed the bile in his throat, the knot in his stomach. Just another job. That's what he told himself. This wasn't something he ever wanted to invent, and there were parts of it he himself never worked on. Joey was strict about a lot of it. There were parts Tom never saw. And he pretended the whole machine was part of Joey's delusion, like when Joey wanted them to offer up "pieces" of themselves to appease the gods.

The man was superstitious to a fault. Tom convinced himself that the machine was just part of that superstition, a superstition that somehow brought little beings made of ink to life. Nothing more. He knew it was a lie, but he tried to tell himself it was the truth, tried to pretend, but it was hard. It was hard when Boris died and yet, magically, another one appeared as if nothing happened. It had happened before. He couldn't tell Miss Allison this wasn't the first time he'd found a Boris dead. It just didn't feel right. It felt like admitting guilt, somehow.

This was the first time one of them had been cut open like that though.

That ink machine...it couldn't just make somethin' out of nothing. That was impossible. No, Tom had a feeling he knew how it worked, but the thought was so horrifying, he couldn't even linger on it. He couldn't admit to himself that he'd help create a machine that made monsters out of men.

But now, seeing something cut open to see painted, inky organs and bones, he couldn't hide from it. There were too many new people coming in. Too many people Joey insisted Tom hire. High turnover rates are one thing, but members and workers of the park, of his team "quitting" right before a new Boris shows up?

God, Tom hoped he was wrong. He hoped that wasn't the case. He got letters from old coworkers that quit but...he didn't know. Sometimes it just looked like their handwriting wasn't right. Too nice. Too clean. Too fake.

The door to Tom's office opened from across the room, and Tom sat up as Joey entered, humming the Bendy song under his breath.

"Ah! Hi there, Tom, how are you? Get all that stuff fixed up in the haunted house today? Wanted to check in on that," Joey said, smiling widely.

Tom nodded. "Yeah. I finished it alright. Is there something else that needs to be fixed?"

"Oh no no no, nothing like that," Joey said, coming over to lean against Tom's desk. It creaked a bit, and Tom frowned. "I was just looking over the numbers, and I think we've got enough people 'round this department, don't you think? Maybe even too many. I want you to choose one of your team members to let go. Now, I know this is hard, so I want you to send them over to me once you decide. I can break the news gently to them, alright? I won't expect you to do something like that."

Tom gripped the edge of his chair. "Joey, now I know not all of my guys are young and as healthy as they once were, but these are good men, and hard workers. We just hired a bunch of new guys, they helped clean up the ink today. My men are good, honest workers, you can't expect me to just choose one for you. They need these jobs and they haven't done anything wrong. You can't really ask this of me."

"I can," Joey said, matter-of-factly. "It's just numbers, Tom, we just need to let someone go! I don't even think we'll need to hire a replacement, why, your team does a great job! Such hard workers! I just don't think we need so many of 'em. So, I'm trusting you to bring me the person you think isn't performing the best, and I'll take care of the rest. Oh, and I need it to me by tonight, Tom, before closing." he said, rising from the desk.

"Joey, I really think-"

"This is not up for debate, Tom," Joey said harshly. He turned around, smiling, and he stuck his hands in his pockets. "Choose, or I'll choose someone for you."

"This is about Boris, and the ink machine. Isn't it, Joey?" Tom scowled. "Just what the hell are you doing back there? I'm not stupid. Where do these Boris's keep coming from, Joey? I helped build that machine. I deserve to know what the cost is to making those things!"

Joey paused. Something crossed his eyes, something that made Tom's blood freeze. His eyes were all dark. Scary. His whole body turned rigid, like a statue. Joey pulled his hand out of his pocket, pulled out a cigar and lighter, and lit it, taking a slow drag before pulling back and looking at Tom.

"Miss Allison was looking awfully pretty today, wasn't she, Tom?"

Tom froze. His mouth opened, hanging there for a moment.

Joey smiled. "She always wears the cutest little things. What's the words to that Alice Angel song she sings? Something, something, cute little dish?" Joey chuckled. "Yeah. She makes a good Alice, alright."

Tom trembled.

Joey tossed the cigar to the ground and crushed it under his foot. "Give me a name. By tonight, Tom. Or I'll pick someone myself." He waved over his shoulder, walking out the door, and Tom was left trying to stop the shaking in his hands. He fell back into his chair weakly. He felt numb, in shock, cold. Everything he had feared, Joey had just proved true. And now, Tom had to make an impossible decision.

Allison waited outside of the studio patiently, trying to resist the urge to pace back and forth a bit. She and Tom always met for lunch, but she had arrived a bit early today. She got antsy waiting, she hated it. She wasn't the most patient woman. She could be leisurely when she wanted to, sure, taking strolls through the woods or the park, but she just often got too excited when she was expecting to do something and had to wait. She glanced at her watch, tapped her foot, hummed under her breath, anything to stop just idly waiting.

Finally, the door opened, and Tom walked out. Allison smiled brightly. "Hey there! What are you feeling for lunch, today?"

Tom didn't say anything. He had his back to her, and Allison paused. "Tom? If you don't want to eat today, we don't have to, I know you had a pretty crazy morning. I can give you your space if you want," she started, but Tom spun around and grabbed her hand. Allison squeaked in surprise.

"Miss Allison," Tom said quickly. "Today, I...I don't want to just get lunch. Let's go out of the park today, someplace nice in town, or maybe someplace else, I don't know, someplace other than just a hot dog stand or God-forbid more of that awful vegetarian-bacon soup," he said, words rushing out in a hurry. "Somewhere, somewhere for just the two of us!"

Allison blinked in surprise. "Well I...I suppose I...Tom, I'm not complaining, but where is this-"

"Don't," he said quickly, and Allison noticed for a moment that his hands were shaking in hers. "That's...that's the one question you can't ask me. Please. Please just say yes, and don't ask why."

Allison wasn't sure if she wanted to. This was unlike him, to sound so desperate, to look half-crazed in the way he gripped her hand, softly, but firmly. She wasn't sure what was bothering him, but desperation was not something she particularly enjoyed. Desperation made her nervous.

But his eyes were pleading. And such a beautiful brown, with little hazel flecks. And she would be a hypocrite if she turned him down now, after hoping that he'd work up the courage to ask her on a real date for years.

"Alright, Tom, yes."

He smiled. Why did it look so sad? But before she could ask, he was leading her away from the studio, through the park, through the workers still cleaning, away from the walking cartoons, who strolled around performing for cleaners and maintenance people, confused as to why no one else was there, away from Joey Drew watching out the studio window, away from the ink machine, away from everything. Tom led her away, for today, for one day, that's all he needed, just one day to get away from everything.

A picnic is what they ultimately decided on. They picked up sandwiches from a small little deli near the amusement park. They only had an hour for lunch after all, but they took their sandwiches and spread out on a grassy hill in the park nearby. A real park, not the kind with loud rides and laughter and cotton candy, but the kind of park with natural colors and light and grass and birds. Tom liked that. He liked the feel of the soft grass on his hands, watching ducks swimming around down by the pond. He liked hearing the birds sing overhead, and watching squirrels chase each other around up and down the trees.

He'd finally worked up the courage to ask her on a date, and now, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. She kept glancing at him between bites of her food, expectantly, wanting him to say something, but suddenly having her here, with him, and not just with him as coworkers, but, but with him with him, he didn't know what to do. He nearly dropped his sandwich three times just trying to comment on how nice of a day it was outside. It wasn't even really that nice, it was overcast, it might rain tonight, and it was almost a bit too cold when the wind blew, but Allison didn't mention it. He could see the questions swimming in her mind. He knew this was unusual for him, but he needed this. He needed to be with her, like this, and there were so many things he wished he could say. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but that felt wrong for that to be the first thing he said, because she was so much more than how she looked, so much more, what if he insulted her? He wanted to tell her how strong she was, but not with muscles, just in the way she held herself, the way she walked with purpose, mouth always turned into some sort of smile or thoughtful line. He wanted to tell her how much he admired her drive, her motivation, her passion and effort in everything she did, how even when the park got scary after dark, she refused to leave early just to avoid crossing paths with Bendy. Tom couldn't even say that about himself. There were several nights where he noticed it getting dark out and proceeded to leave a job half-done because he didn't want to stick around.

But not her. She wasn't scared, and if she was, she didn't let it stop her. She was purpose personified, someone who should be running a place like this, someone who commanded attention with every step she took.

And here he was, not able to say any of this, because he didn't want to mess up his words, he didn't want to stumble or make things awkward. Things were already awkward, but he didn't want to ruin this moment. It was an awful feeling, having so much to say, so much he wanted, needed, to tell her, but not wanting to break this time of just sitting beside her, just being near her.

Allison finished her sandwich before Tom even finished half of his, and he worried she might leave him sitting here alone if he didn't say anything, but instead, she leaned back against the grass, laying down and stretching her hands behind her head to close her eyes. She smiled, and started to hum a bit.

"That's, uh...is that a new song? For Alice?" he asked.

"No, not this one. This one is just me," she answered. "It's nice to have things that are just mine sometimes. Like little memories or moments. Sometimes, working in that studio all day, it's easy to get lost into playing the part of Alice. It's just nice to take moments to remind myself that I'm not her, you know? Sometimes I feel like that's all Joey sees me as. Just another Alice, only difference is I'm not made of ink."

"You're much more than Alice Angel," Tom said softly. "...hey, Miss Allison? What would you want to do, if you didn't work here, for the studio?"

"Well, I guess I'd like to keep being an actress. Work for a bigger studio. Somewhere where I can have more than one role. Really push myself, have something new everyday. Would be nice to be someplace warmer too," she said. She paused for a moment, then opened her eyes to look at him. "I actually applied for a position with Archgate films a while ago. They sent me a letter back."

"What did it say?" Tom asked.

"I haven't opened it yet," she said.

"Oh."

They were quiet for a moment, neither saying anything, while Tom crinkled the sandwich wrapping paper between his fingers, over and over. "You should take it," he said. "If they offer it."

"I know," Allison said. "But I don't mind sticking around a bit longer. There are some things here worth sticking around for."

Tom smiled and cleared his throat. Then he looked away. Looked out over the lake, its blue surface painted gray with the clouds rolling in over head. He took a few deep breaths. Tried to remember everything he was seeing, and turned to look at her again. Memorize the way she looked, right now. Eyes bright, alert, the way she watched the sky, the way she lay against the grass. Finally, Tom stood. "We better be getting back," he said sadly. He offered her a hand up, and Allison took it, hoisting herself to her feet.

His hand lingered in hers for a moment, holding it, memorizing the weight of it, the warmth of it.

"Listen Allison, I...I care about you. Alright? I care about you a lot. So I'm going to say what I need to say right now."

Allison, still so confused, looked up at him and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Alright, Tom. I'm listening."

He looked down at her and frowned.

"Get out of here, Allison. Quit Joey Drew Studios as soon as possible."

A few hours after close, Tom knocked on Joey's office door, and entered without waiting for a response. Joey was inside, looking over some paperwork. A radio sat in the corner, playing a voiceless tune, wailing away happily. Framed posters of the old cartoon advertisements hung on nearly every free space of wall, so much so that it was hard to see what color the walls were underneath. The big studio logo hung up too, the only real nameplate Joey needed, and it was as big as his ego.

"Ah, Tom, I assume you've come here to give me the name of the person you want to fire," Joey asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're late. I needed someone earlier than now, so I may not have a choice but to just pick someone at rando-"

"It's me," Tom said, interrupting him. Joey's eyes widened, but Tom was firm. "If you want to take someone, if you want to 'fire' someone," Tom said mockingly. "Then fire me."

Joey crossed his hands in front of him, leaning into them to look up at Tom. "...you've figured out so much, and you're still volunteering?"

"I know too much anyway, don't I?" Tom shot back. "You can fix your own damn ink machine from now on. Either you let me walk out of here, and let me take the ink machine with me, or you do what you wanted to do with one of my men to me. I won't sacrifice them to you. Not anymore."

Joey was silent. He stared up at Tom with a blank expression that Tom couldn't read.

"I know I can't go to the police," Tom said. "Because there's no evidence, right? No way to prove what that ink machine really does. But I won't let you hurt my men. And I certainly won't let you hurt Miss Allison. So you let her go, Joey, got it? You let her go, let her quit if she asks, and you don't force her to stay."

After more moments of silence, long enough that Tom started to get nervous, Joey smiled.

"Whelp, guess it's decided then." Joey stood up from his desk and walked over, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder. "It's been nice working with you, Tom, I'm going to miss you."

For just a moment, Tom thought his hasty assumptions might have been wrong.

Maybe Joey really wasn't sacrificing people into the ink machine to make the cartoons come to life. Maybe he really did just need to fire someone. Maybe Tom wasn't about to make the worst decision of his life in order to keep Allison safe and save his men. He didn't want blood on his hands, but maybe there was never any blood to begin with.

But then Joey looked over Tom's shoulder, and Tom felt a shadow pass over him.

"You heard the man, Bendy. Take him away."

An ink covered hand grabbed Tom by the neck roughly, yanking him backwards. Tom gagged, falling and being dragged along on the ground by the ugly, malformed demon before him, who just smiled down at him without a word as he pulled Tom away, pulled him down the halls, and to the already humming and warmed up ink machine. It went by too fast, and suddenly Tom was panicking, he was grabbing at the wooden boards, getting splinters as he tried to hold onto, tried to jerk himself free. He tried to grab at Bendy, but his skin was too slick with the ink, he couldn't grab onto anything as he was whisked away. He tried to scream for help, tried anything, but there was no one there that heard him or cared about his cries.

Tom's last thoughts before he was plunged into darkness was of her. Of Allison. Her smile. Her voice. The way her hand felt in his. The hope that maybe she'd get out of this cleverly disguised hell.

And then there was nothing but ink.