The Lighter Side of Hell (Bammy) (DISCONTINUED)

Projector

The plan didn't go well. At all.

It was bloodshed or rather an inkshed. The Demon's fury sprouted quickly. And in less than 5 minutes, Sections A and B were down. I couldn't talk. The Miner sent in Section C after Jack picked up on my fear.

His fury only grew. He slashed down Section C in a blink. I broke and screamed for them to retreat. I knew we had fucked up. We thought we could take down the demon. But no, no.

I was crying. I didn't have to have someone tell me. I was crying. "SAMMY!" The Demon roared. Jack turned to me, clutching my arms. "GO!" He shouted. I shook my head, opening my mouth to talk.

I couldn't find any words. I was speechless. And horrified. So, so horrified. Tears poured down my face as a let out a strangled, "No,"

Jack didn't care, he pushed me to give me somewhat of a head start. All around us Searchers sunk into the ground as some that were crazy enough took on the demon. He looked at me, and I felt his rage, his horror. His betrayal.

I ran.

I ran all out of the second floor. I kept going and I wouldn't stop. I wanted to be as far away as possible. I was somewhere in the darker areas of the third floor when I sank to the ground, shaking with sobs.

This was my fault. I led them to death. I led the demon on. I should have stayed there with them and fought. But I was such a coward. A pathetic man. Or remains of a man.

I picked up the sound of ink sloshing. I hoped it was the demon, coming to finish me off. But it couldn't be. The walking sounded normal, the demon had a limp. I kept my eyes shut as the sloshing came closer.

I heard a click and a whirring sound. My head snapped up. In front of me was the creature The Miner had spoken of. His body was lanky and skinny, wires ran from the projector into his back. He had an intercom on his chest and seemed to have rolled his sleeves and pants legs. And then there was the projector . . .

He looked disgusting. In an intriguing way.

I did something I didn't know I could. In shock, I melted into the ink on the ground. It was such an odd feeling as if my conscious had been ripped from my body and put in a vacuum chamber. I could still see the thing, even though it could not see me.

Its shoulders slumped, and it made a serious of sad sounding clicking noises. What was he doing? It took me a while to realize it was morse code. I slowly popped my head up from the ink. He made a hissing noise and jumped back.

"Hi." I simply said. "Hi," Came a strained sounding voice from the intercom. I fully got out of the ink and stared at him. "Can you talk?" He seesawed his hand, shrugging. "Who are you?" I remarked, taking a cautious step towards him.

His hands began to quickly make different signs, making me step back. I put my hands up, "Okay. Calm down. Slower this time." I said softly. He did the same thing again, more slowly this time. It clicked in my mind that he was using sign language.

Now don't get me wrong, I was fluent in sign language because my cousin, Sally, was deaf and I learned it to speak to her. Slowly I made out what he had said. 'Who are you?' Cautiously I put my hand out for him to shake. "Sammy. Sammy Lawrence."

He made another series of clicking, which sounded excited. 'The blonde haired twink that used to work with me?' He signed. I scoffed. "How offensive! I assure you I am no 'twink.' And yes . . . Who are you?" I stepped even closer, until I was facing too, well, lens. "Norman?" Came the voice from his intercom, sounding even more strained and confused.

It clicked. The voice, the projector. I remember the music director faintly. His dark skin, dark eyes, perfectly done hair . . . I had despised and admired him. But now . . . He was a monster, just as I.

I sighed, "God you look ugly." I spat. He laughed, which sounded like clicking. 'You don't look too better, sunshine.' He remarked. I glared at him, then groaned. "Let's cut the crap. I need a place to hide. The Ink Demon is out for me."

'You pissed off the Ink Demon? What could you have done to anger that thing?' He signs. From afar I could hear the sounds of footsteps. Someone with a limp.

Or something.

I began to push Norman, who seemed to glare at me. "He's coming!" I hissed. He clicked and made a loud screeching sound. From far away, more screams in response rose. I looked at him with an expression that was a mix of shock and horror.

'Oh don't worry. It's just the Butcher Gang clones. He won't hear us moving now.' He grabbed me by my wrist and led me deeper into the maze of walls and projectors. "How do you stand all this ink?!" I hissed in annoyance. He shrugged. 'Dark places are my home.'

I didn't know which way he made me. I vaguely remembered Norman, Jack, and I sitting in the projector's booth. Norman had told us a little bit about his upbringing in a bad neighborhood. I suddenly felt immensely bad for him. What had his family thought of his disappearance? Did they even care?

He snapped in front of my face. 'You keep doing that.' He signed. I shrugged. "I was just thinking about something." He nodded, which looked rather odd, and sat on the inky ground. I sat next to him and listened to the sound of the supposed Butcher Gang screaming and howling. Somewhere in the mix, I could hear arguing and laughing.

The whole thing was oddly calming. It reminded me of home, with my grandmother. She was a foster parent and had a few children. I remembered their loud voices and even louder personalities. I smiled, albeit tears formed in my eyes and my heart ached.

Norman leaned on me, apparently trying to comfort me. 'It's hard, I know. This place is crazy, but I'm sure we'll get out.' He signed. I remember Norman as being a religious man. I wonder what was going on in his mind right now. Maybe he was thinking that his god would save him from this hellhole.

I almost laughed. There was no god down here.

It was odd to think about. As if this whole studio was a rotten onion with layers to it. The deeper the layers went, the worse it got. On this floor there was a whole different place. A whole different set of monstorous things.

It was almost humourous! The fact we thought that we could stop these dictator like beings. How foolish, oh, how foolish.

Time flew by. It must have been half an hour when a voice rang across the screeches. "SHUT UP!" She had screamed. Through Norman's intercom, he snorted and burst into raucous laughter. I smiled, not because I found it funny, but because I'd never heard him laugh like that.

"Who is that?" I asked. 'The angel' he signed, then made quotation marks. I subconsciously noticed lines on his hands.

"Alice?" I asked, my confusion only growing. Once again, he seesawed his hand. I thought of it. If there was a Bendy, and an Alice, would that mean there might be a Boris? I dismissed the thoughts. My fatigue began to form, and soon I found myself drifting off.

I faintly heard a serious or clicking noises from Norman before I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Thanks @Freckle_Juice for the idea of Norman being a bitch at times and calling Sammy a twink. Love you you hoe.