✔️Ink Bendy x Reader - Alone Within the Ink #Wattys2019

The Old Song

7/15/19, Edited 7/30/19

"He's here." The inked man mumbled to himself with his raspy voice, smirking internally behind his mask. "This is my chance!" Ripping the axe from the grasp of the unconscious old man who lied on the pentagram, the ink being placed it against a coffin before leaving the room.

He began to excitedly light multiple candles around the halls, although his slow speed and psychotic twitches on the outside gave no sign of his true excitement. Once candles were lit, he began to fill baskets with foods, namely cans of Bacon Soup.

"Yes, yes!" He whispered to himself with satisfactory. "The Lord will indeed love this! Can I get an amen? I said, can I get an amen?" All of the candles were lit and baskets were filled. Now came the main task. The ink creature began to carry out multiple cutouts of the cartoon demon, Bendy, from his sanctuary.

Each cutout was to be placed exactly in the middle of each set of candles and offering baskets. They were to lean against the walls, right up against the pentagrams of ink that the inked man drew. Everything had to be perfect, this might be his only chance. He couldn't afford to mess this up. It had been so damn long, waiting any longer just wasn't an option.

"I need him to notice me again! He needs to see my face, and I need to see his." The man sang to himself. "The ritual will work! My savior will see me as his loyal servant! I'll be freed!" And so, the man carried the last of the cutouts, singing as he trudged down the hall.

"Sheep, sheep, sheep. It's time for sleep. Rest your head, it's time for bed. In the morning, you may wake. Or in the morning, you'll be dead." His raspy voice echoed through the twisting corridors, sealing himself off from any distractions. He didn't hear the voice of an old man calling out to him as he placed the last cutout down and dissolved into the wall.

The plan was perfect! Everything was going to fall into place at just the right time, the man was sure of it. And so, with all preparations complete and the ritual ready to unfold at any minute, the inked man waited, stalking his prey silently as the old man went about trying to find an escape.

He heard his song, his jam, come on over the speakers in the entry of the Music Department. He heard the countless audio logs play, the voices of those speaking seeming so familiar yet unfamiliar all the same. He heard the jingling of keys and the opening of....the closet door.

Then suddenly, he heard the click of the projector and heard quick notes from his favorite instruments in a most peculiar order. Yes, the old man was making quick progress. This thought excited the inked man, filled him with adrenaline at the thought that the ritual was now just around the corner.

Briskly walking to the balcony that overlooked the recording studio, as well as the entry to his precious and most sacred of sanctuaries, the inked man looked out. The old man, axe in hand, came slowly walking out of the gate. One of the inked man's Searcher minions was hiding around the corner, startling the man with a Bendy cutout before disappearing.

The old man tried to calm his rushing heart, tried to catch his breath, as he locked eyes with the ink creature on the balcony. Dressed in nothing but a pair of overalls and a Bendy mask with the mouth cut out, the old man had no idea who this inked person was. He had not a single clue that this man was truly Sammy Lawrence, the old music director himself.

Likewise, however, Sammy had no clue that this man was Henry, one of the best animators and a creator himself. Lawrence didn't remember anything, probably never really would. His brain had been re-wired, hypnotized even to only know a small few things.

"Help his savior, appease the savior, so that he may be freed from his cursed body of ink. Kill the workers, find the girl, so that he may help his savior, appease the savior." Constantly, those were the only words going through his head every second of every dragging day, even if he was singing his silly little tunes. His life was nothing more than those exact words, literally.