Dimensional Rift (CANCELLED)

Chapter 2: On the Road Again

   Joey frowned, a distant memory worming its way into the front and center of his mind as the Ink Machine came into view. Somehow, it seemed like it was just an empty shell of what it used to be... of the terrible things it had created. He stared at it for what felt like ages before he could bring himself to think again.
   Don't do it, Drew. You have one chance to prove yorself, and this is just gonna ruin it. Back away while you can before you get caught. Before you get pulled back.
   He took one step back, noticing how splintered the old wood beneath his feet was for the first time. He took another step, eyes still glued to the wretched contraption. The sunlight seeping in through the cracks in the ceiling seemed to dim out, enveloping Joey in a vat of darkness. One more step. His breathing grew ragged and desperate, his heart threatening the leap out of his chest. It was harder to move now, as if his feet were dragging through a pool of ink. The Ink Demon's vision swam. He grew lightheaded, too weak to move anymore. It only took a couple more moments before he collapsed to the ground, world going black.

<<¤>>

   "Joey? What the hell--" The sound of Henry's voice was cut off as he saw his friend curled up into a ball on the floor, trembling and crying out weakly. The smaller demon hardly registered the sight of the Ink Machine before stumbling out of the room, calling for help.
   The other demon whimpered again, trapped in an endless nightmare...

   It was dark. Darker than normal. It was too quiet as well. Joey fumbled around for a nearby wall and pressed himself against it, inky substite for sweat drippng down his forehead. Hot breath ghosted where his ear would have been, then a familiar voice whispered, "We could have ruled together; As one."
   He screamed, swiping at the area the voice came from, claws raking at open air. The voice laughed maliciously, taunting him. Joey backed up, hitting something soft and warm. He gasped and turned around, the figure before him doing the same. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before, with black and white fur, a pure white muzzle and underbelly, alert, pointed ears, and intensly burning yellow-orange eyes. It looked like a toon, yet it was nothing that had been created in this studio. The creature blinked, looking up at him with a newfound curiosity.
   "What are you?" Joey breathed, too scared to run.
   "I was going to ask you the same," it replied softly. It was most definitely female.
   Joey stopped himself before speaking again. He thought for a moment. "You're just a figment of my imagination. You're not real."
   "I was thinking the same, but no one can dream of something they've never seen before. I think it's a sort of telepathic connection."
   "But--" Joey was stopped when she suddenly disappeared, along with the hellscape he was in.

   Ice cold water was splashed onto Joey's face, causing him to cough and splutter. He opened his eyes to find Wally standing over him with an overturned bucket in his hands.
   "I've always wanted to do that," the wolf laughed, jumping back as Joey went to swat at him.
   "About time," Henry mused. "You've been out for three hours."
   "Three..." Joey trailed off, running a hand over his forehead. It was covered in sweat and ink, possibly even his own drool. He looked up again, ignoring the fuzzy outline of his vision. Almost everyone was crowded around him, and those who weren't (Sammy and Tom) were glaring at him from a safe distance. He sat up, flinching from the several splinters he'd acquired from the floor.
   "You've got some explaining to do," Tom growled. It was obvious that he hated Joey even more now.
   "The Ink Machine can't solve all our problems. You just have to accept the fact that we're probably gonna stay this way for the rest of our lives." Henry did have a point, but Joey shook his head and shakily got to his feet.
   "No. I know it'll work. And I won't stop until I find a way for it to. Even if it does take me another thirty years." Joey diverted his gaze from everyone's judgemental glares. He felt guilty, but the animal inside him told him to walk away unfazed. So he did, turning on his heel and storming out of the room.
   It was only until he reached the hole in the floor in front of the exit that he stopped and considered this decision. Leaving would mean he couldn't come back. He'd lose the little trust he had and replace it with hatred and betrayal. It was tough, but a reasonable path. When - if - he came back, he would have a cure. Then they could all leave this hellhole and go on with their normal lives. Henry and Linda could get the life they deserved so long ago, Sammy and Norman could do whatever the hell they wanted, Tom and Alison could go back to their farm, and Wally could go back home to his family. Joey didn't know what he would do if he got out. Stupid as it sounded, the studio had grown on him over the years. Maybe he'd start it back up again, with fresh new ideas. Nothing too crazy, of course, but just enough to become popular with recognizable characters. Who knows what kind of stuff animators had come up with while he had been gone? How popular has Disney become? Maybe that dreaded mouse could finally be put to rest. The mere thought of it brought a smile to Joey's face.
   Then he remembered the dream. Whoever that creature was, maybe he would find her on his journey to find a cure. She had seemed scared, distressed. The mere look in her eyes cried for help. It made Joey wonder what happened to her.
   He knelt down to all fours, wiggling his haunches then taking the leap of faith into the hole in the floor. He landed gracefully, standing up and brushing off a bit of ink. It had been too long since he'd been to this part of the studio. He usually lurked in the deeper parts, where less living creatures dared to wander. But if he wanted to find a solution,  he needed to start from the very top and work his way to the bottom. He'd search every nook and cranny if he needed to. Joey sighed, relishing the fact that the only scent here was Henry's, and even that was old and stale. That meant he was alone.
   Turning around, he noticed that a door had been blocked off from a tipped shelf and barrel of ink, and he immediately wished that he still had the ability to walk through walls. Well... a little manual labor wouldn't hurt.
   It took some strength that Joey didn't know he had to move the shelf, though the first attempt resulted in it falling on his foot. The Ink Demon cursed colorfully, cradling his injured limb. There was a large cut, revealing some disfigured bone. It hurt like hell, causing him to see spots for a couple minutes. He already felt the ink covering the abrasion, though he knew it'd be a while until it fully regenerated.
   "As if it wasn't damaged enough," Joey growled through gritted teeth. It was in fact his lame foot, which he acquired when it fell through the floor and got stuck. That was back when he was human, too. The ink couldn't heal an injury that old, or if it had been acquired from the Dark Ink. Surely enough, his karma had gotten to the best of him.
   Joey still tried to move the shelf, succeeding after almost losing his toes a couple more times. He tossed it aside, then went to open the door. The handle didn't move. He cursed again, angry enough so that he rammed the door until it bust open. The excitement of success didn't last long, for all it was was a bunch of janitorial supplies; one of Wally's closets. All that was salvageable was a container of glue, a broom, duct tape, and a small leather bag. Maybe it could be used as surgical glue and close the open wound he'd obtained. Tossing the bag around his left shoulder, Joey grasped the glue and considered it, but his gut told him it would just make it worse. So, he snapped the broom in half and made himself a splint by wrapping what was left of the duct tape around his ankle to connect the two sticks. It was itchy, but it would work for the meantime. The glue found itself a home in the bag, and Joey slowly began searching the room he was in.

   About an hour had passed, and Joey had no luck in finding anything. Though he did think of something that could be useful. The only other people besides himself that knew the powers of the ink were Sammy and Grant. Though Sammy would be the last person on earth to help him, and Grant, the studio's accountant,  had disappeared a year before the installation of the Ink Machine. But Cohen's notes were still there... and his office was just an elevator ride away. Then Joey remembered the lift's final use, which had been used in attempt to kill Henry and the others. Now it was broken beyond repair. The only other option was to use the stairs, which were long and winding. And even then, one would have to travel through multiple rooms in order to find another set of them. It would be an even longer and more grueling journey with a lame leg.
   All Joey could say to himself was, "Well, shit."
   He suddenly felt lonely and lost. Henry's doctor skills could have been useful. After the couple years the retired animator had served as a nurse in the army, he would know exactly what to do. But Joey's experience there would also help; he had been trained to walk miles with an injury like this, even worse. He'd survive. Maybe. It's been nearly thirty-five years since then, and he'd grown older and less active (despite the fact that his new form never aged and that he was always running after something).
   His ambition slowly faded away while the pain in his injury finally set in. He growled, but continued nonetheless. As he trudged on, the familiar scent of Sammy wafted around, suggesting that he spent most of his time here before his little rebellion. That also suggested that the music department was nearby. Though after the next few steps, Joey had to stop and rest his aching foot. He felt as if cutting it off would be better than this.
   Then it occured to him: he wouldn't be able to go back because the staircase to the first floor was caved in. He was stuck here. Alone.
   Again.

<<★>>

   She was cold. So cold that she felt like she could turn into a living icicle. It was very obvious that it was winter here, because it was like freaking Antarctica. The faint memory of terrible crackling flames suddenly didn't seem so bad anymore. And, oh God, did she miss her brother's company. Anyone's company, for that matter.
   She continued searching, though, as weak as she was. Her arm stung with an open and infected wound, the cold making it hurt even more. Not only was it nearly below zero, the smell was absolutely awful. Ink was everywhere. How her abilities brought her here was beyond her exhausted brain's thinking right now. If anything, she'd take the run-down house in the middle of the woods she was in before rather than this hellhole. But her supernatural senses never did her wrong before. She was here for a reason. Maybe to see whoever that creature was in her dream. He obviously needed help. And as something loudly crashed far away, she could tell she was close.

A/N: Hello, smol beans! It's been quite a while, huh? I'm sorry for the inactivity over the summer, and the heavy suspension from the previous book. I've left you all on a cliffhanger with nothing else to grasp onto other than random art shitposts and an off-topic FNaF fanfiction. I promise I will be more active after school starts, because I will have my laptop back (MY BAAABYYYY) and nearly constant access to the internet to uploud stuff. Expect almost all by stories to be updated soon!
P.S:  MrMonkeyofDoom may be getting an OcculusRift and the new FNaF VR, so I may be busy with that (*wink-wonk*).