Just a Happy Ending

Recording Gold

As usual, Henry woke up with a headache. That kind of thing was common in the cycles. He grabbed his axe and took a swing at the boarded up door, numbly moving on to the Music Department.

He still grimaced at the shin-deep ink in that one hallway. The stuff was always an annoyance to walk through.

He didn't realize Sammy hadn't walked by until he was startled by a Wanderer cutout against the wall the musician was supposed to have walked through. Henry scowled at it, "You're freaky."

With one swing of his axe, the cutout fell to the floor in pieces.

Well, now to find those switches to open the door. He swept aside a bunch of soup cans. Had he really drunk all of them at once in the past? How did he not throw up? That stuff wasn't even that good; basically just a heart attack in a can.

He hit the switch behind the cans, then humored himself and punted a soup can down the hall.

Maybe a bit childish but he'd never done it before. Suddenly self-conscious about the reassembling cutouts, he turned around. "Wha-?"

He started at the cutout. It changed. It was not only intact, but on-model. Henry furrowed his brow, staring at the cutout for a good minute. The cutout stared back, pie-cut eyes unwavering.

Then Henry cut it down and moved on.

The door opened, but curiosity got the better of him and he backtracked. There was the cutout, reassembled and still on-model. And... crying? A single drop of fresh ink trailed down the face from the right eye. Henry bent down and swiped it with his thumb. Remembering the ink-tear sea in Bendy's mind, Henry touched the ink to his tongue.

Salt.

Again Henry stared at those static eyes. A part of him ached. "What are you trying to tell me, Bendy?" he asked.

The cardboard didn't respond.

Henry sighed. He left a 414 on the wall behind the cutout and proceeded to the door into the Music Studio.

The funny altar to Bendy made Henry's lip curl. "I am so glad I snapped you out of that, old friend." He clicked the nearby tape, muttering every word along with the Prophet's voice.

"... But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?"

Click.

One... two... three.

And then there was silence.

Henry turned around.

Still silence.

That wasn't right. Sammy himself was supposed to repeat that final line.

Yet, there was silence.

"Uhm..." Henry half-raised his arms, "Amen?"

Nothing.

"Sammy?"

Nope.

"Sammy!"

Just wood and ink.

"Sammy Lawrence!"

Still nope.

...

Should he try insulting Bendy?

No, no, no. He was trying to save Bendy as much as his other friends.

"Fine, then. Press on, I guess."

He went to Sammy's office with the waterfall of ink— inkfall?— blocking the door.

He clambered in through the glassless panoramic window. Hit the switch. Back out the window.

Why hadn't he done that before?

Forget Wally's keys for that closet, just axe the hinges off. Presto, no door.

Again, why hadn't he done that before?

He memorized the sanctuary's song, which he noted somehow changed every cycle.

Projector on, hop over the railing onto a barrel, then have ample time to play the necessary instruments.

Seriously, why hadn't he done that before? Surely he'd thought of it.

Get into the sanctuary, hit the switch. Try to ignore the crazed inky scrawls on the wall. Try.

He stepped out of Sammy's sanctuary, axe at the ready to fight some Searchers. They wouldn't pop up until he took a step forward, so Henry stood still for a few moments, sighing at the monotony. He glanced up at the balcony Sammy would-...

He wasn't up there.

Henry's brow furrowed, both in confusion and concern.

No sign of the musician. He wasn't in the hall, he didn't respond to his recording, and now he wasn't watching from the balcony.

"Where are you, old friend?" Henry asked. He took the necessary step and seven figures popped into existence.

Henry froze.

Wanderers.

They all held their signs, staring and hissing just loud enough to make the hairs on the back of the human's neck stand up.

Henry gripped the axe handle a bit tighter. He took a step. Another. Tiptoeing around the cutouts.

They turned on their spot, watching his careful, unnerved procession to the far end of the room. Henry reached the open door and turned. All seven cutouts stared.

Henry slowly inhaled as he turned back and stepped out of the room. "O...khhhayyy..." he muttered. He walked quickly to the end of the hall where he should be knocked out by Sammy.

Instead of a metal dustpan clocking him over the skull, something cold and wet wrapped around his face. Air was cut off instantly, something Henry desperately tried to change. He clawed at the dark stuff, but it just jerked him to the floor. Henry writhed and twisted, his vision tunneling as his pulse thudded painfully in his skull.

"Shhhhh..."

Something whispered close to his head. Or someone?

Was it Sammy?

Henry's struggles slowed. He was running out of air. If it was Sammy, then he should be fine.

Passing out here was a constant in the cycles. Maybe he wasn't supposed to change that.

Then again, his swimming vision and pounding heart left him with little choice.

He choked a final noise of defiance, then blacked out.