Just a Happy Ending

Caesura

Caesura - (noun) A musical term, referring to a point where the line is abruptly ceased.

Henry could tell he wasn't awake. It was like the mental awareness from the strange mindspace in Bendy's head.

"Joey, I appreciate your vitality but I do not appreciate being pulled from my instruments like this."

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head, Samuel,-"

"Sammy."

"This will be quick. I just wanted to show you something. The greatest instrument to grace this studio."

"Why do I feel I could contest that?"

"Just keep walking."

Joey and Sammy rounded a corner. They looked as they did thirty years ago. But... something about this was unfamiliar. Was Henry seeing something from the past? If so, then this must have taken place after he had left.

The two phased through Henry, who turned and followed them to the Ink Machine room.

About the only difference was more papers stacked on a table to one side and a railed catwalk stretching around the edge of the room which turned to provide a ledge over the gaping ink well of the churning Machine.

It was to this ledge that Joey beckoned Sammy. Henry followed.

Joey leaned over the railing and sighed with satisfaction. "Isn't that just music to your ears, Samuel?"

"Sammy. And I prefer music from an instrument. Sir." The musician punctuated the last word, a backhanded respect.

Joey just shook his head. "Heh. Oh, don't worry. Soon you'll fall for it Samuel." He roughly thumped Sammy on the back, "You'll throw your body, mind, and soul into this mechanized music."

Sammy glanced down at the Machine, his brow knit. "... That sounds... malicious."

Joey took a step back, moving behind Sammy. "Ahh. Well. You always did have a good ear." Without warning, Joey turned Sammy around and punched him hard across the face, sending the musician staggering and landing heavily against the rail.

Henry jumped forward to intervene, but his hands met air. He could only watch as Joey sized the back of Sammy's overalls and, with a strength impossible for a man his age, hoisted Sammy over the rail and held him there, nothing but air between Sammy and the Machine twenty feet below.

Sammy panicked. "J-Joey! What are you-!"

"Oh, come now, Sammy." Joey scoffed, "You never passed up the chance to make music. Consider this your last crescendo!"

Sammy reached up and grasped at Joey's wrists, "Joey, please! What are you doing?!"

"You will serve a greater purpose for me," Joey declared. "The Machine will remake you and harness your power!"

Sammy looked at the Machine, then his boss, "What are you talking about? Joey, pull me up, please!"

"Ahmmm... no."

Joey let go.

"NO!" Henry hit the rail and stretched out his hand, but was powerless as his friend plummeted into the Machine. Sammy surfaced in the inkwell, screams and pleas for help echoing around the room. His voice hitched and he shrieked in agony as the ink grabbed him, pulling him down to drown in it and be crushed in the mechanical parts.

Henry's body wouldn't move, his breath coming in shallow gasps while the last glimpse of his friend was buried under the ink.

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw Joey holding his right hand. The director was focused, however, on the black veins. "I... am your master..."

The veins pulsed. Something from the Machine let out a subsonic growl. Then Joey's skin cleared. He inhaled sharply, straightened his suit, and dusted off his sleeves. The Machine gave a low hum, and its master calmly strode down the catwalk. "Amen to that."