Sheep and Shepherds

What in the Name of Bendy-

Helen heaved her sore body up from the floor with a grunt. She hissed as her left arm bumped into her hip, causing a jolt of immense pain. Crap. It's broken, She realized with an irritated huff. Helen grabbed her vest, holding one of the sleeves under her chin as she wrapped the other around her injured arm. She sloppily tied the ends of the two sleeves together in a sort of amateur sling. "Guess that'll have to do," she mumbled, annoyed by the hindering inconvenience.

Helen brought her gaze to the door which separated her from the music section of the studio. She chuckled as she recalled a coworker, Sammy Lawrence, disgruntled at a prank she and a few others pulled on him back in the golden days of Joey Drew. He would always complain about the cutouts of Bendy multiplying on the sound stage whenever he turned his back, and she and her coworkers would hold back a snicker. Of course, it didn't take long for Sammy to discover the group behind the little stunt. "You never were the type to ignore the little things, were you, Sammy?" she reminisced.

She pushed the door open to reveal a strange room. Helen was taken aback by the demonic imagery portrayed in the room: A pentacle crafted from ink, surrounded by tall, white candles. The pentacle itself was drawn in crooked, wobbly lines, as if whoever made it was pouring ink straight from an inkwell. The candles, to Helen's surprise, were alight, the wax melting and dripping onto the floor like a slow, thick waterfall. Coffins leaned against the wall, covered in ink stains and some other residue that Helen couldn't properly identify. Each coffin seemed to be sealed with both wax and nails. Lots of nails.

A second door stood before her, this one boarded up with wooden planks. Helen stepped back into the room she had first fallen into, glancing around. "I know there was an axe around here somewhere..." she muttered to herself, hissing as her left arm swung at her side and slipped through her sling. "Damnit!" she winced, grabbing her arm and instantly yelping aloud in recoil. "Should... not... have done that," she whispered. She noticed a table to her side and, quickly slinging her arm, grabbed it.

Helen lumbered over to the blocked door, haphazardly bringing the axe down onto the yellow, rotting planks that held it. She hit the wooden barrier with the dull blade of her axe four or five times before the planks gave way, allowing her access to the rest of the studio.

She trudged down the stairwell, reaching the utility shaft that served as an entrance. The musty smell of stale ink and bacon soup was enough to make her gag, and the screech of the axe's blade against the rusty, iron floor gave her a headache, but she pressed on, gasping deeply in the freedom of the (relatively) clean air of the studio.

She frowned. Before her sat a shelf, once used to store bowls and cans of bacon soup, now repurposed into an... altar? Helen cocked her head, confused. There were bowls of ink-infused soup on the shelf, as well as more tall, white candles that, strangely, were lit. Cans of bacon soup, labels chipped and faded, were set neatly in place beside the bowls. In the center of it all lay a cardboard cutout of bendy, atop which the phrase "He will set us free" were seemingly hand-painted in ink.

"He will set us free, huh?" She muttered, confused. "What am I dealing with? A cult?" She shook her head, suddenly noticing an old banjo in the corner along with an audio log. "What's this?" Helen wondered aloud, walking over to the log to play it.

She pressed the "play" button and stood silently as the click of the tape indicated its start. "He appears from the shadows," began a voice with haunting familiarity. "to rain his sweet blessings upon me."

"Wh- Sammy?" Helen realized, gasping aloud.

She listened in silent awe as a once-sane man rambled on about... something.

"The figure of ink that shines in the darkness." Helen bit her lip, concerned, as Sammy continued. "I see you, my savior. I pray you hear me."

"Those old songs... I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final, loving embrace. But... love requires sacrifice..."

"Can I get an amen?"