Sheep and Shepherds

Sammy is Totally, Undeniably, Completely (In)Sane

"Can I get an amen?"

Helen spun around, shocked. There's someone else in this studio with me, She realized. Guess the place isn't as abandoned as the state would like you to think. She gulped down the dreadful feeling of anxiety in her throat, gripping her axe tightly as she stepped out into a hallway. Ink flooded the place, and Helen cringed as she dipped her leg into the thick, black substance. The ink squelched around her as she walked through it.

She stopped short once she heard a second squelching noise. "Who-" she gasped, clapping her uninjured hand over her mouth and dropping her axe. A man, only slightly taller than her, lumbered through the hallway in front of her. He was dressed in sepia-hued overalls and a mask, seemingly one of the Bendy Halloween masks that Joey Drew produced back in the 1940s. His body was covered in ink, dripping from his arms and chin, and he seemed thin and starving as he carried a cutout of Bendywith him as he passed by her.

Realization hit Helen like a bullet as she fished around through the coal-black ink for her axe, eventually pulling it from the sticky grip of the ink. She strained as she pulled her legs through the thick liquid, finally pulling herself out of the pool of ink. "Okay, who's-" Helen's stance faltered. There, before her, was a cutout of Bendy leaning on a pentacle. "What the hell..." She shook her head, her once copper hair dripping thick, black ink. 

"That last lever must be around here somewhere..." Helen's arm, now stained with ink, dragged her similarly ink-drenched axe by her side. A can of bacon soup caught her eye, and right on cue, her stomach grumbled. She sighed, reaching up to the can. Helen trudged over to the wall and sunk down to the floor, using the dull blade to open the can of soup. "Well," she sighed, "bottom's up." Helen threw her head back, gulping down the soup with a grimace of disgust. 

Helen jolted forward and choked slightly at the sound of a loud click. She coughed, the stale, expired taste not aiding at all in quelling her recoil. The gate, which was but a few hallways ahead of her, screeched open as she winced, soup dripping down her chin. "I... I guess the gate's open," she mumbled, shocked.

She cautiously stepped through the gate, peeking to the left and right to see if whoever opened the gate was still around. After confirming that she was alone, at least in this area of the studio, Helen shuffled further, hacking away at the boards that barred her from the Music department as if it was routine. She gazed about the room, finding an audio log that she curiously played.

"So first, Joey installs this... ink machine over our heads," The voice of an arguably sane Sammy Lawrence began, "Then it begins to leak. Three times last month, we couldn't even get out of our department because the ink had flooded the stairwell!" Helen sighed. Great. Another obstacle. "Joey's solution? An ink pump to drain it periodically. Now I have this ugly pump switch right in my office. People in and out every day."

"Thanks, Joey. Just what I need. More distractions. These songs aren't gonna write themselves, you know."

A loud slurping noise caused her to gasp in shock. Helen raced into the main room, gripping her axe so tightly that her knuckles went white.

"Oh my God! What the hell are those?"