(2) Ink-surrection (BATIM/EPICMICKEY/CUPHEAD)

2- Re-Runs

Oswald the Lucky Rabbit sat at his desk still piled with months of neglected papers. Papers of all colors, sizes, and subjects—so many things to do—but Oswald instead existed in another world far away from his work as he gazed out the large window overlooking the City of Wasteland.

The Lucky Rabbit wasn't looking at the city, however. He instead replayed questions in his mind—something that had become a sort of second nature over the past month.

He never stopped thinking about those questions—What did Joey do to the toons of Sillyvision? What happened to the people in Joey Drew Studios? Why did the father of animation himself, wipe the minds of every toon in Disney's grasp.

Oswald ate breakfast, walked through town, did his work, held conversations, and still far back in his mind they looped like a television re-run with no off switch.

And like it became second nature to play those questions, it also became second nature to ignore them; and though they plagued his mind Oswald grew increasingly exasperated with their appropriation of his daily life.

As his patience thinned, so too did it with even the mere idea of what would come if he were to search for the answers.

No—Oswald had already had his fair share of adventures, rising from a villain of thinner to a hero of ink—and he was tired of the loss that came with it.

The hero deep within him toyed with the questions, it's what kept the questions on the surface of his mind.

And so, as Oswald sat stiller than a corpse at his desk, he finally made his decision that he knew would pull the questions that had been invading his daily life back deep into the locked reaches of his mind.

He was done being a hero.

Forgotten was the promise he made to Bendy before the break; words he'd promised never to forget, for their memory died with the demon:

"Nobody dies a hero. There are no heroes, and there are no good guys. It's all fake. Nobody can truly be good, but we can all truly try," Bendy grasped Oswald's arm, "So promise me something, please..?"

Oswald leaned forward, preparing to soak in every syllable that would enter his ears.

"Don't ya ever stop trying."

• • •

The younger Disney brother was also plagued by the questions Sillyvision had left for them like wrench's thrown into a machine. But while Oswald—after months of thinking—decided to abandon those questions and everything associated, Mickey Mouse felt as if his mind was maddening for his search for answers.

Mickey spent most of his days locked inside his creator's office, his delicate search escalating to tearing apart bookshelves and walls.

Though he fought it, the feeling of frustration—as opposed to his cheerful nature—slowly grew, like thorns. Thorns that impaled his heart and stomach, and only grew with each day of failure.

Mickey didn't notice his drastic change, though, for it was so slow he'd never know until it was too late—and now he wouldn't have minded it as much was he would have a few months prior.

Something else with a stark change was the arrival of bitterness. Like it frustration, it came slow—and it was harmless until it became second nature.

And so, with a glare of bitter disappointment, Mickey tossed aside one of the thousands of Disney sketchbooks. It landed open-faced to the ground, pages audibly crumbling, with the gold name of "Walt Disney" glistening in the light of the sun that peered through closed curtains. Scattered along the floor, were other books of useless information left in the same state.

Mickey leaned back in a wooden chair that creaked and smelled of mildew, stewing in the constricting feeling of failure and frustration.

He crossed his arms, but before he sighed in defeat and called it a day, he held the emotion he was feeling inside the cavern of his soul, as if he was studying something new. Mickey took a deep breath and sighed it out, and he deflated into the chair, holding himself tighter and closing his eyes.

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed as he thought about the anger that had seeped into his world of joy and forgiveness. It seemed like it was an infestation—with the only exterminator being his surrender to mystery.

Surrendering to the mystery of the questions was not an option in Mickey's book—and anyone who thought it was, dare say even chooses that option—was an idiotic coward.

This was because Mickey was drawn with—and always will have—an overwhelming sense of selflessness. These questions weren't personal ones (though Mickey might be blaming himself), this was the life and history of his entire world, and the life of a studio that had been snuffed our of existence like water to a flame. Mickey has a duty to answer these questions not just for himself, but for every single toon that had been affected. Every stolen memory, and every stolen life; That was what Mickey was doing this for.

With that reminder, Mickey peeled himself from his chair, and—like he'd done countless times before—tried again.

• • •

Still isolated in Walt Disney's office, Mickey mindlessly ran his fingers down the spine of an open book—thinking about another book that held the answer, a book that was found at the now crumbled Joey Drew Studios.

Again he replayed the memory of it—Henry had found it, the book with the code, in Joey Drew's office. An artifact—stolen not unlike the exhibits found in the museums of reality.

The last time Mickey saw Henry was fuzzy. For a second he almost thought it was the last time he saw Oswald—well, the only time that mattered. The anger Mickey held towards Oswald and his betrayal never truly went away, but what was once a fire turned into dull ache deep within his heart.

All Mickey wanted to do was make things right. Make everything right. If he didn't, then how was he better than those who caused this?

The Mouse that once wore the king of Disneyland with pride now felt as if he'd sunk lower than the slums in reality. He'd never be a worthy leader, nor a good person, if something wasn't done; and he was running out of options on what he could do.

With all rational sense abandoned, blind hope was the only thing that made Mickey feel something other than despair as he made his plans to go back to Joey Drew Studios, and get that book.