Chapter Text
Huh? Wait, why am I here again? What’s all this? Corgi? Corgi, are you here?
Um... hi, Wilford.
What’s going on? This looks like another Strays story. I thought you ended that weeks ago.
Yeah... about that...
What happened?
The Audience got to talking, and... we kind of... accidentally came up with the plot for another story.
Another one?
This will be the last one, though. I promise! I just... I wanted to write another adventure. Drabbles and minor stories are fun, but nothing compares to an epic plot...
Look, I don’t care if you do another story... so long as you don’t start killing us, and you finish it.
You know I’d never just kill a character for shock value. I hate it when writers do that. And I will finish this one. It just may take some time is all. I’m not going to burn myself out like I did with the other stories.
Good. Well, if that’s everything... then please excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt your prologue.
Of course. I’ll be seeing you later, Wilford.
Until later, Corgi. And... it’s nice to see you all again...
He wondered if this is how a king would feel... seeing their former beautiful kingdom in ruins. This had been his kingdom, his empire, his... his dream. His vision.
Sure, he hadn’t exactly been responsible when trying to bring it all to life, but that’s just how the business was. No one became famous with their moral compass still intact. The world of animation and entertainment required sacrifice... and blood. It didn’t always have to be the creator’s blood. With a little finesse and charm... you could use the blood of the ones below you.
And that’s what he’d done. He’d sacrificed his workers, he’d bled them all dry in more ways than one, and he’d reached so high over and over and over... only for it all to collapse under him. His empire fell into ruin and scandal and infamy.
But hey... greater giants had fallen harder and recovered. Why couldn’t he? He’d been granted this second chance, he’d found the ruins of his studio and his dream. Why not try again? Why not dream again? Why... not...?
The ink machine was easy enough to raise up again. It was easy enough to get it running. Of course it was, what machine didn’t obey the desires of its creator? And now he was even more powerful than before. Ink ran through his veins and granted him the power he’d always wanted before. But as strong as he was... he could be stronger.
“Some of the ink is missing,” he looked at the meter on the side of the machine. “Who could have stolen my ink? Unless...”
He remembered at least two that he’d sacrificed using the ink. Experiments that hadn’t worked. Ink wasted. One he’d injected, one he’d drowned. But their coffins had been empty. Were they still here, or had they escaped?
He needed them back. He needed the ink that was sitting in their flesh.
“But wait... this is far too much for just those two,” he mused to himself. “Did someone else steal some ink? Who could have stolen it?”
He drummed his ink stained fingers against the machine, pencil tapping at his chin. He’d need to find them. He’d need to find all of his stolen ink if he wanted to rebuild. And he had just the workers who could help him with it.
His inky footsteps began to ripple and grow, warping and distorting into something more solid. The searchers, his little loyal ink dogs. They all obeyed him now that he had come back to claim his throne once again.
They slowly moved until they surrounded him. He looked at them all with a critical eye, already thinking of how to go about this.
“My ink has been stolen,” he said. “I want you all to go look for it and bring it back to me. Bring it back no matter where it is or who has it. But if anyone does have it, bring them back alive. The ink will die with them otherwise. So do not hurt them. Do you all understand?”
The searchers hissed and gave a growl that sounded like bubbling ink. He smiled and nodded before giving them all a dismissive wave.
“Away with you, then. Don’t come back without my ink,” he said.
The searchers sunk back into the floor, and the ink stains moved out of the room. He turned back to the ink machine and tilted his head.
“Who could have done it?” He mused again. “Maybe it was Henry. He'd meddled before, why wouldn’t he meddle now? But is he even here? Did he have enough belief to bring him here?”
And of course this brought about the question as to whether or not Bendy was here too. Maybe Alice and Boris were too? He couldn’t sense them. Not like he could sense the Butcher Gang, so maybe not.
“My greatest creation... and he didn’t have enough belief,” He shook his head and sighed. “Tragic...”
They say you just have to believe. Belief can make you succeed. Belief can make you rich. Belief can make you powerful.
He wouldn’t fall this time. He would succeed. His dream would be realized. He would bring Bendy back, bigger and better than ever. The technology of this world had progressed for people like him. With any luck, he’d be able to succeed and finally create his inky mark on the world and the entertainment industry. There wouldn’t be any money troubles this time. No complaining workers, no deaths and accidents, no need for sacrifices.
No need for summoning the ink demon, the two faced angel, or the loyal wolf. It would all be done differently and his name would be pulled form the depths to once again shine brightly.
“With enough belief, you can even cheat death,” he finally turned away from the ink machine with a grin. “Now that... is a beautiful and positively silly thought...”