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Once upon a time, Samuel Lawrence wrote songs for that silly little cartoon on SillyVision. Naturally, he's talking about Bendy the Dancing Demon. The same horror show that's gotten him trapped down here, of course.
At Joey Drew Studios, way back when and so long ago now, Samuel Lawrence had worked as the director of the Music Department. But oh, how frustrating did it become over time - more so after the Creator had left. Things were never quite the same after that.
Working with lousy, noisy people is bound to irritate even the most patient of souls eventually. But Sammy was never patient, no. Not at all. Everyone was so annoying, and having to deal with Joey's shit too, well…
He was known for his temper. Many learned to avoid him, save for very few he can't remember anymore. All he knows is that he kept so few people close to his heart.
His memory isn't as it used to be. He'd say that it's only gotten worse as time goes on.
Noise had messed with his work, back then. Any sound. Sammy lost his concentration, his focus - and eventually, his mind. His mind.
The Ink, oh how the Ink consumed him. It talked to him, and it was all just because of a little itsy bitsy accident.
The Ink was what made him this way. It is why Sammy wound up like this - one of the lost ones, and yet he is not lost. No.
It's like he's found a brand new purpose, in this horrid place.
His Lord is his purpose. And now Sammy will guide his flock to safety, to freedom, as promised to them.
As His Prophet, Sammy could hear that gargled voice in his head. Unwavering, commanding, so deep and soothing. The Ink Demon.
And He had asked a favor of Sammy.
"Do me this one, simple task; bring me a sacrifice… and you can be set free."
A sacrifice. Yes, yes! Sammy can do that. Oh, he can do that so well. It was so easy. He'd be free, not reduced to the hideous inky abyss of a body he was forced to maintain here. They'd all be free.
What would the world look like now, once he's freed? How long has it been?
"Failure to do as I say, and I'll rip you apart limb from inky limb. You'll never taste the freedom you crave so… much."
"Yes, my Lord," Sammy had said aloud, his calm voice echoing throughout the hallways. "I understand."
And he did, he really, really did.
So Sammy waited. He waited. His first sacrifice were his own eyes - glowing amber orbs of light, much like the other lost ones. That didn't hinder his sight much, no. Unfortunately, it wasn't satisfactory for the Ink Demon. Yet he wasn't ripped apart for the attempt, either.
His eyes never came back.
He decided to go bigger.
His next attempt was a poor, willing Lost One. Again, it didn't work - so Sammy began to ponder.
And he pondered. He didn't know how long it'd been, until someone entered the studio.
No one has come for so long. Perhaps, this was the one Sammy was meant to sacrifice. Perhaps, this was the change the studio needed.
When Sammy wasn't busy tending to his flock or making sure that the Ink Demon could be seen everywhere from within the studio, he'd often still play the instruments he once loved. They still filled him with joy, even after all of this time. His favorite, alas, was the banjo - but it was hard to play with only four fingers on each hand. It was something to get used to.
It was when Sammy was calmly playing his banjo, thrumming the chords gently to the rhythm of his humming - an old song he can just barely remember - that a searcher appeared before him. It spoke in groans and worried grunts. It told him that someone was wandering the Music Department, that they were hurting them. Well, Sammy was furious! This simply would not do, how dare someone be hurting his sheep?
The shepherd would not let this fly, no, of course not.
Sammy would watch them first, watch as they wander and walk. They figured out how to get into his Sanctuary. He had seen from the balcony above the recording studio - if they noticed him, they said nothing and simply continued on.
"Yes," gurgled his Lord faintly. "That is the one."
Well, he need not be told twice.
A dustpan to the head was a quick fix, thanks to them so kindly having unlocked the hall closet. The man fell to the ground with nothing but a grunt, and Sammy hovered over him.
"Rest your head. It's time for bed."
The man was out cold after.
Perfect! Just perfect.
Sammy made quick work of dragging him to his sacrificial room, already ready for its lamb, and he took the man's axe too. That need not lie around. It was sharp, Sammy couldn't have a poor unfortunate searcher pricking itself on it.
He made sure the rope was bound tight, for there was no way his lamb was escaping slaughter. Never. Not after Sammy has waited, waited for so long for this moment to finally arrive.
Nothing could go wrong. He would not chance it!
Not soon after the rope had been tied, the man awoke.
"There we go now, nice and tight," Sammy spoke softly, like he were talking to a spooked animal. A sheep. "We wouldn't want our sheep roaming away now, would we?"
The man only stayed silent. No questioning, no asking where he was, he just stared. Stared at Sammy, with something close to nothing - perhaps boredom. Like he's heard this all before, once upon a time.
Well, Sammy doesn't care. It didn't make him uneasy at all.
"… No, we wouldn't. I must admit, I am honored you came all the way down here to visit me. It almost makes what I'm about to do seem cruel," he looks at the axe.
But it won't be seeing use today, no. He pivots on his heel, and moves toward one of the wooden support beams to set it down. "But the believers must honor their Savior."
He turns back around, having set the deadly weapon out of reach. "I must have Him notice me."
It was eerie, how this man still did not say anything.
Upon closer inspection, he looked familiar, though. "Wait."
Where has he seen this face before?
"You look familiar to me… that face…"
He couldn't place a finger on it.
But then, that familiar thrum within him, like a pleasant ache at the back of his skulless head. His Lord was near.
He pulled back just as quickly as he had leaned in.
"Not now," there was no time for the foolishness of false familiarity, of déjà vu. "For our Lord is calling to us, my little sheep. The time of sacrifice is at hand! And then, I will finally be freed from this… prison. This inky… dark… abyss I call a body."
There it was - noise. Not the bad kind that once frustrated Sammy, the kind that made his inky flesh tingle with excitement and anticipation. The sound of his impending freedom.
"Shh! Quiet! Listen! I can hear Him. Crawling above. Crawling!" He couldn't help the giddiness from seeping into his voice.
"Let us begin. The ritual must be completed! Soon, He will hear me… He will set us free."
And Sammy walked away, into the nearby booth.
It was time.
He spoke through the microphone, so that his voice would resound and echo in summon. In the skillful, once talented voice that brought music to life, now used in a horrid symphony of cruel sacrificial beckoning. "Sheep, sheep, sheep, it's time for sleep. Rest your head. It's time for bed. In the morning, you may wake. Or in the morning, you'll be dead."
The workshop was shaking, it was coming to life! His Lord was near, his Lord was so very near.
"Hear me, Bendy!" He beckoned excitedly. "Arise from the darkness! Arise and claim my offering! Free me, I beg you! I summon you, Ink Demon, show your face and take this tender sheep!"
It was working. It was- wait, no, why was He appearing here? Why was He approaching?
"No, my Lord?! Stay back!"
Was Sammy's sacrifice not enough?!
What would it take to please Him!
Sammy backed away. "Stay back! I am your Prophet!"
He tried to make a break for the door, but his Lord was quicker and slammed him into the wall beside it instead. "I am your-!"
His Lord only leered closer, and then… its perfect grin split apart and darkness surrounded him as he fell back to the Ink.
.
.
.
He doesn't really know what happened.
Who was he?
Sammy…
Ah. Sammy Lawrence.
Prophet. Prophet of what?
…
Prophet of-.
Prophet of…
NO!
HE WAS BETRAYED.
.
.
.
Sammy awoke in his safe house at Lost Harbor with vengeance on his mind and fury in his heart.
He grabbed his axe from beside the boarded up doorway. The door was shattered, and the planks soon followed.
"Betrayed!"
Slash.
"Abandoned!"
Slash.
There, his Lord - his Lord was there.
"I trusted you! I gave you everything…"
Sammy stared furiously behind the mask of his once Savior. His vision was so very blurry, but he could make out the distinct figure of Him through it all.
"And you left me to rot!"
Finally, he lunges at the apprehensive creature, swinging with reckless abandon. Uncalculated swings of his axe that don't meet their mark as his quarry backs up.
"Why? Why?!"
If he focused, he could hear a voice through the fog of insanity that clouded his mind.
But his anger was blinding, and he grew increasingly infuriated. Just die!
It was fighting back now, inky arms blocking Sammy's own attacks, and then countering with a slash of claws.
The mask broke.
And like glass shattering, for a moment Sammy froze.
"No! Don't look at me!" He begged, such a shift in behavior, "stay away!"
And he frantically put distance between them. He needed to cover his hideous face, peering between his fingers for something, anything to cover himself back up.
But he could hear it coming closer.
Foolish thing.
Sammy grabbed Him by the throat and lifted Him. His first sign that something was wrong should've been the way this thing was so short.
"Ah! You lied to me."
Sammy chokes him.
"You said I'd be free!"
He lifts him higher, and then slams him onto the ground. "Well, I'm going to free you now… free your head, right off your shoulders!"
If he could grin, Sammy would be. But no, no, he can't. He can't!
Sammy leans down, his excitement dwindling into something plainly darker. Something's wrong. "Sheep, sheep, sheep…"
The axe raises. "It's time for…"
So very wrong. "… sleep."
In the split second of his axe plunging downward and another unseen axe embedding itself into his head from behind, he realizes that he doesn't see Bendy beneath him, but Henry.
Henry.
Sammy collapses.
.
.
.
What was that?
Who was he?
Sammy…
Ah. Sammy Lawrence.
Prophet.
…
Prophet of Bendy, the Ink Demon.
His Lord. He will set us free.
Wait.
Henry.
Who was Henry?
ALL ROADS LEAD BACK TO HENRY.
.
.
.
Sammy awakes at the Lost Harbor. The first thing he does is the same everyday. He checks on his people, his flock. Quiet ones, yet sometimes they do indeed have issues that need sorting. Disagreements, believe it or not, are common!
The next thing he does is head to the studio, where he checks and rearranges all of the cardboard cutouts of Him. Bendy's face must be everywhere within sight, easily seen. It would be wise to keep Him pleased.
The studio is peaceful. Sammy finds comfort in the old walls and the creaking of floors, and he still hangs around the recording booth to play the old songs. It's a memory he clings to even now.
Memory…
Hm.
Sammy was playing his banjo, humming the tune whilst his fingers strung delicately, when a searcher appeared before him. It spoke in groans and worried grunts, about how someone was in the Music Department, hurting them. Well, Sammy can't have that now, could he? No one should be hurting his sheep!
The shepherd would not let this fly. No, of course not…
Sammy watched them. From the balcony above the recording studio, watched as they entered his Sanctuary. If they noticed him, they said nothing.
"Yes," the Ink Demon gurgled faintly. "That is the one."
So, so wrong.
Sammy slunk away as he felt a headache coming. He'd thought he had lost the ability to have one of those!
But this didn't feel… normal.
He had to lean against the wall to stabilize himself. Sammy couldn't walk another step.
Something flickered before his eyes. Such a quick flash, he could barely make it out. Someone beneath him, looking up at him with hands raised placatingly.
When he thought it was over and he could walk, there was another. Of his axe plummeting downward just before a strangled gasp - did it come from him?
Oh, gods, his head killed.
Henry.
All roads lead back to Henry, don't they?
Who was Henry…
Sammy knew what he had to do. The same thing he's done before, isn't it?
The man had drained the stairwell. The little sheep wanted to leave!
A dustpan to the head was a quick fix.
The man fell to the ground and Sammy hovered over him.
"Rest your head. It's time for bed."
The man was out cold after.
Sammy wasted no time in dragging him to the sacrificial room. He took the man's axe, for leaving that around would prove an unfortunate hazard to the clumsy searchers that may wander these halls.
He made sure the rope was bound tight. It wouldn't do them any good to have him escaping now, would it?
Not soon after the rope had been tied, the man awoke.
"There we go now, nice and tight," Sammy spoke softly, like he were talking to a spooked animal. "We wouldn't want our sheep roaming away now, would we?"
The man only stayed silent, staring at Sammy with something akin to boredom - something tired in his gaze. Like he's experienced this same song and dance before.
"No, we wouldn't," Sammy looks at the axe.
He makes a decision, as if he were going to make any but, and pivots on his heel to move toward one of the wooden support beams and set it down.
He turns back around, having set the deadly weapon out of reach. Sammy leans in close, a curled finger against the chin of his mask in thought.
The man was looking at him with something unreadable and closed off, perhaps hope? For what?
"You are familiar to me…"
A beat.
This face.
This was the Creator, was it not? The one who left, left everyone behind and let everything go wrong.
Ah. Yes.
"Henry."
And the man replied in kind, voice a little hoarse but still present, "Sammy Lawrence."
Sammy scoffed!
"You!" He laughed abrubtly, something excited and manic. "You've come back! You, oh, you are why we're like this. You traitor!"
"Wait," Henry tried placatingly. "Let me explain."
Sammy did want an explanation, didn't he?
He leaned back, arms behind his back.
"Explain then!" Sammy's voice was full of delight.
"I'm trying to free everyone," Henry said. "This place, it's not… it's an endless cycle, Sammy."
He was looking at Sammy pleadingly, begging him to understand.
Sammy leaned back in, voice cold. "You abandoned Him. You betrayed Him. He will set us free. You? You are nothing but a hindrance, a pest… and pests need to be crushed."
"You are too… cruel to be a sheep. Sheep are kind and lost, they need their shepherd to guide them. But you? You abandoned everything! You strayed from the herd and left them!"
Sammy was panting heavily after his outburst, despite having no need to breathe.
"… I did," Henry agreed so softly. "But I didn't abandon everyone. I didn't mean it like that. I was tired, and my wife was pregnant. I couldn't stay forever, and Joey was, well, Joey. I didn't know he would do all of… this. … He never was always how he seemed."
There was a self-deprecating little chuckle from the man.
"I truly am sorry, Sammy. But I want to make things right," his head was low in defeat, strands of loose hair falling over his tired eyes.
There was the familiar thrum of Him, then. The sound of crawling above.
"Shh… do you hear him?" Sammy asked, looking up at the ceiling.
"I always do."
"He will set us free."
"He never does."
"You are the sacrifice that He wants. You are the missing piece to the puzzle!" Sammy spread his arms wide, aiming them skyward. "I finally figured it out!"
"Am I?" Henry mumbled, so tired. So, so tired.
"You don't need to be tired anymore. Your suffering will be over soon."
And Sammy turned.
"He will betray you," Henry tried. "He always does."
Sammy felt his head begin to hurt again. He grunted, falling forward a little. It was a quick flash, of his Lord pinning him to a wall with a wide mouth.
"No…" Sammy ground out, utterly disbelieving. "I am… I am His Prophet."
And he disappeared into the booth.
.
.
.
HE WAS BETRAYED.