Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dear Nakahara Chuuya,

I hope this letter finds you well.

It has been almost twenty years since we last worked on animation together. How time does fly. I hope you have been doing well in the years since I last spoke with you.

A little birdie told me you were back in Yokohama. The old workshop has held much change since you were there last. There is much to be discussed, as well as something I wish to show you. Do consider visiting.

Yours Sincerely,
Ougai Mori

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Chuuya doesn't need to put too much effort into the door when he pushes it open. It goes easy with one turn of the doorknob. Where Chuuya thought the hinges might be stiff from under use, the door easily swings open. The joints squeak as expected ,though. The wooden expanse finds its place against the wall, not making a sound when the two surfaces meet.

He doesn't need to duck when he steps into the building. The doorways were always that bit taller than his body, though it's easy to guess that they were built with taller people in mind.

Chuuya used to work with some real six foot giants. Sometimes he still wonders if people actually drew them into existence. The lack of plausible realism within their proportions is always puzzling.

Chuuya closes the door behind him by simply throwing the edge of it backwards. Soft-close must've been installed after he left as the door slowly closed behind him before clicking shut.

He tries the door a few times just to check.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

The door kept catching itself about halfway to close. Of which then it would slowly swing into place within the frame. It's almost dead quiet, when it closes.

Yup, soft-close.

The hinges squeal.

Chuuya really hopes that not all the doors sounded like that. He fears he won't survive should he have to listen to that every time. Though he doesn't know what glaring at the back of it now is going to do.

Upon the solid stare, Chuuya notices the back of the door looks different to when he was outside. It looks almost flat, maybe 2-dimensional if he's being a bit dramatic about it. The shadows within the dips existed but they don't look real. It looks like someone painted them on.

And he sure as hell knows when something looks like that. He'd been animating doors for years during his younger adulthood. Chuuya knows what's 'painted on' and what's real.

Mori must've had them painted after Chuuya left. Twenty years is a long time. And Mori always had his eccentricities.

It's easy to presume he still does; though Chuuya finds painting a door to look two-dimensional a bit much.

Chuuya's eyes narrow on it. It's just sat there, looking too oddly innocent. He shouldn't be suspicious of it. It is just a door. One he must've entered a thousand times when he'd been working in this exact building. Sure, the colour has changed but that means literally nothing.

Doors are painted all the time.

Get over it.

Yet, something feels off about it. Like a gut feeling Chuuya couldn't quite name. Something vaguely familiar but entirely new at the same time.

He chews on the inside of his cheek as he continues to stare at the door. The very plain looking; very painted; very normal looking; very yellow; door.

Chuuya shakes his head as he shifts on his back foot.

He has shit to do, he can't be obsessing over a door. Maybe he's just become too wary in his years. He definitely swears he saw a study about paranoia in forty year olds at some p-

What.

The.

Fuck.

Chuuya has no idea how he didn't notice the mass amounts of yellow before but they're sure as hell clouding his vision now. Everything is decorated exactly how the door was.

Yellow. So much fucking yellow. Everywhere. There's black paint lining each corner and crack.

It all looks wooden, the floor boards, the walls. Everything.

He frowns as he shoves his hands into his pockets. The place had seriously gone through a massive makeover since he was here.

Admittedly, the colour theory is working..probably. The place looks a bit more cheerful, but a part of it remains unnerving.

Chuuya definitely prefers the colder greys that he'd previously been used to, but here he is, face to face with whatever mid-life crisis Mori Ougai had endured. He just hopes his poor workers hadn't been forced to hand-paint the place at the time, because that's what it damn well looks like.

A shiver runs through him. This place is giving him the creeps already. Whatever regrets Chuuya has about working here before were gone. Leaving absolutely feels justified now.

He doesn't know how he'd survive through a Mori midlife crisis. He was barely able to keep his temper with the unprecedented 'adjustments' Mori always needed to make on his drawings.

But he'll digress for the sake of his sanity. This memories are a therapy talking point for a reason.

Chuuya rifles around in the back pocket of his jeans for a minute before he finds the piece of paper he'd stashed in there.

He pulls it out, tugging on the corners to unravel it. It's a bit crumpled up from where he'd leant against his car while he was getting fuel before coming to the studio.

He furrows his brow as he looks it over. The paper has gone the same weird yellow colour as the walls, just a bit paler.

Is the lighting the same? He hates that.

Chuuya huffs. He can't imagine how much money was wasted on this interior decoration.

'…something i wish to show you.'

Chuuya sighs as he crumples the paper back up. It goes right back into his pocket, the one on the left because the right is habitually full of pens and whatnot. He looks back at the horrifically decorated hallway.

"Alright Mori…Let's see if I can even find what you wanted to show me." Chuuya mutters.

He rolls his shoulders back. His hands come up to adjust the straps of his harness, making sure they sit flat on his shoulders.

He straightens and tightens the ribbon wrapped around his high ponytail. If Chuuya is going to deal with this, he's going to do it comfortably.

"…outside of your shitty interior decorating."

The words cone out of his mouth as an after thought but Chuuya believes them wholeheartedly.

Mori can't have asked someone about this before getting it done. Nobody would agree to this. Chuuya's sure of it.

He starts to walk through the hall, hands finding their comfortable position within his pockets. His fingers played with the fluffy thread that sits in the bottom of his left.

He'd forgotten to put his gloves on today so he feels it a bit more. It's doing genuine wonders for his senses. Chuuya will gladly take any distraction from the overzealous amounts of a musty yellow invading his eyes.

The floorboards fall flat as he steps on them. They probably aren't even wood, just some kind of lino painted to look like wood.

Chuuya glances down. It's unattractive but he'd admit the fascination is there. As well as the annoyance that he's getting so distracted by the interior decorating of this place.

It's just a floor for fucks sake.

He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus back on where he's going.

There seems to be six posters lining the walls before the archway into the workshop lobby.

Three sets of two, each poster coming after a three-dimensional — thank god — plank on the wall, acting as a divider.

Chuuya recognises them as the cover art for a few of the animations that made it mainstream those twenty years ago.

The posters look flat against the wall. Way too flat.

Chuuya lifts a hand out of his pocket. He stretches his fingers out to touch what he expected to be paper. It had to be paper.

There is no way Mori had these painted onto the walls too. And most of them are crooked. He surely isn't that crazy. No mid-life crisis would be so bad to—

Chuuya pauses.

You had to be fucking joking.

The surface is flat, entirely so.

He drags his fingers to where the slight gap between paper and wall should be, only to find that yes, the posters are painted on. Painted on crooked nonetheless.

Chuuya seriously wonders whether he should've followed the note now. It's like he's walking into a mad man's territory.

But he walks, eyes scanning over the 'posters' on the walls. He notes the painted covers as he passes them.

One 'Magaru in Little devil darlin'.

Chuuya knows that animation. It's the first he'd worked on after being hired to the studio. He's the lucky one who didn't have to act as the reference. Though he can't remember which one of his co-workers did.

Three 'Magaru's The Dancing Demon' staggered on all the walls. The first and third are on the right while the second is on the left.

He doesn't recognise that name. It's probably one of the ones that were made following his resignation.

They've become more musical since then. Sure there's been one that Chuuya helped with but that's it.

And two 'Magaru in Little Sheep Songs with Byakko the White Tiger'.

Chuuya knows that one. It's the only musical Magaru short he'd worked on. He'd done the animation for Magaru while a bright-eyed intern did the animation for Byakko.

Chuuya can't remember his name. Had the worst haircut he's ever seen, but he can't remember even a single letter of the name.

Chuuya plants his feet when he notices the black liquid seeping from a corner gap in the roof. Which was actual wood painted two-dimensional, by the way — it's the the small things that gave Chuuya relief.

He holds his hand out to catch a droplet.

It sits in his palm as he draws it back. Chuuya tilts his head slightly as he presses the first finger of his other hand into it.

He rubs the liquid between his index and pointer fingers.

He debates sniffing it but he knows this texture; this thin but heavy texture, the kind that stains your skin for weeks after you spill it.

Black ink.

The hell?

Chuuya can't fathom a reason for why black ink is soaking the top and bottom corner of the walls in the corridor.

It's something used for drawing, not something that casually drips from the fucking ceiling. And by the looks of it, a lot is falling.

That uneasy feeling he's had since he opened that door really starts to churn in his stomach.

He doesn't even know what Mori wants him to find but he knows a promise is a promise..as creeped out as he may be. He just wants to get this over with. Find the thing he 'needs to see' and then get out.

Chuuya takes a step away from the dripping ink and walks to the end of the corridor

He flips off the 'Welcome' sign nailed to the top of the archway as he passes. A part of him hopes Mori saw that. The old man has some serious explaining to do.

At this point, Chuuya fears his legs are going to get used to walking short distances and stopping. Though the scene before him is as negatively stunning as the corridor is.

The main lobby looks nothing how he remembers it. None of this building does, so he guesses that's not hard to achieve. But the fact remains.

The yellow isn't going to go away. It never will, not when the entire room is the same shade and black additions. This entire place seems like it's going to be the same.

Chuuya enjoys the illusion as much as the next guy but he already feels like he's losing his mind.

The room is mostly wide open space with a wooden fence rail in the middle. There's halls on either side of the room that he could go through and a door to his left. He sucks on his teeth as he glances at them, hoping for some semblance of normalcy.

Nope. Nothing.

Why does he even try?

To the right is a turning set of reels embedded into the wall. There are black belts wrapped around them, moving behind the long panel with 'Ougai Mori Studios' printed on the front.

Chuuya sucks his canine, arms crossing over one another. He doesn't know if this is built entirely for aesthetic or pure ego. Though he has seen company names in the lobbies of other animation studios he's tried to get employment in. Maybe it's normal. Chuuya doesn't know. He just draws.

He wanders past the weird mechanism while his fingers play with the sleeve of his shirt. It's supposed to be a wine-red but it looks almost black.

Come to think of it, his skin looks yellow too. More washed out than the walls but still a similar colour. Chuuya's eye twitches at the sight.

He really needs to stop accepting weird offers from anyone with 'ex' in front of their title.

Chuuya fears his life would be better off with that philosophy.

Because standing in this two-dimensional illusion was thoroughly shortening his lifespan. He'll never get used to this.

He figures it's best to keep moving, try to keep his focus away from the lackluster interior decorating.

The lighting is kind of annoying but he'll have to live with it for now. Apparently white light is way too expensive for a multi-billion yen company…or something.

Chuuya looks over the desk in the corner of the room.

He doesn't know what he's searching for so figures he should check all of his bases.

There isn't really much on it, just a pot of ink and a paper with a small drawing. A drawing he recognises

Magaru is smiling up at him like the little devil it is.

Pie-cut eyes curve over its cheeks while it's little devil horns curl up in a circular shape. It fits the colour scheme of the place, yellowed paper acting as it's skin tone, the rest of it's body being covered by black. Save for it's cartoony gloves.

The drawing makes him almost nostalgic. Chuuya still remembers when he used to sit there drawing that little creature over and over again.

By the end of his employment with Mori he'd even started talking to his drawings, telling it exactly how he was going to draw it. He must've been going insane.

He shakes his head and turns the paper over, swallowing the nausea in his throat. The drawing gets creepier the more he stares at it.

It's half of the reason he hasn't watched the Magaru cartoons in years, whether he's worked on them or not. He hates the thing's face. Whether he's contributed to it or not.

Unfortunately for Chuuya, one turn of his head to the left makes him freezes. He shouldn't be this jumpy. He knows this building, as oddly decorated as it is.

But the cardboard cut out freaks him out nonetheless.

It smiles just like that drawing had. The pie-cut eyes staring deeply into his soul. It's just cardboard. Really oddly placed cardboard. And it's big.

Chuuya's tongue darts out to wet his lips. He hadn't realised his mouth had grown so dry as he forces himself to swallow.

He slowly raises his posture. The cut-out isn't exactly his size but it's pretty close.

Just watching…

Chuuya remains in a face off with cardboard for what feels like forever until the more logical side of his brain takes over.

He strides over to the cutout, closing his left eye as he passes through a projector beam.

He grabs the cutout with an almost iron grip, enough that the material crumples at the edges, under his fingers. Chuuya glares at the overly happy face.

It shouldn't be that happy. It's franchise died out a decade ago. Though he supposes it's unaware of that, but still.

He forces out a breath.

It almost feels like a small victory when he turns the cardboard cutout around to face the wall instead.

It goes easily and it isn't one of those double-sided cutouts so Chuuya's in luck. He doesn't have to look at that thing anymore. The knowledge eases the nausea in his throat but it doesn't go away entirely.

Chuuya leans to try the door beside the cutout. It's a simpler design than the one he'd entered but it doesn't really phase him anymore. The only thing that does was the fact it's extremely boring looking compared.

He wiggles the doorknob a few times but it doesn't work.

The place has been left on it's own for a while, even if mori is still paying for it. Things being locked makes sense.

It's about the only thing that does.

Chuuya's attention goes to the projector sat on a small table about two paces from the door. It's pointed towards the wall with nothing playing on it, presumably needing the reel inputted again.

Chuuya feels around it before finding a button on the side.

The projector turns off with a resounding click that echoes throughout the entire room. The nerves kick back in full force at the sound.

Chuuya's let out a breath, mentally scolding himself.

You're 42.

Chill the fuck out.

He's careful as he pulls the reels out and rewinds them to what he presumes to be the start. With these older things, it's hard to tell, and Chuuya isn't exactly sure of what he's doing with it.

He never really tested the animations, he just drew them out.

Literally.

That is all he used to do.

The projector has a surprising lack of dust to aggravate as he gently places the reels back in and reattaches the belt around their curvature. He finds the button again and taps it once. The click sounds. The projector turns on and…

Nothing.

No animation.

No little 'devil darlin''.

Just an empty flickering rectangle of light.

Chuuya clicks his tongue. His hands find their place to rest on his hips as he shifts his weight onto his left leg more than his right.

His eyes remain on the wall, hoping that maybe his attempt to work this age-old contraption isn't for nothing.

In about twenty seconds, he's disappointed. But he doesn't know why he thought it would be any different. Not much goes his way and this seems to be no exception. He shoves his hands back into his pockets.

Chuuya takes a three hundred and sixty degree view of the place. He's already checked out the things at the end of the room so that's not something he needs to look at anymore.

He doubts a cardboard cutout and a small drawing was even on the possibilities of what Mori wants to 'show him'.

There are two main corridors he could go through. One is a step away from him, the other is on the other side of the room.

There's a large poster with directions on the wall near the furthest door. He could follow that but the door closest to him is really calling his name.

Chuuya shrugs and goes for the door closest.

Before he enters the large archway, he wanders a bit further to the door he saw when he first got in. He tries to open it and it holds the same rate of success as the last one.

Fun.

He sighs as he shoves his hands back in his pockets and starts through the archway. It's just another hall. There's two layers of shelving on the right wall but both are empty.

There's cobwebs weaved from the corner of the shelves to the wall itself. Chuuya pities any spiders that live here full time.

At the end of the corridor, the path splits into a T shape. The wall at the back again has another one of those posters.

'The Dancing Demon' starring Magaru wearing a tutu while missing a head.

Beside it are approximately several dozen papers taped to the wall with yellowing masking tape. The only reason Chuuya figures they're actual paper is because some of the edges are curling.

A desk stands in front of them with another little drawing of Magaru sitting under the light.

This one is only its head with a smaller paper piece alongside, 'NO' written on it in bold capitals. It leaves a bad taste in Chuuya's mouth, that obnoxiously wide smile.

The desk is something he knows though, something oddly comforting. It's his.

That little drawing of a dog tucked into the small pile of papers nearer the top being something recognisable.

Definitely his.

Chuuya has never been able to keep his outside-work thoughts outside.

Though he can't remember when he'd propped a cardboard cutout beside it.

Then again, someone else probably worked here after him so it's probably theirs. Weird. He doesn't think he'd manage to work with Magaru standing there…judging.

Chuuya glances around like someone's going to see before he flips the paper over. He does the same for the cardboard cutout, dusting his hands off on one another after. The mere action alone almost makes him feel comfortably accomplished.

Almost.

"Wasted so much time in that fuckin' chair…"

Chuuya presses the back of his wrists to his hips. He watches the unmoving piece of paper for a solid minute while sucking on his canine before he turns.

This way is a dead end, and again, Chuuya doubts that his old desk is the over hyped 'thing' he needed to see.

"Onwards and upwards…" He breathes.

The door opposite takes him into an open space, one he's sure wasn't there when he'd been working with Mori.

It's huge, the ceiling being much higher up than Chuuya's used to.

He walks in further, finding himself standing on a sort of balcony looking over the rest of the room.

He leans against the railing, the edge pressing against his stomach. Chuuya counts as he eyes the multitude of desks that are pressed against one another and the wall.

Overall, he finds a number of five desks. Two pressed against the wall, the other four standing back to back between them.

Another cardboard cutout is propped against the wall beside the desk nearest to where he's standing. Chuuya's really starting to get sick of seeing them. He's going to be seeing that smile in his dreams at this rate.

The desks hadn't been there when Chuuya was working at the studio. He's very sure of that.

They must've come in after he left. And even then it must've been a good while after. He'd never heard Mori mention anything about making more space.

"Huh…" Chuuya muses aloud.

He pushes his body off the railing and starts to wander across the platform. He goes down the steps at the end, skipping one or two where he can. The space looks a lot bigger when he's at it's level.

"Guess it took that much to replace me…"

He almost feels smug about it. Chuuya really does think that breaking down a wall or two for the sake of replacing one person may have been a little overzealous.

Then again, the interior decoration told that Mori was anything but reasonable so he probably saw this as suiting. Chuuya hadn't been that good..had he? Nah. No way.

Chuuya notices a door frame out of the corner of his eye. It can't be another room to stuff animators in. It might not even be to replace him, just for the sake of more workers. He puffs out a breath through pursed lips as he weaves his way around the corner.

Oh.

For one the door's blocked off, so Chuuya can't go in there anyway. But it's not like he really want to with the disgustingly kept lavatory staring him right in the face through wooden boards.

The toilet looks like it hasn't been cleaned in a while with black splotches all over the surface. Ink probably.

Fucks knows how it got there.

There's another cutout in there with a bin. Chuuya let his face contort into a grimace.

The idea of doing anything, let alone your business, while one of those thingsis looking at you… He would probably quit on the spot. Or combust. Both seem like viable options when facing that scene.

He turns to find the way out, feeling positively sick. He's unfortunately met with what looks like a proper poster watching him.

Magaru's smile is drawn at the bottom of the paper it seems to be holding. It covers it's face but with the horns it's an easy guess.

The page has 'Work Hard Work Happy' written on it. Each word is sat vertically so it was easy to tell which second word belonged to which 'work'. Chuuya would give it that.

It's decent marketing, or encouragement. Whatever it's meant to be. To him, it's just creepy.

He waves it off idly with one hand before shoving both in his pockets.

He has other things to see. Again, he doubts desks were the thing he's looking for. Mori made it seem much more interesting than that.

Chuuya walks back up the stairs and out the corridor

He's back in the lobby again. The projector still running with that odd buzz and the cardboard cutout is still smiling.

Chuuya pauses.

The cardboard cutout is still smiling. He swears up and down he turned that thing around but here it is. Smiling.

Chuuya doesn't want to think much on it and he picks up the pace. His sight is set on that opposite corridor and he'll be damned if one of those freaky cardboard cutouts is going to change that. As much as it drags a shiver up through his spine that he'll refuse to acknowledge.

The corridor on the opposite side is similar than it's counterpart. The junction is not really that visible but he can just about see the door behind the cabinet.

Most everything in this place had the two dimensional illusion so of course the cabinet is going to have it too.

The bottom drawer is wide open though with a can sticking out of it, the top the same shade of yellow as the walls.

Chuuya debates for a moment before he squats. He sits on the heels of his boots as he leans forward to grab the can. It doesn't really look like anything special.

Until he turns it around that is.

On the black wrapping, or well, the strip of black painted on the can to look like wrapping, was Magaru's grin. There are words to the left of it. 'Briar Label BACON SOUP'.

Chuuya remembers when these came out. He hadn't been able to get to his own soup options in the store because there'd been so many kids crowding just to get a hold of this stuff.

He turns the can over in his hand for a moment. It doesn't look like its damaged or split. It could be good to eat. And Chuuya sort of skipped breakfast to make it here on the time so he doesn't see any harm in cracking it open.

He sits against the massive unit.

Chuuya brings his knees up to get comfortable before hooking his finger into the tab at the top of the can.

He pulls it, careful not to cause any of the stuff to come out and ruin his clothes more than the ink on his fingers already had.

He's successful in opening it gently. Though he doesn't look at the contents before tipping it up to drink the can of soup like it's water. He manages about half of it that way before he has to take a second to breathe.

It doesn't taste too bad. He can understand why some of the kids back then were raving about it. Though the bacon is a bit stale. But it's probably been sat here for a day or two.

Chuuya wonders when it goes off.

In a few days, next week maybe.

He turns it around in his hand, still chewing on what he has in his mouth.

He's looking for the date and in theory is should be rather big. Most dates usually are quite visible. It takes him a few seconds before he finds i-

Oh.

Suddenly the nausea in Chuuya's body from other things reared it's head. He places the can down as he battles with the date he's just read.

19/09/1987

He gags.

Chuuya very quickly throws his head to the left. There is a massive box there but luckily he's able to just about direct his head behind it before everything he's just eaten exits his body.

It's disgusting, the taste of gone off bacon soup and bile mixing on his tongue. It's enough to make him cough up whatever hasn't digested through his system from the day before too.

Chuuya coughs as he pulls his head away, wiping his bottom lip with the back of his hand.

Black smeared across his skin, a perfect match to the ink he's seen throughout the studio so far. Though he's pretty sure his vomit shouldn't be black.

He makes a mental note of that, glancing to the puddle harboring assorted chunks slowly spreading behind the box.

Black. Like ink black.

God that's fucking weird.

He's definitely going to a doctor when this is over.

Chuuya wipes the tears that had squeezed their way out of his waterline before he tugs his ponytail to tighten. He takes the time to retie the ribbon bow around the hair tie.

Chuuya takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, and then pushes himself to stand.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, pressing out another breath as he shakes his head.Chuuya's focus shifts to the door behind the unit where the, frankly, grim bacon soup had been.

That's what he wants to see first because one glance down the hall told that it was much longer than the other one.

Chuuya brings a hand up to try the door. He gives the doorknob a wiggle, just like the others and finds absolutely no chance of the thing opening.

Great.

He glances at the hole in the wall before turning back towards the start of the hall.

Instead of dwelling on the door, Chuuya looks up at the plastic-looking sign that's on the wall.

<| Art Department

That must be where he just was. Which makes sense because there's a bunch of desks and Magaru drawings over there.

Chuuya's regretting the bacon soup while the lingering nausea is clouding his brain this much. His eyes follow the sign down slowly.

Ink Machine |>

Theater |>

Break Room |>

Now that sounds a bit more interesting. Especially this 'Ink machine' thing. Chuuya's never actually heard of that.

He's sure it wasn't around when he was working with Mori. Twenty years is a long time so a lot can change. This 'machine' must be some kind of new addition.

He's going to check that one out first, definitely.

Chuuya shoves his hands into his pockets as he takes his first few steps down the hall.

And that's about as far as he goes. Two steps until he's met with the oddest sight yet.

The wall looks just about the same as the others. Sepia-tones grating on his already frayed nerves while his eyes try to figure out what is and isn'tpainted on. Ink sits at the bottom between the surface and side, dripping still.

That isn't even what makes it odd.

Chuuya doesn't know how long he's been searching through this tragically decorated workshop but he knows he's never seen anything close to this. He can't take his eyes off it. Even if he wants to, it just steals his attention.

Plastered across the wall, in the same ink that was dripping in front of it, were words. Kanji written in thick strokes.

It seems to have dried dripping, like someone has slapped the ink on and ran without caring to be sure it stays in place.

He frowns as he reads it, trying to decipher where some of the letters had bled into the others. It's difficult.

Words are already annoying to figure out and the fact the ink is dragged at the bottom just makes it a thousand times worse.

It takes him a good few seconds of staring to figure out what the wall read.

'Dreams Come True'

Chuuya almost has to suppress a snort as he bites on his own tongue.

That's an odd thing to have put on a wall. Doesn't even look like something someone had thought about with how messy it is.

And the idea is also utter bullshit.

If dreams really did come true, then Chuuya would be working as an executive director of animation in one of the more popular companies in Japan.

He surely wouldn't be standing here in a monochromatic workshop he should've left in his past while he wallows in unemployment.

Chuuya gives it a once over. The smile he's been trying so hard to keep down tugging at the corners of his lips.

A part of him knows he shouldn't find something so creepy, this funny, but the notion is just a bit comedic.

He forces his feet to move. Pressing one step into the floor a few inches before him as he slowly approaches the text on the wall. The floor creaks under his weight, but that is starting to become normal for this place.

One hand falls from his pocket. He raises it and brushes his fingers over the ink, expecting it to be maybe a bit wet. If not wet then at least damp.

Teens enjoyed defacing uninhabited buildings, no matter if their owners still paid for them or not.

He's surprised to fine that the ink is bone dry. Even when he presses his fingers that tad bit harder into the black surface and brings them back, inspecting them shows absolutely zero results. Nothing remains on his fingers, or is lost from the wall.

This must've been written a long time ago then…

Fucking weird.

Chuuya wrinkles his nose bridge at the smell. Ink, new or stale, is grim either way. So many people used to tell him that dried ink doesn't have a smell but it does. He's absolutely sure of it.

And if this doesn't prove anything, then he doesn't know what will. Maybe people being here might help though.

Ah well.

His eyes slide to the door on his left. It looks similar to the one he came through. Though, by the way the place it led to carved out a space in the hall, Chuuya's sure it isn't an exit. But he wants to know what's behind it at the very least.

He grabs the doorknob and gives it a wiggle, trying to get it to turn.

Locked.

Of course it is.

Chuuya lets out a heavy sigh — he is going to run out of oxygen in his lungs at this point — before he stuffs his hands back into his pockets.

Going down the corridor it is then. Just what he wants. To step deeper into this place.

He kind of wants to leave but he's, unfortunately, promised Mori. And Chuuya is, just as unfortunately, a man of his word. However much he wishes to go against that right now because the creep factor is just slowly ramping up.

"The fuck you lookin' at?"

Chuuya glares at the Magaru clock positioned on the wall as he passes.

The thing was quietly ticking in time with the sway of it's loosely attached legs. He doesn't know what time it is, due to the fact the glass is cracked and the hands are missing.

Clocks like that are always shit anyway. Missing hands and broken glass isn't really anything new.

So he ignores it.

A non-committal shrug jostles his shoulders as he presses onward with a less than jovial expression still sticking to his features.

The hall is just like the others, save for the exception of a massive pipe. It's transparent, Chuuya presumes. The material looks black where, what he can only guess is, ink flows through.

It's weird because they never ran out of an ink supply back when Chuuya was working with Mori.

He doesn't know why they could possibly need pipes filled to the brim. Though he has a feeling this 'ink machine' that he's looking for has something to do with it.

Chuuya ducks under an archway that misses his head entirely as he keeps moving.

There comes two sets of doors, one on either side. Another door is further through the hall, standing opposite a closed shutter door.

They all have differing designs. Two plainer, one painted in a more detailed way.

Chuuya tries all of them.

The single door on the left has a light emitting from under it so he presumes someone's there.

Maybe he can ask them about the studio, or maybe why they're even here in the first place. He's sure Mori didn't give anyone else keys.

Locked.

He tries the one opposite and the one further along but both come with the same uphill battle. He doesn't have the patience to force them open, either, so doing this is mostly a pointless endeavor,

Chuuya presses onward. The faster he finds this machine, the better.

He's definitely sure it was what Mori wanted to show him. He can't think of it being anything else. A few extra desks sure as hell didn't cut it considering the lengths the man went to for this.

He stops just where the hall takes a right turn. There's a large poster looking thing on the wall. Chuuya doesn't even care to check if it's paper or painted. A part of him has sort of stopped caring in that regard.

There's more writing on the surface but this one seems more deliberate. And old, much older. Probably the writing of the workers back when this place was still running.

Chuuya knows he shouldn't dawdle, but he's curious.

The words 'Ink Output level' on the top of the chart keeps him intrigued. There's seven columns under those words, each with a letter over the top of them. Its easy to figure out that it's meant to be the days of the week.

M with '19 Gal', '13 Gal' and '18 Gal' written underneath. Presumably fourty gallons of ink produced or used that day. Whole gallons.

Chuuya can't imagine what Mori was using that kind of an amount for. He's sure there weren't enough animators for fourty gallons of ink to be needed every week.

The same continues for the column marked T. Tuesday: just over fifty gallons.

Wednesday looks to be when they used backup ink. Chuuya presumes it was what was left from the ninety gallons of ink they seemed to produce two days before.

Thursday. Hold. So the machine was probably turned off on Thursdays. Makes sense. Something with this big of a production scale would needs some time to cool off.

Friday. 14 gallons. There is another entry under it but Chuuya can't quite make out the number.

Sunday doesn't exist on the chart, though that is a given. Even people who work in this kind of production line need at least one day off a week. That's some kind of rights violation otherwise, no matter if you are or aren't available.

But Saturday?

Saturday seemed to be the prime time for their production. Chuuya reads '7Gal', then '103 Gal'.

He expects a few more people were in. Interns or something. People that would work with this 'machine' while the adults worked on the projects.

The last number entered, signed off on by 'TC' at Gent', is what almost knocks the wind out of his chest.

Triple digits nearing the five hundred mark. 423. It didn't have a 'Gal' mark beside it but enough basic additions lets Chuuya know that the number is way off from the result.

Which can only mean one thing.

This 'Ink Machine' produced 423 whole gallons of ink in one go.

Who even needs that much ink? Not him, that's for sure.

He used to live on one, maybe two bottles a day. Chuuya doesn't know if he's ever even fathomed such an amount because of how immense of a number that is.

He lets out a quiet breath as he drags his hands down his face. The ink on his fingers from before has mostly dried so the worst damage it does is drag a slight smudge over his cheek. Though Chuuya's sure he's had worse at some point.

He glances down the hallway, the one that bends to his right. Presumably the same one that leads to this machine.

And he starts to walk. That being because there's truly nowhere else to go. Chuuya has been everywhere else and this is the last place he has yet to look.

Though the sign right beside the chart is not at all filling him with confidence or comfort for his safety. The big 'KEEP OUT' is anything if not entirely unnerving. Chuuya holds steadfast as a shiver threatens his spine.

He isn't scared, he knows the place isn't at all malicious, merely uncomfortable.

And maybe a health code violation with the massive pipe sticking out across the floor. He isn't sure a 'Watch your step' sign is enough as he carefully steps over it.

Anyone can probably trip on it though. Chuuya's sure he might've if he wasn't paying attention. It is just that in the way.

Whoever decided to put it there most probably didn't contact any kind of HR department first. The ink leaking from a crack in the bottom is far from sanitary, he's sure. Then again, the same could be said for all the loose ink drips throughout the building.

Chuuya grimaces at the mere sound of it.

Drip..drip..drip.

He shakes his head, trying his best to push it out of his mind.

Chuuya's attention is soon diverted. Not by the sounds within the building but the space that lies at the end of the hall. He walks through the archway, a normal one, into a room he's never once seen in his entire life.

It's massive. Like a warehouse, probably painted in wooden textures inside. Chuuya can't quite see if they are or aren't.

The top of the room draws up into a triangular shape while planks stuck out here and there.

From those planks, chains sat in runners hang. They idly sway in a way that looks like they're balancing some kind of weight.

There's a pipe in the ceiling about a foot from one of the chains. This one is in-tact, it seems. Sat there silently, disappearing into a wooden bound seamlessly.

Chuuya's looking over all of this on a platform similar to the one in the room that held those extra desks. Except, this time, there's no way to get down to the platform below him. The rail stops him from climbing down too. He's not foolish enough to climb it, obviously. It's there for a reason.

Though he must admit, this whole thing is very anti-climatic. Chuuya expected to see this machine and yet he finds nothing here.

He's positive this isn't just it. There is no way Mori wasted his time for something that isn't even in the workshop anymore.

He glances around the terrace. There's a shelf behind a big box on the left and a lever on the right. The lever had a small lightning bolt on the unit above it. Chuuya guesses that's the power to make the chains move.

Beside it, another unit. Except this one seems to be missing something. Chuuya's brow furrows as he tries to figure out what it is.

It probably isn't relevant. Chuuya just wants to get these chains to bring up the weight from the shadowed void below.

His hand wraps around the lever and pulls.

Chuuya waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And when nothing happens, he lets out a long groan.

This place is and has always been, a downright nightmare.

The power isn't working and by this point he's sure Mori is just messingwith him. The old man was practically senile when they spoke anyway and—

Chuuya's train of thought takes a pause when he properly looks over the symbol on the unit, beside the lever. That usually means… Oh.

God he's an absolute idiot.

Power.

This thing needs power. And the reason it looks like something is missing because there is.

The power cells.

Chuuya hasn't seen this mechanism before in this building but he knows of things that needed external power sources. He just needs to findthose.

He turns around on his heels so fast that he almost gives himself whiplash.

Chuuya holds his head, narrowing his eyes on the shelf on the opposite side of the terrace. There's a square item that looks marginally like what he's looking for, if he could remember anything about this kind of thing.

He slowly wanders to that end. His left hand grips at the shelf as he leans over the box by his feet while his right reaches out to grip the rectangle.

He turns it over just to check and is pleasantly surprised to find he's right. If the matching lightning bolt is any indication.

Of course he is.

He knows his shit.

Chuuya takes a step back, eyes raking over the shelf to see if he can find the other one. He's sure this thing couldn't run on one. There would only be one slot if it could, that's basic logic. So there has to be another one.

He looks over the shelf again but finds absolutely nothing. His eyes fall to the box.

There's no way one could be in there, right? Not with how it has a lock on it's front. It might be locked for all Chuuya knows.

It doesn't hurt to look though.

He goes back to insert the first power cell, finding that it goes in smoother than he'd imagined for a twenty year old contraption.

For some reason, Chuuya gives it a pat before he pushes his hands against his knees.

They crackle as he stands.

Chuuya chooses to ignore the smiling cardboard cutout propped against the wall as he kneels down in front of the box. He falls back onto his ass when his knees ache in protest.

He seriously needs to start working out more. Note to self.

He finds that the box is unlocked. Chuuya presses the edge of the lid against the body and slowly pushes upwards with one hand.

It rises until he's able to give it enough of a push that it falls back onto the shelving. The hinges of the lid squeal in the process.

There's not much in there, a large cog in the corner and. a power cell laying on it's side in the middle.

Both are surrounded by various papers and wood pieces. Something Chuuya has to carefully maneuver his hand around as he snags the power cell.

He stands again. His knees crackle again.

Is he always going to get this odd sense of deja vu?

The electrical bolt on both pieces of the lever unit glows the moment Chuuya places the second Power cell into it's socket. He can't help the approving hum that leaves his throat as he watches that light flicker.

"Let's see what you're hiding down there, Old man." Chuuya says to nobody in particular.

He grabs the lever and pushes down. The resounding clicking of the mechanism echoes through the cavernous space. Just as the lightning bolts, the light at the top of the lever flickers on.

That's when Chuuya hears it. The reverberating hum of cogs turning below the terrace. The chains rattling as they start to move, being awoken from whatever dormant state they've remained in.

Chuuya's nose wrinkles from where the movement aggravates some kind of dusty coating the things had.

He'd be surprised it they don't, considering how long this place has been left to merely exist. Dust is normal.

The chains heave.

They slow considerably as they lift whatever's attached higher and higher up in the air. All the way, until Chuuya sees the sepia-toned surface of something much bigger than he'd first assumed.

This 'Ink Machine' is huge.

Chuuya can understand why it's something that Mori wanted to show him. The numbers on that chart and the sheer sight of this thing is something to behold.

Spending so much time looking and accidentally eating expired soup doesn't feel so pointless now.

The machine's overall shape is something of a squarer silhouette that looks about eight times his size. Visually, it holds the same kind of painted-on look that the rest of the building does. Mori really left no stone unturned with that.

Chuuya steps forward to the railing, letting his body lean forward as his stomach presses to the edge.

He crosses his hands, placing them on top. He watches the machine idly sway before it settles to hang in a more stable way. One that doesn't drag a dropping feeling through his stomach.

Chuuya chews his own tongue as his eyes spend the time to examine the thing. It's big, but looks far from big enough to handle four hundred and twenty three gallons of ink, let alone produce it.

The pipe running from the back of the machine to the curved spout on the front is big, but surely it's not that sturdy.

Most of it looks like glass with metal connections between the pieces. Just as the other pipe he had to step over is.

It's easy for Chuuya to wonder how many leaks they had. He guesses the number is at least in the double digits with how much ink he'd seen dripping or otherwise splattered all over the place.

There's a larger pipe that connects to the back of the machine that Chuuya can just about see from the angle.

It runs from the base of the machine all the way down into the shadows that it had risen from under the building.

Chuuya's head tilts to the left as his gaze falls to the bottom of the machine, where the spout just misses what looks like a drain. The drain is small and opens up into the long fall below the machine.

How would they even catch the ink they produce?

Are those numbers only a fraction of what it actually spouts?

Chuuya has so many questions. Most he has a feeling are going to go unanswered.

Even when he was working with Mori, the guy kept his secrets closer to his chest. He really hopes this machine isn't one of those.

A part of him wants to turn the machine on. He figures that's probably what Mori intends.

Merely looking at this thing doesn't feel like enough and Chuuya's curious about this thing's production factor. If it is as good as the notes say.

His hands go back into his pockets as he takes a step back. Chuuya pivots on his heel and goes back the way he came.

He must've missed something on the way to the machine, surely.

Chuuya doesn't think he saw any kind of power control on his way here, and he's sure he checked the entire place. The one to bring up the machine seemed to be the only one.

Chuuya pauses when he turns the corner. The hall suddenly feels a bit more open where he stands.

When he turns to look, Chuuya finds the shutter that had been down before is now open.

The machine probably isn't the only thing that that lever affected.

He supposes that if any kind of power source is anywhere, it'll be that way.

But the door to his left is slightly open. Chuuya figures the power source might be closer to the machine so that door is the more reasonable option.

But he's sure it was locked before. He's tried every door in this hall and that one wasn't hanging open like that.

He exhales, steeling himself for whatever he's about to find. He hopes it isn't some kind of ghost.

Chuuya hates those.

He's relieved to find that it isn't some kind of ghost, just another large open room.

Chuuya's standing on another platform that leads into stairs.

He's starting to think Mori liked feeling above his employees, be that figuratively or literally.

Though he remembers this room.

He remembers the painted dartboard hooked to the wall and the three tables dotted around the place.

The coat hanger on the small platform in the corner is in the exact same spot, though the Magaru cutout opposite hadn't been there when he'd last seen it.

The dartboard is what draws his attention the most. He remembers it to be red and black but even it probably couldn't escape the decorative purge.

The list of scores is still there though, pinned to the wall. More layers of paper seem to have been added to it since, the pin looking almost like it'll pop off any time.

Chuuya can't help the smile that graces his features as his feet take him close enough to read the papers. He doesn't recognise the names but the scores didn't seem to go over the addition of one bullseye to other closer hits.

He's delicate with the age-old paper as he lifts up the layers. Most of the names are unrecognisable.

He catches the name of one of the guys that used to work in the animation department, and under it, the intern he'd seen before leaving .

Variably decent scores from both.

Chuuya keeps looking, too engrossed in the nostalgia. He hadn't been around for most of these but he can't help imagining how the darts would be placed on the board. That was until he reaches the first ever page, the bottom most one.

His name is at the top.

'Nakahara Chuuya — 176 pts'

Chuuya remembers that day. The animation team, consisting of himself and two others, had been working themselves ragged to get the first Magaru animation out on time.

They'd ran into multiple hurdles and had been on their lunch break when the eldest brought out the board.

His eyes flitted to the name below.

'Dazai Osamu — 175pts'

Chuuya rolls his eyes and let out a heavy breath. He's getting off track here. There are more important things to be doing rather than reminiscing about a job he left behind those twenty years ago, even if he had enjoyed those kinds of moments.

He takes the three darts dotted around the board.

Chuuya has to pull the last one a little harder as it seems to have somehow embedded itself into the stiffer bounds between the black and yellow spaces. The mere force of his pull makes him stagger back slightly.

Chuuya straightens his back as he rolls the darts around in his palm. The weight feels familiar and in a way, his body seems to recognise it faster than his mind can follow.

Feathers are stuck out the back of the darts, as usual, yet they somehow following the sepia-tone of the building.

He doesn't feel like he should, but Chuuya ends up playing a game.

It's nostalgic, the joy that hitting a treble twenty gives him. He hits three of them right off the bat. And then another three in his second pass.

The idea of getting another three of them in his third pass is entirely imaginary…but he does.

He can't believe it when he stares at the needles embedded in the board's. All three, even if by only centimeters, are in the bounds of a treble twenty.

The triumph fills his body as he finds the pen hanging from the pin in the papers. Chuuya uncaps the ink pen's tip and leans against the wall as he presses it to the paper's surface.

His handwriting is as it always has been, blockier and a bit larger than most everyone else, but it's distinct. He has to give the pen a good shake before he's able to write with it, drawing black lines with barely contained joy.

'Nakahara Chuuya - 180pts'

He caps the pen and drops it. It taps against the wall twice as it bounces.

Chuuya looks over his name in the paper, triumph slowly bleeding from his bones as his mind returns from the moment.

Ink Machine.

He's trying to turn it on.

And unless playing darts had turned into some kind of a power source, this entire thing is a bit of a waste of his time. Chuuya already feels like he's been in this workshop for years. Best to get it over with now rather than stay much longer.

So he leaves the room with the dartboard and walks straight across the hall.

Chuuya goes through that shutter door, eyeing it meticulously. He really doesn't want it to snap and fall on him. That would make for a lawsuit and a half, but he has to be alive for one of those to happen.

If he gets some kind of actual sickness from that Bacon Soup though, nothing will stop his legal wrath.

He comes to another junction in the hall. A door in the wall in front of him, and halls in either direction.

There's no sign to tell him which way would spell a power source for the machine and the desk in the corner on the opposite side wasn't any tell either.

Loads of people definitely got lost in here.

Chuuya moves into the middle of the hall. He looks left, and then right and then takes his first step. Left.

There's a magaru cutout sitting against the wall and the first thing Chuuya does is turn it around. He puts it face down on the floor and nudges it as far into the crook of the wall and the floor as possible. There's empty reels propped against the wall beside it's head.

A complete waste.

Chuuya jumps over the divider rail into the other side of the hall. He could've gone around but that meant adding more time to his being here and he's really starting to lose his patience.

Chuuya's going to turn this machine on and then leave. That's the plan.

But he still has to find the power source for it.

He can leave now.

He can.

Yet, his curiosity regarding seeing this machine working wins out every time he thinks about it.

So he keeps moving, his fingers tapping his thumb one by one on his right hand. He starts with the pointer and ends on his pinkie. The order repeats, though backwards.

There's a pipe on the top of the wall, just before the hall splits into two again. There's so many that chuuya's sure the plumbing bill must've been massive when this building used to be up and running.

The pipe stops just before the end of the wall, one connection between the inked glass and brackets on either side. It was about as interesting as the rest of them, perfectly place to be an eyeso-

Clack!

"Jesus-!"

Chuuya nearly jumps out of his skin.

A wooden board lat a few steps away from him, presumably from where it had fallen from the ceiling.

He can imagine the lack of stability an old run down building like this holds but that unexpected drop leaves his fingers twitching.

His spine remains straight, feet buzzing in a way that should he need to run, he can easily.

He's slow as he approaches the discarded board, stepping into the junction of the hall. Chuuya pushes it with the tip of his boot.

He doesn't know why he thinks it'll jump up at him. It is only wood, after all. But the larger part of him, the one that was shaking something underneath his skin, needed to just be sure.

The results are as expected.

It's just wood. Unmoving. Unliving. Not at any risk or threat to himself. Literally just a piece of lumber.

Christ, Chuuya, get it together.

He groans as he presses his fingers into the corners of his eyes. He rubs harshly at his tear ducts before he sniffs, wiping the dust from his nose.

The floor wasn't that bad but the loose board had kicked up a few puffs of dust as it fell. And now, as Chuuya kicks it so it's not sat in the middle of the hall anymore but side by side to the wall opposite.

He looks to his left.

Chuuya freezes.

It's a little hard to see, being that the lighting is so dull in the room but he can see something. It looks like a body, strapped to some kind of operating table.

It's upright and Chuuya can't tell if it's chest is open or if it just has odd clothing on.

As much as his instincts scream this is a bad idea, and his body surely wishes to run, Chuuya doesn't. He shoves his hands into his pockets as he, instead, approaches.

The temperature drops as he steps into the room, the lighting off enough to give him the need to blink his eyes into focus as he steps closer.

His body goes stiff, footsteps stuttering before coming to a halt. Chuuya swallows another dry throat. Even the twitching in his hand suspends as dread drips it's way through his veins.

There's a large apparatus as the center piece of the room. A grate is built into the top of it, and two half pillars are positioned in the front. Candles sit atop them, lighting most of the space.

And in the middle…

There is a body and for once Chuuya despises that his eyes aren't worse off. It's chest has been torn and the ribs are sticking out, contorted in a way no ribcage should ever be.

The inside isn't blood, but a black dip that looks like dried or coagulated ink. Ink that acts like blood but isn't.

The body doesn't look human either. Or rather, it does but there's just something about it, something that Chuuya can't quite put his finger on, that's stops him from thinking of this thing as a human person.

Maybe it's the fact that no blood or red was visible in the black below the ribs. Or maybe it's the fact a wrench was sticking out of the ribcage like it was perfectly normal for it to be there.

"Mori…" Chuuya growls, "The hell were you doing in here?"

It looks like something out of those old superhero comics. Or the non-hero ones where someone gains powers by way of human experimentation.

Chuuya feels the bile threaten it's way back into his throat but he swallows it down.

He's very much glad he left when he did. Getting caught up in this seems like it doesn't end well.

Though he doesn't like what that could mean for him now.

There's a poster to the left with Byakko on it, the same one he'd seen in the hall when he'd first come in.

The humanoid tiger looks cheery, holding it's flute with wide eyes and a cute little mouth. It's an odd difference in the otherwise morbid atmosphere of the room.

Chuuya glances between the poster and the body. It's then that he realises the body had a few of those features.

The ears, the snout, the stripes on it's fuzzy cheeks, the larger tiger arms, the paws for feet. Everything that lives in the design of Byakko is attached to this dissected body.

Though in a way, that seems to make it slightly better.

Because Byakko isn't real. It doesn't exist outside of an animation reel. And it sure as hell can't be dissected if it wasn't created first.

Chuuya breathes a sigh of pure unbridled relief. He presumes this is some kind of 3D model done to scale. The wrench in it's chest cavity is an odd touch, admittedly.

He's seen the Magaru mascots at events and the little plushies and figurines. So he assumes this one's no different to that kind of thing.

It doesn't have any redeeming characteristics that otherwise provide the perception that this body used to be alive.

And the cross-eyes in its head like the old cartoons are anything if not unconvincing. So he feels he can rest easy.

There's ink splattered behind the upright operating table, though Chuuya can't really remember where ink isn't plaguing the walls anymore in one way or another so he let's it go.

Maybe that's why the old workshop shut down. Lacking healthcare protections.

Inhaling the particles of this stuff in the air all day, everyday — while it soaks the walls and the ink machine produces on the constant — can't be healthy at all.

On the wall to his right, there's more. There always is. But just like before, this was shaped in the way of words. The words spanned over old paper sitting over an empty work bench.

'Who's laughing now?'

These messages are getting creepier, Chuuya's sure of it.

The one about dreams as relatively alright, it's just its existence that's eerie; but this new one sounded aggressive.

He isn't laughing.

And this byakko mimic surely won't be anymore, if it ever did.

Chuuya points his way out of the room through a door to his left. He turns, head dipping. He's going to avoid this place for the rest of his time in this building.

He doesn't even want to know why Mori had been trying to dissect a clay model. Pure entertainment, maybe?

The man does have that kind of aura about him, though chuuya feels it unfair to think such a thing of his previous employer.

What if he stuck around and ended up like that?

Stop it-

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, shaking away the mental image with it. It's a ridiculous idea.

There's no reports of any such thing in or around the studio so he's sure that little thought is just a product of paranoia, just like the falling wood making him jump.

The door opens easily as Chuuya pushes it. He's glad it's different to the rest of them. But the squeaking grates on his nerves and Chuuya has it half in his mind to kick the door into the wall.

It's just another room with desks. One's tucked into the corner, another is pressed against the wall a few steps away.

As he moves deeper into the room, chuuya finds that one of the corners was just stacked with wooden chairs and boxes. He presumes that's a newer addition that came in after the place shut down, or maybe it's always been like that.

Chuuya doesn't know, he'd had his own little place.

The room with the darts is about the only place where he'd seen the others. Save for the few times one of his co-workers made themselves Chuuya's personal problem.

He presumes this is their place. Or it was before the renovations came in and more desks were put everywhere.

The door at the end leads Chuuya back to the shutter door. Exactly where he'd been before. So it's this door that had been opposite.

This place truly is a labyrinth.

Chuuya goes back down the hall.

He eyes the plank on the floor as he turns left this time. Chuuya doesn't dare glance the other way, knowing exactly what's there.

The hall stops at an archway and from there the it opens up into a spacious room. Chuuya swears the workshop didn't look this big from the outside.

There's six pedestals, three on either side. Pictures sit on the wall behind them but Chuuya doesn't pay much attention to them when he notices the lever in the wall.

It's sat between two curved pipes with something flashing beside it. Above is the sign that Chuuya's been looking for.

'Ink Machine: Main power'

Fucking Finally.

Chuuya's quick to approach it. The faster he gets this on, the better. He really wants to see the machine working and satisfying that curiosity as soon as possible is in his best interest.

Though when he raises his hand to turn on the power, Chuuya notices golden words flashing beside the lever.

'LOW Pressure'

Chuuya lets out a long groan. One that reverberates off the walls and echoes in his ears.

Why.

Why.

Why!

Nothing is ever simple in his god forsaken workshop. Chuuya has it half in his right mind to brute force the lever to generate power but he knows that's not worth his time.

Chuuya leans against one of the pedestals, propping his head up on his elbows. He rubs his face a few times over.

Of all the ways he could spend his day doing..

Why did he agree to this?

The pedestal lowers slowly under his weight. It takes Chuuya a moment to notice, too much in his own head.

He jumps away when he feels it going too far. And Chuuya watches the pedestal lift back up with the lack of weight.

His brow furrows as he looks between the picture and then the pedestal under it.

The shape in the picture looks familiar. Almost like…

You're kidding…

The picture holds the silhouette of a wrench. The same one he's definitely seen.

Does that mean he has to put that wrench on the pedestal to generate power?

Seriously?

Fucking Ougai.

Unfortunately, it's somewhere Chuuya doesn't want to go back to.

At all.