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Sammy looked down in horror at the pool of black liquid where his legs would be. When the monstrous parody of Bendy had attacked him, he'd thought it was the end. Instead, it seemed he'd been reduced to an ink puddle, only to begin pulling himself together upon regaining consciousness.

He wasn't just covered by ink. He was made of it.

And Bendy--if that was him--didn't really seem interested in helping him return to normal.

As his legs reformed, the former music director threw his mask against the wall, burying his face in his hands. He was trapped in this freakish body. All that he'd done to try and appease the demon--all the horrible acts of a madman--had been in vain. Were he still capable of shedding tears, he would have wept like a newborn.

Why, Lord? he thought. Is this some sort of punishment for the path I've taken? I didn't take the job at Sillyvision to spite my father, no matter how much I hated him. But I never considered myself a follower of any devil--at least, not when I was in my right mind...

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a loud screeching noise. Whether it was Bendy, the Searchers, or something else, he didn't want to know.

Acting on instinct, he melted into a mass of liquid, rushing through the ink-filled hallways until he found a broken pipe. He dove in, making his way through and emerging from another broken pipe in the break room. From there, he hurried to the exit, leaving Sillyvision Studios for good.


In an alley some distance away from the studio, Sammy let his body reform into a humanoid shape, leaning against the wall as he tried to get his bearings. Looking up, he noticed a couple of street signs, barely readable under the lamps.

Not far from Yancy Street, apparently, he thought. I wonder if the church is still standing...

He shook himself. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about that.

Turning, he caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle of water. Much to his surprise, his face was no longer a featureless mask, but a replica of how he looked before. It was still made of ink, but it was a lot closer to looking human than before. Gingerly, he reached up and felt it, curiosity welling up inside.

"I wonder..."

Closing his eyes, he pictured the first person he could think of--Wally Franks, oddly enough. Almost instantly, he felt a shifting sensation, and upon opening his eyes, found himself looking at an inky replica of the janitor, right down to the uniform.


He relaxed, watching with fascination as he reverted to his prior form. Before he had time to really think about it, he heard a loud alarm going off.


"Move it, dumbasses!" hollered Dan Brito, pulling his mask off.

"We're movin', we're movin'!" Ray Bloch hoisted the last bags of money into the back of their getaway van. "Now where'd I put those damn keys?"

The third member of their group, Jackson Brice, suddenly glanced towards a nearby alley. "Y'all hear something?"

Dan turned, noticing the slight movement in the shadows. "Might just be a cat or something." He pulled out his gun. "Still, better safe 'n sorry."


Despite being caught off guard by the bullet passing through his liquid form, Sammy wasn't entirely surprised that he was unharmed. Nonetheless, it still pissed him off. He lunged forward, tackling Dan to the ground and knocking the gun out of his hand. Knocking him out with a quick punch, he turned his attention to the other two.

As Ray ran forward, Sammy held out a hand. Jets of ink shot forward, hitting the large man with enough pressure to knock him back. He did the same to Jackson, sending him flying into a wall, before wrapping himself around Ray and slamming his head against the opposite wall.

Hearing the sound of police sirens, Sammy turned fully liquid and darted off.

I have to admit, he thought. That did feel rather cathartic. Hmmm...