For An Unfinished Script - BatDR

Some Answers

"Don't let that cute face fool you," said Henry as he pulled a sketchbook from his pocket.

"You say that like he's dangerous."

"He is." Henry flipped through the book.

Jon scoffed. "There's no way. If this little buddy is dangerous then why keep him around?"

Henry hesitated. "He was crying." He found a loose page and held it out to Jon. "This is what he used to be."

Jon freed his right hand from Bendy's and took the paper. A sketch of a monster silently roared at Jon, hunched down with its toothed maw agape and spindly claws reaching for the edge of the paper.

Jon held up the drawing to the crude sculpture piled against the far wall and looked between the two. "Spitting image," he muttered. "If he was..." he gestured with the drawing, "then how..." he gestured to Bendy.

Henry took the picture back. "I don't know. But for three days straight, the whole Studio could hear the screaming. After that, no one saw the Ink Demon for a long while. The Keepers had locked him in the room where we met. I'd found him there, alone, almost insane."

Henry sighed and rubbed his face. "I don't know why he came with me. I don't know why I didn't try to stop him either. Maybe he saw me as a way out, maybe he knows who I'm supposed to be. I don't know."

Jon studied Bendy again. The toon looked up from his intense scrutiny of Jon's hand and held the man's gaze, static, unblinking, a little unnerving. "So you're stuck like this?"

Henry answered. "If he isn't, he hasn't shown it. Don't forget, he is still the Ink Demon."

"Hm." Jon squinted at the toon. Bendy didn't blink. Jon then puffed air in his face and Bendy blinked on reflex. "Heheh. You blinked," Jon teased, finally extricating his hand from the toon's grip. He left little flecks of gold on the toon's hands but they evaporated.

Jon stood up and tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. Bendy's enraptured interest in his hands reminded him of the mark on his head. Surely Henry was trustworthy, right? Not working for Wilson?

Couldn't hurt to ask. "Say, uh... you know of Wilson?"

Henry made a sour face. "I know he's got everyone within earshot of him looking for you."

"Right." Jon was suddenly very aware that Henry was between him and the door.

Henry seemed to notice and stepped back. "I'm not going to turn you in, Jon. Suffice it to say, I don't like Wilson." He went back into the main room and waved for Jon to follow. "Let's rest a bit. I can't imagine you've had a chance to try understanding what's going on."

"No, not really." Jon followed and took a seat at the desk. Henry took another and set his sketchbook open between them. He flipped to a blank page and procured a pencil. "Can I see your hands?"

Jon hesitated. Henry put the pencil down. "Right, sorry. You want answers about this place, right?" Jon nodded. Henry continued. "Then we should start with what you do know. What do you remember?"

Jon thought back. "Well... not much. I'm pretty sure I fought with someone named Alan and that led to me falling into this place. Someone woke me up and mentioned a woman named Audrey who I think is trying to help me. Or... she needed my help...? Uh, then Wilson made his little announcement and I ran into a Lost One who called himself Porter." Jon looked at his right palm and his jaw tensed. "I think I killed him."

Henry followed his line of sight. "With that? Your power?"

Jon nodded. Henry looked skeptical. "... Go on."

Jon outlined what he could, including the ink talking to him and needing to find a machine and a Best Pal leaving a note lying around and talking with Alice through a vent pipe. He mentioned the golden tether he used to control a Searcher and how the gold stuff on his hands made him feel powerful but also afraid.

Henry stopped him there with a hand on his. "No, don't be afraid of this, Jon. You're like you father in that way. A soul bright with creativity and a bond so tight with this place that the Studio itself had no choice but to yield."

Jon's visible confusion prompted Henry to continue. "He had power here, you remember that?"

"Yes, his ink. He gave it to me but it... turned into this. I don't know what it's doing to me."

"It's not doing anything, Jon." Henry tapped his temple. "I have the Machine's memories of your father's time here. His power couldn't be passed to others for more than minutes at a time. But the nature of his power was to bind the mind and soul and free it from the ink's grip. You might just have that same power; your father's ink is just taking form for you."

Jon still looked unsure. "In the form of this? Weird symbols? Melting people? Do you know the symbols mean?"

"The buttons? Yes, I've seen them on old cutouts of him," he nodded at Bendy who was sitting nearby with a wooden train. "The flame, not specifically, it could mean a lot of things. Though, maybe the Prophet would know."

"Prophet?"

"The Mad Maestro? Sammy Lawrence?"

"Time to believe..." Jon muttered, a memory lazily coming into view with a tenor voice and haunting lyrics foretelling the future on the strings of a banjo—.

"Jon."

"Hm?"

"You know him?"

"Y-yes, sorry. You said he'd know how I can use my power?"

"Maybe not how, but at least explain it. Help you understand it."

"Okay, so where do I find him?"

"Unfortunately he disappeared around the same time the Ink Demon did."

"Oh."

Henry put both hands over Jon's one resting on the table between them. "Jon, listen. Your father's power was unique to him. Whether you've inherited it or not, one thing I can assure you is that it will not harm the souls here. Even if it could, you're too kind to be anything but the antithesis of what this hell stands for."

Jon could feel his eyes start to sting and he smiled shakily. "Strong words for someone you just met."

Henry returned the smile. "Well, you did save my life."

Jon laughed. "I guess I did."

A few beats of silence fell before Henry cleared his throat and sat back. "Now, about Alan Gray."

"Is that his name?"

"Yes. He's the head of the GENT corporation and the reason you're here."