Fandom: Bendy and the Ink Machine
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Michael Afton had been a man of dreams once upon a time, a real one. He'd believed you could do whatever you set your mind to, no matter what. Dreams came true, after all. His parents had always said so. However, as he got older, his belief in dreams began to fade. First of all, the matter of his parents.
They had expectations for him, expectations he hadn't been too keen on meeting. His older sister had gone on to become a lawyer, a path his parents wanted him to follow. Where had all their talk of dreams gone? When he'd been young they'd always told him he could be whatever he wanted to be. But now that he knew his path they wanted him to do something else? It wasn't fair.
As soon as he'd turned 18, he'd run away. He'd already been accepted to an arts college. He was going to make his dreams come true, no matter what they said. He'd met Mike in college, the two of them bonding over their shared dreams. Together, they decided they could do anything.
They'd made the studio together, brought Circus Baby into the public eye. They'd been going places. But Mike had left. Without Mike, the studio had no heart, no dream. Michael was a man of ideas. But only ideas.
Then there was the fact that he'd always been prone to poor health. His childhood had been plagued by a near constant state of sickness. No matter how careful he was, how much he tried to avoid catching something from the other schoolchildren, he always ended up falling ill.
The doctors had expected he wouldn't live too long, but he'd certainly shown them, hadn't he? ...Hadn't he? By the time he'd become an adult, he'd thought his days of sickness were behind him. He managed to start up the studio with Mike and everything seemed as though it was finally going right for him.
But Mike had left. And then came the diagnosis. Polio. It was practically a death sentence. Even if he didn't die from it, he'd likely never be able to walk again. How was he supposed to make his dreams come true if he couldn't even walk?!
He put on a joyful face for his employees, broadcasting motivation at all hours. But he didn't believe a word of it. He'd learned a long time ago that it was easier to just tell people what they wanted to hear.
The truth hurt. The truth was cold and callous. Lies were comforting. He may not have believed in dreams anymore, but he certainly wasn't about to give up all he'd worked for. He'd worked too hard to stop now. He had plans for this studio. Michael had grown up on tales of magic and mysticism, and while he hadn't believed them in the beginning, he was starting to think there was something to the old tales his parents had told him.
Demons, angels, there had to be something to it all. He bought book after book on dark magic, plowing through them until he felt he had all the information he needed. He could finally put his plans into motion. The Ink Machine was brought in, pumping ink through the studio.
But it served a greater purpose. It would bring his creations to life. Joey was starting to lose himself in his plans, each day losing a little more sanity. His workers grew discontented. They were unhappy with their working conditions and the steady decline of their boss. Joey brushed off their concerns.
They didn't need to be satisfied. They were mere pawns in his plan. They meant nothing. He felt nothing when he sacrificed them in the end. One after another, his employees fell prey to his insanity. He got closer and closer to perfection, until he finally fell prey to the Ink Machine himself.
He was alone, his studio had failed, he was a monster. But he still had work to do.
Dreams come true...
