The small, dimly lit room echoed softly with the rhythmic click-clack of tiny wooden wheels on worn track. Baby Bendy sat cross-legged on the dusty floor, his inky little hands clutching a toy train almost too big for his chubby arms. The train wobbled slightly as he guided it around a lopsided loop, his big cartoonish eyes shining with innocent focus. Each time the train passed a corner, he let out a soft, breathy giggle—quiet and high-pitched like the air had tickled his throat.

A gentle drip echoed in the background, the sound blending with the faint creak of old boards as the train circled again. His tail flicked side to side, in time with the motion, leaving faint streaks of ink across the dusty wooden floor. Occasionally, he paused the toy’s journey just to squint at it, eyes narrowing with exaggerated suspicion, like it had done something mischievous. Then, with a theatrical little gasp, he made it “crash” off the tracks, tumbling into a pile of crumpled paper scraps he’d carefully stacked earlier. A delighted squeal followed as he clapped his ink-stained hands together.

Baby Bendy didn’t speak—he never did—but his entire body expressed joy. His horns bobbed as he nodded in satisfaction, then slowly picked the train up and set it back on the tracks with care, this time pretending it was extra slow, making exaggerated chug-chug noises through puffed cheeks. Light from a flickering bulb above cast his shadow long and stretched across the far wall, dancing in sync with him. In this quiet corner of the studio, away from the mess and madness, Bendy was just a baby—playing, imagining, safe.