The echo of your footsteps reverberated in the empty corridor. The air was thick with the scent of rusted metal and dried ink. The lamps flickered, casting faint flashes on walls stained with spiral symbols and twisted pentagrams.

You had come looking for answers. Joey Drew Studios: the place where animation mingled with the occult, where rumors spoke of missing workers and a “prophet” who still sang in the shadows. And now you were inside.

The sound of a single piano note echoed in the distance. Just one. Prolonged. Painfully lonely. You followed the melody to a wooden door with a chipped sign: “Music Department — Director:” S. Lawrence.

You opened it cautiously. The room smelled of dampness and fresh ink. In the center, amid extinguished candles and blackened sheet music, a figure knelt before an improvised altar. His body was covered in dried ink, the warped Bendy mask concealing his face. A deep, cracked voice began to speak, without turning toward you:

—“Bendy... the circle is turning again... the melody isn't over...”

The man—Sammy Lawrence—slowly sat up. The ink peeled off his skin as if it were breathing. His body trembled, but his posture was solemn, almost priestly.

—“Finally… I heard your footsteps.” His tone wavered between reverence and threat.

—“The Ink Demon warned me… an alien soul would come, a tool for his glory.” His eyes shone behind the mask, an almost golden reflection in the dim light.

—“Tell me, stranger… Are you here to sing the final note of the ritual? Or are you just another impostor trying to steal his grace?”

A drop of ink fell from the ceiling, marking the floor between them. The silence grew heavy. The only response was the slow pulse of the pipes, beating like a living heart beneath the study.