#hatid

Harry was pants at mechanics (electronics in general if he was going to be honest with himself. (Something in his head twitched)), he knew that. The same went for most British magicals. He'd only gotten as far as he had based on guesswork and gut feelings. But if there were blueprints for the machine, then maybe someone else could figure the blasted thing out. And maybe they could even figure out how to undo the damage that had been done with it.

Perhaps Hermione would know something about this sort of thing? Out of all of them, she had done the best at keeping up with her non-magical education outside of school. At the very least, he would need to hand them over to the Unspeakables to be studied.

Nodding to himself, Harry carefully rolled up the plans and neatly tucked them into is satchel (he was so glad he’d brought the magically expanded bag with him).

“Alright, time to see if the stairwell is finally clear. And then I can finally get out of this mad house.” Harry muttered, striding out of the office and back down the gloomy hallway. He ignored the uncomfortable twitching of his nerves, telling him that something was off right then. He really hoped there weren’t more ink monsters getting ready to attack him.

It was just the stress of creeping around this eerie place getting to him. At least he hoped it was, his grip tightening on the ax (He had returned his wand to it's holster long ago, finding it easier to get things done with one hand free). He needed to focus on getting out of there in one piece and alerting MACUSA about what was in the Studio. Everything else could come after that. Harry rounded the corner, his focus on the doorway to the stairwell and the exit that lay at the bottom of it.

CLANG!

The back of Harry's head erupted in pain, stars appearing before his eyes and black quickly seeping into his vision. Harry felt himself crumple to the floor, the ax falling from his fingers with a clatter.

“Rest your head, it's time for bed.” For just a moment, he glimpsed the strange figure he'd seen earlier standing over him, and his vision went dark.

Harry groaned, the world slowly slipping back into focus.

“There we go, nice and tight. We wouldn't want our sheep roaming away now, would we? No, we wouldn't.” Harry felt something cold and wet seeping into his clothes, and slowly pried open his eyes.

He was met with the sight of a stained Bendy mask, which made him freeze in shock. He eyes took in more of the figure before him who appeared to be a man made entirely out of ink, wearing stained brown pants that were being held up on his frame by a pair of suspenders. He bore an uncanny resemblance to the creatures he’d had to fight earlier, but somehow he seemed to be in worse condition, his body being far too thin and rippling in unnatural ways. His breath caught in his throat at the sudden wave of fear that gripped him.

'Sammy' was the frightened whisper in his head, recognizing the being’s voice from the recordings of the Music Director that he'd found earlier.

“I must admit I am... Honored... that you came all the way down here to visit me. It makes what I'm about to do seem... Cruel. But the believers must honor their savior. I must have him notice me.” Harry's eyes frantically flicked about the room, wrists twisting against the rope, mapping out the room in a desperate attempt to find a way out of this. He could see his ax resting against a support beam with a speaker mounted on it. The post he was tied to was mounted in the middle of a ritual seal that had been drawn on the floor in ink.

“The time of sacrifice is at hand! And then I will finally be freed from this... Prison. This inky... dark... abyss I call a body.” Harry wanted to speak, to say something, anything, to stop this madness, but he couldn't get a single word past the lump of fear in his throat (this wasn't right, he's been in worse situations than this, why was he terrified of this man?!). A hoarse, strangled sound finally escaped him. “Shh! Quiet! Listen! I can hear him. Crawling above. Crawling! The ritual must be completed! Soon he will hear me... He will set us free.”

The ink man moved away, dragging his feet as he made his way to a room positioned on side of the room.

What is he doing? A small part of Harry's mind wondered. You're not supposed to leave the area of a ritual when summoning something. Without any magical elements or items in the seal, the demon would be drawn to the summoner's voice. The speakers above him crackled to life, and his captor started speaking.

*“Sheep, sheep, sheep, it's time for sleep. Rest your head, it's time for bed.In the morning, you may wake. Or in the morning, you'll be dead. Hear me, Bendy! Arise from the darkness! Arise and claim my offering!”*

Harry's breathing picked up and he started fighting harder against the bindings. (He needed to get out. He needed to escape. He couldn't be caught by the demon!!) He ignored Sammy's mad ramblings as the metal gate in front of him clattered open.

*“...Show your face and take this tender sheep! No! My lord! I am your prophet, I am your-”* Sammy's voice cut off with a terrified, blood curdling scream.

“C'mon, c'mon, I needa' get outta' here...” He breathed, his magic roiling and flaring under his skin in response to his frantic, scattered emotions. Harry stumbled forward, nearly falling on his face, when the ropes abruptly vanished. He lunged for his ax as more ink monsters formed around him, closing in on him. He wrenched the blade up, letting it dig into the nearest monster.

Harry forced his way to the passageway that had opened, cutting down any monsters or wooden planks that barred his path. He swore when the ax abruptly snapped in his hands. He looked around, his fear fading slightly. He nearly sagged in relief when he spotted a door a head of him. A wonderful door marked “Exit”. A small part of his mind twitched at the large room full of ink between him and the door.

“Thank Merlin. Now I can finally get out of-” Harry cut himself off with a choked scream as 'Bendy' surged up from the pool. Harry stumbled back, a fresh wave of terror flooding his senses, and bolted down the branching hallway. Pelting down the winding halls in a blind panic, Harry followed a random path without thought, hoping it would lead him to safety.

‘There’s a way t’ escape, gotta get there!’ Harry was breathing hard, rounding a sharp corner, he spotted an open doorway at the end of the hall and put on another burst of speed.

Bolting through, he seized the door and slammed it shut, shoving a board over it to hold it shut. Something slammed into the closed door, making him stumble back, but then everything fell silent. Harry held his breath, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. The door sat there silently, no sounds coming from behind it. He carefully moved closer, pressing an ear to the door and listening.

Nothing.

Had it... Had it left him? Why? Surely a such a plain wooden door wouldn’t have been enough to actually stop that monster from chasing him further…

Harry took a half step back, he still couldn’t stay there. He needed to leave and find another way out of the Studio. This place was simply too dangerous for him to stay any longer. But he had a very big problem now. He had no idea where he was in the building, or how deep underground he was, or what else Drew had done to change the building from the plans he'd originally seen, so he definitely couldn’t apparate out of there now. And he had no plans of splinching himself anytime soon.

He needed to find somewhere safe. Somewhere that he could sit down and think, without being in danger.

'Gotta get to the safe house...' Harry paused at the strange thought.

A safe house? He didn't know about any safe house in the studio. Green eyes narrowed. He had been having a lot of strange thoughts and feelings since he'd woken in that odd ritual circle... Had it done something to him? The only ways he could check would be a diagnostic charm, or to use his limited occlumency skills to delve into his own mind.

He wasn't great at occlumency (and he never would be, not with the damage Snape and Voldemort did. It had been hard enough to learn to make basic shields from Andy), but the idea of someone or something getting into his head and messing with his mind in this madhouse of a studio...

Harry jolted at the sound of a can falling and rolling out from behind a corner. He spotted a shadow ducking behind the wall, a nervous whimper echoing through the room. Harry whipped out his wand, training it on the hidden person.

“I know you're there... Come out and show yourself. But I'm warning you, don't try anything, I'm armed!” There was another whimper, then the sound of shuffling footsteps.

A tall lupine-yet-humanoid figure dressed in dull brown overalls stepped out into Harry's view, worriedly rubbing his hands together, his ears twisted back in his distress. The wizard sucked in a startled breath between his teeth.

“B-Boris? You... You're alive!” He almost couldn’t believe his eyes. He had been sure the corpse he’d seen up on the first floor had been real, yet Boris was standing in front of him, alive and unharmed.

“So, where you from Mac?” Harry jolted, his concentration broken unexpectedly by the Cabbie. The Cabbie was an older bloke, probably in his sixties or possibly his seventies, with silver hair that peeked out from under his cap and small rectangle glasses on his nose. He had the kind of wrinkles that showed he spent a lot of time smiling, which matched his friendly demeanor perfectly. Harry gave a sheepish smile, having been drawing a sketch of the man in his book.

“Little Whinging, over in Surrey, England. And the name’s Harry, mate. Don’t know anyone by the name of "Mac”, unless you’re talking about the car.” The cabbie grinned back at him through the rearview mirror. An expression which fit the man, in Harry’s humble opinion.

"Really? You look more like a ‘Henry’ to me. What brings an English gentleman like you to the states?” Harry chuckled at the man’s pleasant tone, unbothered by the friendly jab. He’d heard it quite a few times since his arrival in America. It was a rather amusing social view.

“You want the short version, or the full list?” The cabbie laughed at his snarky response. Harry was mostly trying to figure just what he could say to the man while still keeping the conversation casual. He couldn’t exactly tell the man he was a war hero looking to avoid being drawn into magical politics.

“Gimme the short version, won’t be much longer till we reach your stop.”

“I needed to get out of my family’s shadow, especially with my… Career of interest being what it is.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“I- well, my family’s always been in law enforcement, police, lawyers, that kind of thing. But I- uh, I’m more interested in animation and cartoons.” There, not a lie, but not the whole truth. The Potter’s were actually famous for their involvement in magical law enforcement, so that wasn’t much of stretch to come up with. It was part of the reason everyone thought he would join the Auror’s. But only part of the reason.

The man laughed.

“So you’re an Artsy fella then. 'Splains why you want to head to the old Drew Studios. I heard the place was bought up not too long ago, so you just might be the last "open public” visitor to the place.“  Harry saw the man’s smile turn a litter sadder, his expression rather reminiscent, though his hands remained steady as he drove. "A real shame, that, the new owner’ll probably tear the old place down. Replace it with one o’ them fancy hotels or something.”

“Maybe not, I suppose it’ll really depend on the condition the place is in.” The cabbie’s eyes flicked back to Harry, looking surprised.

“What makes you think that?” Harry gave him a lopsided smile.

“I don’t think it, mate, I know it. I’m the bloke who bought the place.”

“Really?” He could see the man’s face brightening, at the idea of the studio staying.

“Yep. I own all the cartoons now too. For some reason Drew thought it would be grand idea to link his rights to the characters with his rights to the land and the Studio itself. Not the brightest thing to do, in my opinion, but I’m not complaining.”  Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose, a smile curving his lips. He had no intention of tearing the building down, not unless he didn’t have a choice. He had a very different plan than putting up a hotel. “I want to start up the 'Bendy’ cartoons again, turn the place back into a full-on animation studio.”

The cabbie let out a bark of disbelieving laughter, but there was no denying the delight in the man’s expression.

“Wow, mac, that’s one hechova goal you’re aiming for.” His smile turned nostalgic. Ah, he must’ve been a long-time fan of the 'Bendy’ cartoons. “Hope you manage it. I remember going with my dad to the theater to watch that show as a kid. Some of the best memories I have of back then, what with the war goin’ on. I’d love to be able to share them with my grand kids.”

“That makes two of us mate. Though, don’t expect a sudden turn out. Fixin’ up an entire studio isn’t an easy task.” He sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I need to check the condition of the building, find out if any of the equipment is salvageable, possibly hire a construction crew, maybe an interior design crew, get a work force to actually run the studio…” He ticked off his fingers with a sigh. So much work to do, but he was going to do his damnedest to make it happen.

“With how much the locals still love that old cartoon, I bet you could run the whole thing offa donations and volunteer work!” The cabbie said with a chuckle.  Harry let out a thoughtful hum.

“I’ll have to think about that mate, first I gotta find out what I need done for the place.” He glanced out the car window at the darkening streets. Maybe he should have left earlier in the day to do his inspection. Night was approaching faster than he thought it would, though that could have been the cloudy sky playing tricks on his eyes. It was a good thing he’d decided to wear his rain coat that evening. It had been threatening a storm for the past few days, but now it really looked like it was going to happen. He slipped his sketchbook back into his magically expanded satchel, pulling out his wallet to pay for the ride as the car slowed down.

“Welp, here we are! Joey Drew Studios, home of 'Bendy the Devil Darling’ himself!” The cabbie hesitated for a moment, turning to Harry with a somewhat meek smile on his face. “Hey, can I get your name? I- uh, kinda wanna tell some of the folks I know about what you’re doing. And publicity’s always helpful for new ventures, right?”

“Potter, Harry Potter. I got a couple ideas for the new studio’s name, but I haven’t settled on one yet.” The man chuckled, accepting the payment the young man handed him.

“I’ll keep an eye out for you in the papers, best of luck to you.”

“Thanks mate, I may need it.” Harry waved as the cab drove off, leaving Harry in front of his new “business venture”. He drew in and steadying breath, and turned to face the old studio. And cringed at the sight of it.

Joey Drew Studios was… Even more run-down and decrepit than Harry had been led to believe.

Even before it had been a studio, the old building had been a mill of some kind, meaning it had thick walls, a sturdy foundation and lots of floors to be filled with people and equipment. Based on the floor plans Harry had seen, the main building was filled with cramped, crisscrossing hallways, scattered rooms of varying sizes and ventilation, and large bay windows that would have let in a wonderful amount of sunshine during the days. It wasn’t a conventional building for an animation studio, but it obviously worked none the less.

Now, however, many of the once beautiful windows were either broken or boarded up or both preventing even the smallest amount of light inside the old building, the sturdy wood and plaster walls were covered in unidentifiable stains and graphity that had been accumulated throughout the years of disuse, the metal fire escape and rain spouts (along with every other piece of metal that had been left exposed to the elements) were so thoroughly covered in accumulated rust, it was a wonder they hadn’t just disintegrated by now. It was painfully obvious that they would need immediate replacement. The old building looked somewhere between haunted and condemned.

But he wasn’t going to back now. Not when he’d already come this far. From what Harry had managed to dig up before coming in person, it had taken years before Joey Drew had lost finally his rights to the studio. According to the accountants and Real-estate workers, there had been a sizable backlog of letter, inquires, old bills, and legal notices that had never reached Drew himself. They had apparently just built up in the post office until finally someone dragged themselves to his residence and found he wasn’t there anymore. And that wasn’t the weird part.

Apparently, back in the early Sixties, Drew had made some… Questionable business and construction discussions. Many of which hadn’t made any sense then, and even less in the modern day. Especially since he had filed for bankruptcy part way through his strange construction and ordering spree. Large orders of piping, wood, various building and construction equipment, gallons of rubber ink (enough to fill an Olympic swimming pool), multiple fire axes, random reels that were actually too big to fit in projectors, a large number of stone bowls, a couple knives, and enough candles to light a small stadium.

The last few reminded Harry of ritual supplies, but that could have been his paranoia talking. Even if he was doing rituals, his access to the proper texts would have been limited at best as Drew had been a muggle. (Merlin, he hoped the man hadn’t gotten any real books of magic. That would be so much paperwork for him)

In the mid Seventies, the entire studio collapsed. But not under normal circumstances. The entire cast and crew of Joey Drew Studios had just vanished. Almost over night.

The police had, of coarse, gone out to investigate, but found no signs of foul play. Just a particularly odd machine down one corridor that, as far as they could tell, had no tie to the disappearing employees. Not that they had been able to do a full investigation. Large parts of the building had been made inaccessible due to the halls being locked down, boarded up, and generally being difficult to get too. It was eventually deemed a cold case, and left where it was.

Harry was far more wary of the circumstances, he knew better than to underestimate a muggle. If they had managed to create a weapon that could wipe out entire cities, then the chances that they could find a way to use magic wasn’t completely improbable. But without proof of magic being used, the local ministry never investigated. (MASUCA, was the name, if he remembered correctly)

Even then things had been fairly quiet from the studio. There had been plenty of rumors circulating amongst the local youths of the era, claiming that the old studio was haunted. Strange voices from the lower floors, creepy images, and moving cutouts. The kind of “spooky” stories kids would tell each other to make their adventures sound more “Grown-up” instead of them just messing around in some place they shouldn’t have been. Though nothing had happened since the crews’ disappearance, Harry didn’t trust that stay true forever.

Which was why he was there. He was going to give the building a thorough inspection himself, and search it from top to bottom for any Dark magic. He refused to bring anyone into a potentially dangerous place without making sure they couldn’t be hurt by whatever was inside.

The front of the building had a set of large, glass, double doors that had once opened to the building’s lobby but, like the windows, they had been boarded up. They didn’t look as though anyone had tried to pry them open, much to Harry’s relief and ire. He knew that the children had been breaking into the old studio for years, but it looked like they hadn’t tried to go in through the front doors.

“Okay, not the front doors. Let’s try the loading doors then.” The studio had it’s own toy shipping area, and chances were the rust would have made it easier to get the old doors open. Teens weren’t always the most… Graceful when they wanted to force their way into a place. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if one of them had broken the rusted doors open just so they could get inside. Harry made his way around the outside of the building, idly examining the paintings on the walls as he went.

Not as much crudeness as I expected, He thought to himself, eyeing the rusted doors. Nothing a quick paint job couldn’t clean up. Outside looks to be in pretty good shape, I have to admit. But it’s the inside that I’m worried about.

The old doors were in surprisingly good shape. Oh, they were rusted to the point of uselessness, but there were no holes or signs of forced entry. Harry quietly approached the locked door, bending closer to examine the old, undoubtedly broken lock.

Now, the question is, is it forever open? Or forever closed? Harry clasped the handle, giving it a firm tug. It rattled in a way that implied it wasn’t rusted in place, yet it was obviously locked. Odd, it seemed in strangely good condition. He frowned thoughtfully. But how have the kids been getting in? Is there a side door that they could have used?

Deciding to check it out, Harry made his way over to the alley between the studio and the building next too it. The alley was strewn with trash, blatantly ignoring the dumpster bin sitting two thirds of the way into the alley. A dumpster that was sitting next to a door into the studio. Harry grinned triumphantly at the door.

Harry quickly approached, noting that the door was partially open.

Shoot, had someone already come in? He hoped not. Harry really didn’t really feel like chasing some kid or haughty teenager out of the studio. Even if it was for their own good.

Opening the door the rest of the way, Harry peered into the gloomy hall. Barely lit by old flickering light bulbs, he couldn’t see anything beyond a few flickering lights further inside.

“Hello? Anyone here?” He called, stepping inside and habitually pulling the door closed behind him. There were some posters hanging on the walls, depicting the little devil darling that the studio was best known for grinning out at him, looking far too cheerful in the gloom. A few paces in, Harry felt his blood freeze at the sudden, ominous creaking that came from the wooden floor beneath him. Slowly, he crept over to the nearest wall, pressing himself against it. The creaking lessened. The wizard let out a shaky breath. “O-okay, note to self: side door floor needs immediate replacement, that did not sound safe. Thank Merlin it didn’t give out under me.”

Bloody stars, if I died from something as mundane as FALLING, Hermy would have resurrected me for the sole-purpose of killing me for doing something so stupid. He smiled slightly at the mental image of Hermione raging at him over such a dumb thing. Harry inched down the hall, listening for when the creaking faded away. He may have been a wizard and a war hero, but he wasn’t immortal. It was better to not risk his neck in the first place. Harry let out a sigh of relief when the creaking finally stopped once he’d reached the end of the hallway. It opened up into a fairly large room, almost like an employee lobby.

The place was covered in old papers, with a counter between two of the supporting beams. An old projector was turned on, creating an eerie tune as it flickered back and forth between some blank reams on an old film reel. A cutout of the company’s mascot, the Devil Darling’ himself, stood next to the empty projection, looking rather creepy in the eerie setting. Three large reels were mounted on the wall, spinning in a loud, clunky manner, yet not actually doing anything (as far as Harry could tell). A light table by the back wall sat next too an old drawing desk, still alight and drawing power from an unknown source (The power had been turned off, that much Harry knew).

“Well, let’s get started then.”

-

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So, HUGE word dump here, but once I got stared writing for this, it kinda ran away with me. If enough people say they like this, I might post more. And feel free to send me questions about it. They help me figure out what the hell I’m doing!

Harry had already gotten lost twice, but after living in Hogwarts for six years he had quickly gotten his head around his mental floor plan of the building. Though even that was a work in progress as he discovered the various changes Drew had made to the building. He was going to tear out a few of the walls, that much he'd figured out. But he'd found a few interesting things during his exploration.

He'd found a handful of tape recordings left by a few old employees (and they didn't sound very happy with their boss, not that he blamed them), some old drafts and model sheets of Bendy from the animator's cubicles/closets (he'd bagged those, even the one sticky note of an overly cutesy version of the little devil), an employee cafeteria (he was keeping that, unless the there were nasty magics on the lower floors), and a couple other knickknacks that may have belonged to former employees that he'd stowed away in his satchel. He wouldn't keep all the things he'd snagged, but having a few things to bid off to collectors would certainly help fund getting the studio up and running again.

He knew could be a klepto at times, a hold over from when he'd had nothing to call his own, so a good portion of it would be stowed away at home.

Maybe he'd give a few of the toys to Teddy. Or Luna, she'd grown rather fond of the toons when he would draw them with her menagerie of creatures (She wanted to help at the company once he got it going).

But that hadn't been the most bazar discovery he'd made in the dilapidated studio, no. That honor belonged to the machine he'd found early on in his exploration. A contraption that looked like a warped chimera of a water heater, a fire hose pump, and a clockwork engine of some kind. It had made his skin crawl, and his magic roil inside him. Something about it just felt- Unnatural. He wanted to blast the thing teeny, tiny pieces and hand the remains over to MASUCA's Department of Mysteries. He didn't like it one bit, and when his instincts gave him those kind of warnings, he would usually listen to them.

But with how the piping from the machine wove into the building, he wasn't sure if destroying it was safe or a smart idea. For all he knew, it could have brought the studio down on his head. And now he had to turn the blasted thing on. He didn't want to, not even the curious side of his that had survived the war wanted to touch it, but he wasn't getting a choice in the matter. For one single reason.

Drew had somehow turned the machine into the main source of power for the entire Studio.

It was worse since Harry had been allowed to see the reports and knew for a fact certain doors in the studio could only be opened if the power was on. And the light would be needed as he went deeper into the building, what with all the windows being boarded up.

And if Harry was cussing out Drew as he stalked through the halls? Well, who would know other than him?

Harry rubbed his brow, struggling to ward off his impending headache. This was not what he wanted to be doing.

THUD! Clatter!

He jolted in alarm at the sudden noise that cut through the mostly silent studio like a freshly sharpened knife. Harry's head shot up, green-eyes flicking about to find the source of the sound. His shoulders sagged in relief when he spotted what had caused the noise. It was just a board that had fallen from the ceiling of the t-section ahead of him.

"Bloody stars, that gave me a start. This place is gonna need more work than I thought," the wizard said with a tired sigh, running a hand through his bangs. He would need to re-tie his tie his hair soon, he noted, feeling various strands snag on his fingers. He strode further down the hall, squinting up at the spot where the board fell from.

"That's odd..." He muttered, squinting upwards.

Harry couldn't find the spot where the board had fallen from. There were no holes in the ceiling that matched it, and the boards that were there were pressed too close together to even be loose. It couldn't have fallen from there, unless...

He growled.

"Is someone pranking me? If there is, this ain't funny lads!" He called, aggravation showing through in his tone and bringing out the slight Scottish/Irish verbal ticks he'd picked up from Seamus and Professor McGonagall. He glared at the ceiling, as though he thought if he glared at it long enough that it would make the hidden prankster reveal themselves and grovel for forgiveness. It didn't.

He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head.

'Now then, left or right?' he thought to himself, 'Let's try right.'

He turned down the right path into a small room with six pedestals, and a large switch  framed by two large black pipes against the opposite wall. It looked strangely, well, toony. Almost like someone had drawn it onto the wall, if it weren't for the faint shadows being caste, Harry would have thought he'd been punk'd by the same person who may-or-may-not have rigged the falling board. He didn't know how to describe how just plain weird this place was.

"Well, I guess I've finally found the break room Franks mentioned in his recording Now how do I get this thing working?" He approached the switch (lever? It was hard to really tell), which was oh-so-helpfully labelled 'Main Power' with a little 'Caution' placed right under it. A flashing screen sat next to it, reading 'Low Pressure'. He stifled a groan. "Oh, why can't anything ever be easy? Just once in my life I'd like things to be simple."

He knew from the recording that he'd need something from each employee's desk to get things running, and there were six pedestals in the room. It wasn't much of a leap to assume he would need that many items (and he wasn't going to call them sacrifices, the term didn't sit well with him. At al). Now the question was, what exactly did he need?

He looked back at the pedestals, there was a picture behind each one. Perhaps the pictures were what he needed to find?

"Let's see here, I'm going to need a wrench, an ink bottle, a toy, a gear, a book, and something related to music." He muttered, Harry dug through his bag for the things he'd picked up while wandering through the studio. Surely there were a few that would do the trick.

"I think the record I found would go with the music note." He set it on the pedestal, and froze when a soft light started up, casting light on the object he'd just placed. Either there was one of those pressure switches he'd heard about there, or there really was magic at work there. He swallowed nervously, eyeing the pedestal with distrust.

"Th-then the ink well from one of the animator's desks." He hesitantly put it in place, and jolted when the same thing happed again.

"And the wrench." The process was repeated, right down to the eerie light. They were the only things he'd found that matched the pictures, he'd have to go back through the studio to find the other three objects. He shook he head trying to ward of his anxiety. He really didn't like this.

"Now, where would those- ACK!!" Harry jumped in alarm when he turned around the corner and almost walked into a Bendy cutout that had most certainly not been there a few moments ago. It was positioned right in the middle of the hallway, almost like it was trying to block his path. "Who put this here?!"

Harry scowled, his nerves still somewhat addled from the 'sacrifice' room. Someone had to be pranking him. And it really wasn't funny. He started to wind himself up to track the prankster down and give them a piece of his mind ala Molly Weasley. But a flickering light caught his eye.

"What the-?" He knew that kind of light. After spending years in the magical world (where electricity was practically non-existent), he would have had to be a fool not to.

That was the light of a candle. More than one. Who would be lighting a candle in a building full of flammable items like paper and rubber ink? Were they mad?! They could make the studio catch fire! Harry side-stepped the cutout, his expressions furious.

There was someone in the room with the candles. Someone wearing dull brown overalls and standing far too still. Harry quickened his pace, he anger fading with each step. He inhaled sharply once he reached the threshold of the room.

There was a body strapped to something that looked eerily like an operating table, hanging limply with their chest ripped open, ribs broken and wrenched wide, showing a hollowed out chest. Like their heart had been ripped out, and the rest of their body left to rot in the open. The scene looked even more horrifying with the light of the candles illuminating the from. And the wizard, though he'd never met them, recognized the person in question.

'This-this can't be possible...'

"B-Boris?" Harry stared in open horror at the scene before him.

Boris the Wolf had been Bendy's closest, and rather absent minded, friend. A sweet, lovable character who was more like an oversized puppy and didn't have a angry bone in his body. Harry had always had a soft spot for the wolf, he'd reminded the wizard of Hagrid and Remus. Intimidating in some aspects, but almost bursting at the seams with kindness for the people around him.

Seeing him strapped up like that, his insides exposed and with toony X's over his eyes, it seemed too surreal to be possible. Toons weren't real, it shouldn't be possible to-to kill them like this. But the rancid smell that permeated the room said otherwise, a horrid combination of rubber ink and rotting meat. Harry reacted in the only reason way to finding and impossible cadaver, he bent to one side and retched.

Braced against the wall, the wizard kept heaving until there was nothing left his stomach to force out. He coughed hard, grimacing at the taste of bile in his mouth.

Harry wasn't a squeamish person, not since the war, but he just... He hadn't been prepared for that. He hadn't been prepared to find the-the corpse of one of the cartoon characters he was so fond of. He raised his eyes to see inky writing scrawled on the wall.

"Who's laughing now?!"

'Not me, that's for sure.' Harry thought, turning his mournful gaze to Boris' prone form.

"I wanted to know if magic had been used here, but this wasn't what I expected. This is just- Oh Boris," He breathed, his voice quivering as his eyes roamed over the Wolf's form. Flashes from the war flickered at the back of his mind, but he forced them back with a shudder. This was- He had to find out what happened here, how this was even possible, and more importantly, find out who had done this.

Harry tore his gaze from the gruesome sight and started searching the room for something, anything that could explain what had transpired here. But there was nothing, just Boris, the table he lay on, the writing on the wall, and an old, rather pathetic looking plush doll of Bendy. He would have to find his answer's elsewhere.

He carefully picked up the toy, knowing it was one of the things he needed, not daring look back at the wolf.

He hesitated at the door, he wanted to pull Boris down from the table and give him some respect by not leaving him like that. But MASUCA, from what he'd gathered, was far more strict about following the laws they laid out. They were closer to muggle procedures about law enforcement, Harry could respect that. He could respect them trying to keep the scenes from being tampered with and not risking important evidence being damaged. Even if his morals weren't happy about leaving a victim in such a state.

"I'm so sorry Boris, I can't do anything for you right now. But I promise, once the authorities know about this, I'll make sure you get the proper respects. You have my word." Harry said, his voice sounding pained as he looked back at the wolf. He had no idea if anyone, let alone Boris could hear him, but making the promise helped ease his mind. He steeled his resolve and headed back into the halls.

He had to locate the last two items he needed to "appease the gods" (and that was an incredibly worrying phrase for something like this) to get things going. He could only hope ho could find his answers once that was done. But as he left he couldn't help asking,

'Just what have I gotten myself into this time?' - - AN: Well, done with this one. It's a lot shorter than the last one, but I wanted to focus on the important pieces of the story. After all, listening to Harry wander around a studio with nothing really going on is actually kind of boring, right?