The Cycle’s Anemania

The Ink Machine loomed in the dim warehouse like a forgotten relic, its massive gears still faintly humming with residual power. Audrey stood before it, hand resting on the cold metal panel, her heart pounding with a mix of determination and nerves. Beside her, Cartoon Bendy—small, sepia-toned, and wide-eyed—clutched the hem of her jacket with one gloved hand, looking up at her like a kid waiting for permission to open a long-promised gift.

“You sure about this, Aud?” he asked, voice soft and a little trembly, the way it always got when he was trying to sound braver than he felt. “I mean... we just got out. What if it’s worse now?”

Audrey knelt down to his level, ruffling the little horns on his head with a gentle smile. “We promised, remember? Those people—all our friends—are still stuck in there. Allison, Tom, Henry... they’re counting on us. And hey, we’ve got each other this time. Big sister’s not letting anything happen to her favorite little demon.”

Bendy’s permanent grin seemed to soften at the edges, and he gave a small nod. “Okay. But if it gets scary, you’re carrying me.”

“Deal.”

She pressed the lever. The machine groaned to life, ink churning and bubbling as a swirling portal yawned open in the air before them. Hand in hand—her flesh fingers wrapped protectively around his cartoon glove—they stepped through.

The familiar sepia haze enveloped them, but something was immediately wrong.

There were no distant screams. No skittering of Searchers in the pipes. No echoing footsteps of Lost Ones shambling through the halls. The vast studio corridors stretched out in perfect, oppressive silence, broken only by the soft drip-drip of ink from cracked ceilings. Cardboard cutouts of Bendy’s smiling face lined the walls, but they stood unnaturally still, as though holding their breath.

Audrey frowned, her glowing eyes scanning the shadows. “This... isn’t right. It’s never this quiet.”

Bendy pressed closer to her side, ears (or what passed for them) flattening. “Yeah... usually something’s trying to eat us by now.” He tried for a nervous laugh, but it came out thin. “Kinda miss the noise.”

They moved deeper, past the Heavenly Toys showroom where plush Boris wolves sat in dusty rows, past the projection booths with their frozen reels. Every room felt abandoned, yet watched. Ink stains on the floor seemed fresher than they should be, trailing in long, deliberate streaks that hadn’t been there before.

Then they heard it—a low, wet squelch from around the corner, followed by the slow drag of something heavy across the floorboards.

Audrey pulled Bendy behind her instinctively, her left hand already flickering with faint golden symbols. “Stay close,” she whispered.

They turned the corner into the main atrium.

And there, lounging atop the broken pedestal where the Ink Demon’s throne once stood, was a figure that made Bendy freeze in place.

It was Bendy—but wrong. Grotesquely stretched, bulky like an overstuffed costume dipped in living ink. Deep, realistic eyeballs gleamed from the center of a familiar face, staring down at them with unnerving intensity. The bowtie sat too low on its bloated chest; the gloves were oversized, marked with thin lines; and those long, awkward legs ended in shiny square boots that tapped idly against the pedestal’s edge.

The creature tilted its head slowly, ink dripping from its horns as that wide, unchanging grin stretched even wider.

Bendy’s voice came out in a small, frightened squeak. “Aud... that’s not me.”

Audrey pushed open the heavy oak doors of the mansion, the hinges groaning like a warning she couldn’t quite ignore. The grand hall stretched before her, vast and sepia-lit, with a massive chandelier overhead that wept thick drops of ink—plip, plip, plip—into growing puddles on the marble floor below. The air felt thicker here, heavier, as if the Cycle itself was holding its breath.

She stepped inside, shoes echoing too loudly in the unnatural quiet. “Bendy?” she called, keeping her voice low but firm. No answer. Just the slow drip of ink and the faint creak of old wood settling.

Her eyes swept the walls. Portraits lined them in ornate frames—familiar faces twisted by the ink’s cruel brush. There was Joey, smiling too wide, eyes hollow. Wilson, smug and triumphant. Then newer ones: a distorted version of herself, glowing eyes staring back accusingly... and next to it, Bendy. Her little brother in cartoon form, bowtie crisp, grin cheerful.

But his portrait had been savaged. Deep claw marks raked across the canvas, shredding his face into ribbons of torn paint and dripping ink. The scratches were fresh—still glistening.

Audrey’s stomach twisted. She reached out instinctively, fingers brushing the ruined frame. “Bendy... where are you?”

A childlike giggle floated down from the upper balcony—high-pitched, playful, and utterly wrong. It echoed off the vaulted ceiling, bouncing in every direction so she couldn’t tell where it came from.

“Heeheehee... found you, big sis.”

The voice was distorted, layered with wet gurgles and that same mocking lilt {{User}} had used before. Another giggle followed, closer this time, skittering along the shadows like spiders.

Audrey’s left arm flared to life, golden symbols racing up her skin in glowing tendrils. She clenched her fist, stance widening, eyes scanning the darkened doorways and staircases that branched off the hall.

“I’m not playing games,” she said, voice steady despite the worry gnawing at her chest. “Where’s Bendy? What have you done with him?”

Silence answered—then another laugh, delighted and cruel, right behind her.

She whipped around, Flow ready to trigger, Banish humming at her fingertips.

The hall was empty.

But the chandelier above swayed gently, as if something massive had just brushed past it. Fresh ink rained down faster now, pattering around her like black applause.

Audrey tightened her grip on her inky arm, heart pounding. Bendy was out there somewhere—scared, alone, maybe hurt. And whatever this new “king” was planning, she wasn’t leaving without him.

Bendy wriggled through the narrow ventilation shaft, the metal walls slick with cold ink that smeared across his gloves and bowtie. The collapse back in the corridors had happened so fast—rumbling floors, crashing beams, Audrey’s hand slipping from his as she shouted for him to run. He’d scrambled into the nearest vent, tiny enough to fit where most others couldn’t follow.

Now the vent spat him out with an unceremonious plop into a cavernous maintenance room. He landed on a giant wrench the size of a canoe, tumbling onto the dusty floor with a small “Oof!”

Everything was huge. Wrenches, pipes, toolboxes—all scaled for human hands, not his little cartoon ones. Massive pipes overhead dripped steadily, forming black puddles that reflected the dim emergency bulbs. The air smelled of rust and old ink.

Bendy picked himself up, brushing off his cardigan. His voice came out small and shaky in the vast space.

“Audrey...?”

Nothing.

“Audrey, where are you...?”

He climbed onto a crate, then leaped to a hanging chain, swinging to a workbench to get a better view. Each jump made his heart thump harder. He kept whispering her name like a charm, over and over, blinking back the sting in his pie-cut eyes. Big sisters always found their little brothers, right? She’d promised.

Then he froze.

On the far wall, cast by a flickering bulb, his shadow stretched across the concrete—except it wasn’t his shadow anymore.

It was tall. Bulky. Horns elongated, body grotesquely stretched like taffy pulled too far. And in the center of that familiar grinning face, two deep, realistic eyeballs stared back at him, unblinking.

Bendy stumbled backward on the workbench, nearly slipping off the edge. “N-no... that’s not...”

A low, playful voice echoed faintly through the vents overhead, wet and gurgling, as if spoken through a throat full of ink.

Audrey shot out of the ink pipe with a wet splatter, landing in a crouch on the cracked pavement of the “City Built on Broken Dreams.” The sepia skyline loomed around her—tall, skeletal buildings with faded signs for long-forgotten Bendy cartoons, streetlamps flickering weakly, and an endless stretch of empty road disappearing into hazy distance.

But it was too still.

No shambling Lost Ones groaning in the alleys. No heavy tread of Keepers on the rooftops. No distant wails or skittering Searchers. Just the soft echo of her own footsteps and the occasional drip of ink from overflowing gutters.

She straightened, brushing black smears from her jacket, glowing eyes scanning the silent streets.

“Bendy?” she called softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Hey, little guy, where’d you end up?”

Nothing answered. Not even an echo willing to play along.

She sighed, assuming he’d popped out of a different pipe somewhere nearby. He was small—he always found the weirdest routes. “Stay put, okay? I’ll find you,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Audrey started down the main avenue toward the massive Gent building squatting at the city’s heart, its broken windows staring like empty sockets. The closer she got, the more the stillness pressed in, thick and watchful.

Then she saw them.

Fresh handprints on the brick walls lining the street—huge, splayed smears of ink, fingers unnaturally long and stretched. Too big for any Lost One, too bulky and distorted to be Bendy’s neat little gloves. They climbed the walls in erratic patterns, some reaching ten feet high, as if whatever made them had been... playing.

Audrey slowed, her left arm prickling as golden symbols flickered faintly under her skin.

She felt it before she saw it—the weight of being watched.

Her gaze snapped upward.

In the darkened windows of the buildings overhead, shapes shifted behind cracked glass. Just for a second. Tall silhouettes with glinting, deep-set eyes catching the dim light, vanishing the moment she looked directly at them.

Another handprint appeared on the wall to her right—fresh, dripping, as if placed there while she wasn’t looking.

Audrey’s jaw tightened. She picked up her pace, Flow humming at the ready in her veins.

“Bendy, if you can hear me, just stay hidden,” she said under her breath. “I’m coming. And whatever’s playing hide-and-seek up there...”

She glared at the empty windows above.

“...is about to regret it.”

Bendy’s little shoes squeaked faintly on the polished floor as he stepped into the long hallway. The walls were covered—floor to ceiling—with cardboard cutouts of himself. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. All in his classic pose: hands behind his back, head tilted, that big cheerful grin beaming out at anyone who passed.

For a moment, it almost felt like home. A tiny, shaky laugh escaped him.

“Heh... wow. It’s like a whole army of me’s.”

He reached out and booped one on the nose. “Hey there, handsome.”

But as he walked deeper, the comfort drained away fast.

Every cutout had been changed.

The pie-cut eyes were gone—scratched out with rough, angry gouges. In their place, someone had painted deep, realistic eyeballs, wet and glistening, staring straight ahead. The famous grins had been stretched wider, pulled down at the corners into something unnatural and hungry. Arms and legs were elongated with smeared ink, turning his cute cartoon proportions into something gangly and wrong.

Bendy stopped in the middle of the hall, ears drooping.

“...Guys?” he whispered to the silent rows. “This isn’t funny.”

Nothing moved. Just endless distorted versions of his own face watching him.

He took a cautious step backward. Then another.

When he glanced to the side again, one of the cutouts near the end of the row had shifted—just a fraction. Its head was tilted a little more toward him now. Those deep eyes seemed to follow.

Bendy’s breath hitched. He whipped his head around, scanning the hallway.

All the cutouts looked exactly the same as before.

He swallowed hard and started walking faster, trying to reach the door at the far end. His voice came out small and trembling.

“Audrey’s gonna find me... she’s gonna find me...”

The Ink Demon’s consciousness returned in a haze of dripping black, his massive body suspended upside-down from what should have been the floor. Thick tendrils of hardened ink had coiled around his wrists and ankles like chains, anchoring him to the ceiling of Joey Drew’s original office—except everything was wrong.

The desk was bolted to the ceiling above him, papers and pens scattered upward like frozen rain. Chairs hung like stalactites, legs pointing down toward him. Gravity itself felt broken: loose ink droplets drifted lazily upward, splattering against the “floor” far overhead. The air hummed with a low, mocking vibration.

A guttural snarl built in his chest as awareness sharpened. With a violent twist, he flexed his clawed arms. The ink restraints snapped like brittle rope. He tore free with a thunderous roar that shook the inverted room, dropping—falling upward—until his cloven hooves slammed into the upended floor (now his ceiling) with enough force to crack the wood.

He rose slowly, head nearly brushing the hanging desk, ink cascading off his spiked shoulders in reverse waterfalls.

The walls caught his attention next.

Every framed portrait that once showed the classic, cheerful Bendy—his original template—had been crudely overwritten. Paint scraped away, ink smeared thick. Now each frame held stretched, grotesque caricatures: bloated bodies, low-hanging bowties, deep-set realistic eyes staring out with smug glee. {{User}}’s face, mocking him from every angle.

The Ink Demon’s hidden gaze swept the room, spikes along his back bristling until they scraped the hanging furniture. His claws flexed, carving furrows into the floor-ceiling beneath him.

Then he saw the message. Scrawled across the far wall in massive, dripping letters tall as his torso:

OUT WITH THE OLD.

The words pulsed faintly, as though freshly written, ink still crawling along the edges like living veins.

A low, wet chuckle echoed from above—from the actual floor of the inverted room, now a distant platform high overhead.

The Ink Demon’s head snapped up. Gravity might be broken here, but his senses weren’t. Something large and stretched perched on the edge of that upper surface, legs dangling lazily over the drop, deep eyeballs glinting down at him through the upward rain of ink.

Watching.

Waiting.

The growl that rumbled from the Ink Demon’s throat was deep enough to vibrate the hanging light fixtures. This was his domain. His Cycle. His story.

And this pretender had dared to rewrite it.

With a surge of raw power, he lunged upward, claws raking the air, aiming to tear the usurper from its perch and remind the ink who its true master was.

The inverted office shuddered as the hunt began.

Audrey eased the creaking theater doors shut behind them, the heavy velvet curtains swallowing the faint light from the city street. The massive auditorium yawned before them—rows upon rows of empty seats shrouded in dust and sepia shadow, the once-grand chandelier overhead dripping slow, steady tears of ink into the aisle.

Bendy clung to her hand, his little gloved fingers squeezing tight. “This place gives me the creeps,” he whispered, voice small even in the echoing quiet. “It’s like everybody just... vanished mid-show.”

Audrey gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll be quick. If there’s any clue about where the others went—or what that thing is doing to the Cycle—this is the place. Old reels, old memories.”

They slipped down the center aisle and settled into two seats near the back, far enough from the screen to stay hidden in the gloom. Bendy immediately climbed halfway into her lap, curling up like a nervous cat, his bowtie brushing her arm. Audrey wrapped one arm protectively around him, the other resting on her knee, ready.

The massive screen flickered to life on its own.

An old Bendy cartoon began to play—the classic black-and-sepia loops everyone knew. There he was: little Cartoon Bendy, dancing a cheerful jig on a brightly drawn stage, tipping his hat, spinning in place, that wide grin never fading. Bendy in her lap relaxed a fraction, a tiny nostalgic smile tugging at his own grin.

“That’s me,” he murmured proudly. “Look how cool I was.”

Audrey smiled softly. “Still are, kiddo.”

But then the film stuttered.

The image warped, colors bleeding. Bendy on screen stretched—arms elongating like taffy, legs growing gangly, body bloating into that grotesque, bulky silhouette. The cheerful dance became a mocking parody: jerky, exaggerated, bowtie drooping low on a swollen chest. Deep, realistic eyeballs blinked open in the center of the familiar face, staring straight out at the audience.

Bendy stiffened in her lap. “Aud...”

“I see it.”

The distorted clip played for ten agonizing seconds before snapping back to the original cheerful footage—only to glitch again minutes later, worse each time. {{User}} hijacking the reel, twisting every happy step into something unsettling.

Audrey leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “There’s got to be a pattern. Maybe a message hidden in the glitches. Or directions to—”

She cut off.

The projector beam behind them shifted.

A massive, elongated shadow suddenly stretched across the entire screen—towering horns, bulky stretched torso, oversized gloves raised in a playful wave. It wasn’t part of the film. The shadow moved independently, turning its head as if looking around the theater.

Bendy whimpered and buried his face against her jacket. “Audrey, that’s not on the screen. That’s in here with us.”

Audrey’s left arm ignited with golden symbols, tendrils curling up her fingers. She stood slowly, pulling Bendy up with her and tucking him half-behind her body.

Audrey picked her way through the wreckage of Heavenly Toys, coughing as dust and stuffing floated in the sepia air. The entire showroom looked like a bomb had gone off—shelves splintered and toppled, plushies scattered like fallen soldiers, beams twisted and hanging from the ceiling. The destruction was fresh; broken wood still dripped ink, and the floor trembled faintly with distant aftershocks.

She froze when she heard it: a low, guttural rumble coming from the heart of the chaos, followed by the heavy scrape of claws on concrete.

“Bendy...?” she called softly, stepping over a crushed Boris display.

The rumble grew deeper—pained, almost mournful.

Audrey rounded a massive fallen shelf and stopped dead.

There, in the center of the devastation, stood the Ink Demon.

Towering, horned, ink cascading from his spiked shoulders like black waterfalls. His massive chest heaved with ragged breaths, claws flexing open and closed as if fighting some invisible enemy. Shards of shelving and plushies lay crushed beneath his cloven hooves, the floor cracked in a radial pattern from where the transformation must have erupted.

He hadn’t noticed her yet. His hidden gaze was fixed on the ground, body trembling with barely contained fury—or grief.

Audrey’s heart twisted. She knew that posture. She knew those shaking claws.

It was still her little brother in there.

She stepped forward carefully, avoiding crunching debris. “Bendy.”

The massive head snapped toward her voice. A warning growl rolled out, deep enough to vibrate her ribs, but it faltered halfway—cut off by something almost like recognition.

Audrey didn’t flinch. She kept walking until she stood directly in front of him, craning her neck to meet where his eyes would be beneath the thick ink.

“Hey... it’s me,” she said gently, voice steady. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

The Ink Demon’s claws twitched. One huge hand lifted—hesitated—then lowered slowly, palm up, as if afraid to touch her.

Audrey reached out without hesitation and placed her smaller hand against the center of his massive palm. Golden symbols flickered faintly up her arm, but she didn’t pull away.

“You’re not alone anymore,” she whispered. “Whatever happened, whatever made you change... we’re still us. Big sister and little brother, remember?”

The growl softened into a low, rumbling whine. The towering beast sank slightly, horns dipping until his forehead nearly brushed the top of her head. Ink dripped steadily around them, but none of it touched her.

(You can write the starter.)