Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  The day was sunny and full of air in the realm of Inkwara. It’s a day for toons and their creators. Except in this world, toons must obey their creators. They must always obey their creators since everyone thinks they’re cartoons for their portrayals. Right now, both the toons and their creators are made right in their homes, Joey Drew Village. Toons come to life when creators draw them on a piece of paper with a bottle of ink that came from the Ink Machine. Ink that’s mixed with both pigment and black magic. 

   The rules that toons must obey their creators have always been like for 70 years. Almost like time refusing to stand still. It’s been like that ever since people started to become more oppressive and more dominant. 

   Despite being loved and cared for, the toons were more like slaves to those people ever since their dominance grew over time. They were more like abusers than caretakers. Most never were physical, just verbal. But over time, the toons always treated it like it was normal. Even when some started to become resistant to their creators.

  Most of the buildings in Joey Drew Village were for drawing, storyboarding, scheduling, repairing, or just plain living. The Office House, the main building in the middle of Joey Drew Village, was small on the inside but large on the outside. The largest showed no resistance to Bendy, the lovable cartoon imp, as he slammed the double doors open eagerly and went outside where the huge garden was with his bag jumping upon his shoulder. 

   Most toons open doors for entertainment and jokes. But Bendy opened the doors loudly for a reason. Here, he had to run some errands for his creator, Joey Drew, who wanted those inkwells delivered to his house by sunset. Usually, it would be unfit for toons to do the dirty work for their creators, but to Bendy, a job’s a job (despite being the little prankster himself). So, he straightened up his bag and dusted off his bowtie. The journey will be long, but that’s nothing for this handsome devil!

   But before Bendy could leave, he heard someone coming outside. He turned his head to see his creator, Joey Drew, who was watching him from the doorway. He smiled, turned his body, and bowed his head. Joey Drew smiled and bowed back. This was how both toons and their creators greeted each other.

 “Hope that art director ain’t so grumpy today!” Joey jokingly said and laughed.

   Bendy laughed too. “She’s always grumpy! It’s gonna be either we won’t be able to pay her until those darn rice farmers pay their toll, or that I’m a toon who shouldn’t do all the work!”

“Probably both!”

   Both Joey and Bendy laughed like hyenas. The art director they were making fun of was Abby Lambert. She was a woman who always talked about how toons should be like their creators and how they should always follow the rules. This, of course, gave her a bad reputation throughout Joey Drew Village because of her constant bragging. So much so that even Joey had to put Mr. Morris in the lead of art directing. Not that Abby was replaced, just had to be ignored over.

  Bendy finished laughing and wiped away the tears from his face. “She’ll hafta cope with lil ol’ me!”

“Ya sounds just like Henry.” Joey’s smile turned upside down when he thought about his old friend (the former animator who used to live in Joey Drew Village.) “Yer becomin’ like him every day.”

   Bendy blinked his eyes and hissed. “I’m nothin’ like that traitor! He’s dead ta me!”

“You could turn into things a hell of a lot worse than your old man, ya know.”

   Bendy giggled and said with flying words out of his mouth, “Certainly! I could turn into a big, scary monster! Or better yet, a demon!”

   Joey Drew stilled, his face now covered with both shock and sadness. Realizing what he had just said, Bendy’s eyes widened, and he immediately bowed dramatically. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me!”

    Joey Drew sighed, walked over to where Bendy was standing, and then patted his head like he had when he created him with Henry standing beside him. “You’re my beloved toon, Bendy. All is forgiven.”

   Sometimes, contrary to the conclusions of the people that lived in Joey Drew Village, Bendy was certain that he was possessed by an evil spirit for no other toons would be much more entertaining than he was (despite already being the devil himself even though he’s made from the ink, not from hell itself.)

“And if ya made another toon,” Bendy said, his eyes showing a mischievous grin as he still bowed. “Would ya hold a grudge a lot quicker than the weather in New York?”

   Laughing again, Joey nudged his creation and pointed his finger towards the Desolate Road. “Off with you now! And be quick! No one ain’t safe from the verge of hour!”

   Bendy walked through the garden, his steps making a breeze through the roses and violet bushes. “Dusk is more than half an hour away, and you know it!”

“Best not to wait too long,” he replied. “One of my employees once told me that Tom got out in the sunset too long and came back home with his arm missing!”

“Ha!” Bendy exclaimed.

  Joey gave him a stern look. “It’s not funny. First, his wife had to take care of him, then he had to get himself a mechanical arm to move his limb again, and finally, he did a really stupid thing by trying to attack one of those monsters at night, even though his arm wasn’t even latched on properly!”

   Hearing this gave Bendy a sour taste in his mouth. He thought losing an arm really was funny, but hearing how it affected Tom changed his opinion about it. Of course, hearing that Tom’s wife, Allison, was beside him all the way through made him remember about Henry’s departure from the village. Henry chose to leave Joey when he needed him, while Allison chose to never leave her husband’s side. If Bendy told Joey that Henry should’ve stayed in the village just like how Tom’s wife stayed in, Joey would tell him not to speak anymore about him like he always does.

    The whole idea about staying out of night was that humans and toons have to stay out during the day while ink monsters go out during the night. Henry already knew why that rule exists. The night was a deathtrap. The ink monsters always draw their pigment onto travelers who were just minding their business and then pull them into the dark puddles. Henry has seen this all the time. He knows the verge of hours both in the afternoon and in the evening. And he knows how to fight back with his own weapon. 

     Henry had always been careful about how to prepare for himself when battling others. That’s why he kept his trusty axe behind his back to protect both Joey Drew and Bendy and make himself look bigger and stronger as he waits outside the Office House like a guard protecting a bedroom. 

    He was also mute so he spoke using sign language to everyone in Joey Drew Village. The only time he spoke was when he was laughing or talking to Bendy.

   Then again, Henry was the same guy who chose to become one of those mute-runners. Mute-runners were selective-mute people who chose to leave and abandon their friends and families all behind and never speak about them again. He was the same guy who chose to walk out of the door and out into the night with his trusty axe on his back, leaving Joey Drew angry but silently washing the dishes with Bendy watching him walk into the horizon while not understanding what was going on. 

    Since then, the people of Joey Drew Village chose not to speak anymore about Henry. If they did, they would either talk negatively or tell each other to shut up. Since Henry chose to abandon everything and go out into the night to search for his own meaning, Bendy suspected, with some bitterness in his heart, that Henry was just doing it for a selfish reason. After all, it’s not uncommon for mute-runners to not ever come back.  

“I’m gonna be back before ya even know it!” Bendy assured Joey Drew.

“With this time, the inkwells are being intact and not broken into pieces?”

“No promises!” 

    Bendy carried his large bag upon his shoulders and trotted out of the front garden, making a skip on every step. The sun was coming down and the sky was becoming a bright orange, yet the townsquare was bustling with employees, citizens, and toons just going about their lives while not minding Bendy making his way through the streets. He was beloved and treated like a mascot by all, so they treated him with respect and kindness despite not liking the fact that he had to do the work that only humans do. The kind of respect where they made a path for Bendy to go through even made his job easier. He smiled to himself and began humming the song called Lonely Angel that Henry used to sing for him when he still stayed in the village years back, when he was putting him to bed (though he liked to pretend that the song came from Joey.)

   He made it through the center of town, just as he saw the old, beaten-up pavement known as the Desolate Road, which in ancient times was used to serve as Gent Corporations, the capital of Inkwara. Even before it was called Joey Drew Village, it was known as Archgateville, and it was also known to host various types of travelers. Beggars, noblemen, monks, employees, toons that no longer have their creators, you name it. 

   Nearly many moons ago, in the aftermath of World War II, Nathan Arch, Inkwara’s highest ranking World War I corporal — second only to the emperor himself in authority and the actual ruling—had ordered construction of the greatest highways to enhance the realm. But over time, the traffic on the Desolate Road had died down, and Archgateville was shutting its doors: jobs not opening; employees, farmers and workers running out of business; toons living on the streets; and even the most wealthy people had to find another place to live in a more promising spot. 

  Since then, nothing in Archgateville had changed for years. That is, until Joey Drew and Henry Stein came over to that same place and changed it into their own world of cartoons. They even changed the name to Joey Drew Village. They turned it into a place for people who wanted to create their own toons. Word got out and it led hundreds of people, including toons, to come over and check it out. It became very popular. But ever since Henry left, the popularity within the village had decreased. Animators were overworked, toons were stressed out, and some decided to quit and leave all their creations behind. It was almost as if it was becoming abandoned, just like how Archgateville was abandoned.

  Bendy reached the front gate and started to reminisce about Henry, though he tried not to. A different kind of reminiscence was that the whole town in Joey Drew Village would spark rumors that Henry was actually an inky replica of the real Henry. 

  Although Bendy did not believe in such rumors, he couldn’t help but think at how strange Henry was. There was always something quiet and mysterious about him that sometimes gave Bendy the shivers. He couldn’t even help the fact that Henry was also very careful and stealthy about his surroundings and would even slice his opponents in half while showing no emotion in his eyes. He also would claim he always comes back from the dead.

“How silly! Even if all that’s true, he left us all behind when we needed him! He betrayed us, and he’s not even gonna come back! I bet there’s not even a real Henry!”

  Bendy left the gate behind him and immediately walked cheerily along the Desolate Road as it strayed across the vast, green fields. Bendy looked at the short grass, the wind brushing through it like a fan, making the wind through a woman's hair. He remembered the tales where both World War I and World War II used to fight on these fields with their guns and swords. But just like Archgateville, these pastures were also abandoned as well. And they still weren’t found by the right people who wanted to rent them. Not one person.

  “This is so nice,” Bendy said as he then made it to an old bridge that stretched across the river banks. Despite the cracks all over the capstones that looked like they were going to break at any moment, Bendy smiled widely and skipped his feet onto the bridge, his bag jumping up and down. It was such nice weather to stretch his legs out, and it was also nice weather to see the river run. 

   Bendy then held his bag behind him, taking his eyes onto the rushing water beneath the bridge. Even when he knew about his surroundings, he didn’t notice a cartoon four-legged wolf walking carefully onto the rocks on the rushing water while clutching the golden keys in its jaws.

  It was a bad omen for which Bendy did not see.

  Then, among the short grass, a small cricket sang its song through its legs.

  It was an affliction of misfortune, for which Bendy did not hear.

  Finally, a gust of rushing wind brushed over Bendy’s little horns. It leaves out a message of certain doom.

  Usually, Henry would tell him stories that the world would often be filled with warnings that show a terrible fate to an innocent one. Bendy never once liked his stories and, ever since his own creator abandoned him, he would choose to forget everything and pretend that these lessons didn’t exist and ignore the signs that are trying to warn him. Even if he did remember them, he would always tell himself that they didn’t matter to him anymore. 

  Bendy kept smiling and made it to the end of the bridge. If he had been paying attention, he could’ve saved himself a great deal of trouble by running back to the village, although doing so would bring chaos and destruction to the innocent people and the toons that live there.

  Either way, he continued skipping his feet.

Chapter Text

  Bendy managed to retrieve the inkwells from the art department. He smiled and made his way down onto the grassy path. He ignored the sounds of Abby Lambert’s comments about how toons were born to entertain, not do the dirty work that only humans do. He knew how much of a bragger she could be. He went outside as Abby’s annoying words echoed throughout the department. Bendy put both his fingers in his ears to shut the petty words out with an annoyed face. 

  Since the path was far, he decided to take a shortcut to the other side of the Desolate Road, thinking that it was going to be a piece of cake. Bendy held all the inkwells in his bag and skipped his way to the other side of the road, barely thinking that his jumping like that might harm the ink bottles. He kept on smiling, and suddenly he found out that he was now at another part of the road where it was also abandoned, seemingly to a small town, only it had no people, and all of the buildings in it were broken and in ruins. 

  Looking around, Bendy explored all parts of the abandoned buildings of the desolate road, the inkwells clamping and tapping together inside his bag. Mist began to rise up from the nearby fields, floating eerily over the dry ground. Then, he heard a cat scream in the distance, knocking over a plant pot and breaking it into pieces. He stopped in his tracks and thought it was a ghost. Despite ignoring every single story Henry had told him, he wasn’t dumb enough to stay in a place that could take him at any moment. 

  According to legend, the thick fog of the river plains was said to be filled with the ghosts of slain Inkwara soldiers, who climbed from the earth with the mists, their eyes heavy with bloodlust. Villagers would call it “ink vapor.”

   Or at least, that's what he thought until he noticed three figures in the distance as he just passed by a collapsed gate and ruined garden. Bendy peeked his head behind the gate and saw a spider, a sailor, and a tall man. He gasped and realized who they were. They were the Butcher Gang. Their names were Edgar, Barley, and Charley. Bendy knew them because they used to live in Joey Drew Village but were later kicked out due to their criminal behavior.

  But what really made Bendy gasp was what they were doing to an animal. It was a wolf. The wolf was a four-legged cartoon, black and white, and had cheeks on both sides of its face. They were abusing it. Edgar laughed, Barley poked its pied-eyes with a fishing rod, and Charley stepped on its tail. The wolf limped and tried to get away, but the Butcher Gang held its tail down. 

“WHAT IN BLAZES DO YA THINK YER DOIN’?!?!” Bendy yelled. 

  The Butcher Gang stopped and turned their attention to Bendy. 

“Who do you think ya are, Bendy?” Charley responded harshly as if his entertainment was being interrupted. 

“Ya!” Edgar included. 

“You wanna pick on us?!” Barley demanded to raise his fishing rod.

“If ya wanna fight, then so be it!” Bendy exclaimed, pulling up his sleeves. 

  Even though he wasn’t a human, Bendy still wouldn't let a gang of sociopaths hurt an actual animal. After all, he’s got something up his sleeve. Well, his bag that is. 

  The Butcher Gang took their mind off the wolf and kept their eyes on their enemy. Charley pointed his finger and said, “Get him, boys!” 

  They all ran towards their enemy. Barley raised his fishing rod and was about to hit his enemy before Bendy grabbed it and swung it towards his face. Barley’s teeth came out of his mouth and fell to the ground like a banana peel being thrown over. 

  Edgar’s sharp teeth growled in controllable rage. “How dare you!”

  Bendy only smiled. “Ha!”

  Edgar lunged his little towards his enemy. Edgar was just about to deliver a punching blow with his tiny little fist until Bendy dodged it, grabbed it, and made it fist straight towards Edgar’s face. Edgar’s face was covered in bruises, and the world spun, dropping him onto Barley. 

   Charley gritted his teeth in anger. “Nobody outdoes the butcher Gang and gets away with it!” 

“Outdoes, you say?”

 “Yeah! You may beat them up, but ya sure ain’t gonna beat me up!”

  The wind howling through the air was deafening as Charley put his body into a stance and put his arms up. Bendy knew what was coming and still put a smile on his face. He had something up his sleeve. 

  Then, Charley charged at him. As he put his fists up, ready to strike, a faint sound of glass broke through his face. Black liquid dripped all over his face with a bump rising on his head. His face of pure fury was now replaced with a face of dizziness. Swirling eyes and birds flying over his head showed an example of that. Bendy had just picked out one of the inkwells from his bag and slammed it on top of his enemy’s head. 

  Charley slowly walked sideways and upwards uncomfortably, the world spinning around his mind. Eventually, he fell on top of Barley and Edgar. They all looked like children who had tired themselves out on a playground. 

“Ya want more of me?!” Bendy exclaimed, his face showing no fear and only a mischievous grin.

  The Butcher Gang lifted their heads and, with faces of pure terror, they ran for their lives. Not a single word needed to come out of their mouths except screams of pure terror. Bendy wiped the dust off his hands. 

“That takes care of that,” he said and turned his head to the wolf. “You alright there, pal?” 

  The whining sound from the wolf showed that it was not okay. 

“Don’t worry, little guy. Those heebie punks ain’t gonna bother you again.”

  Though the wolf gave out a small smile, its injured foreleg wouldn't let it get up. 

“Woah, they roughed you up like that, huh?” Bendy snapped his fingers. “Well, I have somethin’ that can help ya!”

  Bendy ran over to one of the ruined buildings, where it had a kitchen. There, he found a red towel that was in one of the drawers. He ran back to the wolf. 

“This is gonna keep your foreleg up so you’re just gonna have ta not touch the ground until it gets better, got it?”

  The wolf nodded. Gently, Bendy lifted its forepaw and wrapped it around the limb with the cloth. He made sure not to hurt it after seeing how badly beaten the animal was by the Butcher Gang. He knew they were bad, but he never thought that they were plain evil. Their behavior, however, did explain why they were kicked out of Joey Drew Village. They must have acted pretty badly to get them exiled forever. 

“There, all better! How do you feel?’’

  The wolf slowly stood on its three legs with the fourth held tightly, which was being wrapped around by the red cloth. It looked happy as it laid its eyes on Bendy. It barked as a gesture of a “thank you”, picked up the golden keys in its mouth, and slowly limped off into the distance in the bamboo trees where the ruined buildings were. 

“That takes care of that!” Bendy looked over to his bag, where all the inkwells were still intact. “I better get goin’ or else Joey might be thinkin’ I was taken by some evil toon spirit!”

   With a large smile on his face, he began walking back onto the path to Joey Drew Village with his tiny legs making a skip and the inkwells making the sound of clatter. Then, the shadowy, ink-like patterns started to appear on the ground. Darkness crept over the Desolate Road. Above, the full, shining moon, no thicker than a face full of fury, appeared in the mists. Nervously, Bendy wondered if he was still heading towards the village, or if he had been turned around somehow, on some tortuous path spun by trickster spirits. 

  Through the patterns, he could have sworn he saw a shape, both tall and malformed, standing overhead. Has the sun fallen? Had he been caught on the verge of hour? He stumbled through the ink-like patterns, breaths coming faster with every step. It seems like hours since his encounter with the Butcher Gang, an age since he left the Office House. 

  So, when Bendy saw the balusters of the dilapidated bridge emerge out of the mist, he nearly gasped in relief. Walking slowly, he started forward, but before he could reach the bridge, a flood of ink struck him, thick as blood.

  The world spun. Inkwells fell out of his bag with a crash. His tiny legs could barely keep still on the ground. 

  Reeling, Bendy peered his head out from the ink-like patterns, which swirled across his vision in dizzy spirals, shifting and parting, revealing trees, ruins, and a lone figure some twenty feet down the Desolate Road. 

  A toon.

  No, not a toon. 

  He was dressed in a golden kimono, but his skin was a dark and black ink, like the thickest of the thick, and his eyes were covered beneath the ink while a large, toothy grin was spread across his face. His smile was vibrating as if searching–no, hungering –for something. 

  Or someone. 

  Bendy staggered backward, startled. Like toon spirits, ink monsters can be good or evil, tricksters or guides, but this one did not seem to be there to help him. Not with that ravenous look on his twisted grin. 

“Inku Akuma,” Bendy whispered.

 Ink Demon, an evil entity. 

 Seeing Bendy on the road, the creature stumbled forward, his hands raised as if ready to snatch him at any moment. With a high screech, he darted forward.

 Bendy turned his back and ran as fast as his little legs could. He looked back to see that the Ink Demon was 15 feet away. He was far away, but close enough to touch. His gloved hand reached out, almost touching Bendy’s back. Bendy could even feel the demon’s cold breath dripping on his neck.

  When he looked back again, the creature grabbed both of his hands and held them in place. He looked at the face of an eyeless creature. The face of the Ink Demon.

  Bendy knew he should have run faster. If he had been more braver, or more adventurous, like Henry, he would have. 

   But he was not Henry, and he was not brave. 

  The creature was speaking now, whispering, like liquid covering over skin. Frozen, Bendy watched the demon’s teeth parting, hearing the voice that was both demonic and human-like, both human and devil: “The dark puddles awaken.”

  The demon leaned forward, and before Bendy could stop him, pressed their mouths together in a perfect, round kiss. 

Chapter Text

Bendy’s first thought was that he was having the first kiss of his life, and he was having it with the Ink Demon.

People in Inkwara had one word for it. Bazai. More intense than bad luck, bazai was the result of all one’s evil thoughts and deeds compounded and turned back on oneself a hundredfold. Bazai was the reason Tom lost his arm and the reason Henry left him, and the reason he could not die honorably by his own hands. Bazai, or so it was said, was the reason Joey Drew Village was crumbling, returning slowly to earth—the result of a long-ago transgression by one of the villagers against a powerful spirit.

Bazai had to be the reason this was happening to Bendy, though he had no idea what he had done to deserve it. Being a mere toon of servant class, he had scarcely considered things like divine retribution before, but given the circumstances, he was certainly starting to consider them now.

Which brought to his second, or third thought (at this point, he couldn’t keep up the count), which was that the kiss didn’t feel at all like he’d thought it would. Sure, he didn’t give in too much thought about being kissed by an ink creature (despite imagining that he could be kissed by a pretty lady), but what he felt like from Inku Akuma was not passion, or desire, or romantic, or otherwise. Instead, what Bendy felt was the curious sensation of being consumed alive: a tree growing its roots over the gravestones, eating its names and trapping them in its clutch. It was as if the kiss was twitching in his veins, and inside the captivity of his chest, something bursting out. A seed, taking its root. Rot, spreading slowly, over the flesh of a corpse.

Except he was not dead.

At least, he hoped not.

Abruptly, the Ink Demon pushed him back. Stumbling, Bendy caught a brief glimpse of the full moon, glowing faintly in the fog.

He lurched toward the bridge, his only thought of reaching the ink gate at the border of the village. If the gate’s failing magic still held, the Ink Demon could no longer pursue him. Inside the human borders, he would be safe.

But he felt no chill on the nape of his short neck, no hooked fingers clawing at his wrists. Perhaps the Ink Demon had let him go. Perhaps he had escaped.

Bendy squinted at the black air, though he knew if he couldn't even see a massive hole in the bridge, somewhere off to the side, he could hardly expect to see an ink creature moving quicker than his pied-eyes could follow.

He wobbled, clinging to the railing.

Then: the drumming of hooves.

It came from behind him—a steady rhythm of iron shoes on hard-like earth. Bendy turned, readying himself for a cry of warning.

But when he looked back, he saw neither the Ink Demon nor a horse but a light in the fog, bouncing swiftly toward him like an inky ball coming out of the machine. Briefly, Bendy wondered if it was the white star— a light carried by TheMeatly spirits to guide lost travelers to safety.

Bendy almost laughed. How many spirits or toon spirits was he going to encounter tonight? 4? 15? The twelve thousand soldiers that had been slaughtered on the river plain?

It was baizai—it had to be. 30 years of his life, and he’d never met a spirit. Now he angered the Ink Machine, however unwittingly, and this was his punishment.

But as the light neared, he saw upon the Desolate Road not TheMeatly spirit or any other inhuman creature but instead was a woman, a very pretty woman, and although he’d never seen him with his own pied-eyes, he recognized her features from the official announcements and public posters: the circle of her halo, the rounded shape of her brow. She was beautifully symmetrical in the way of all wealthy and powerful individuals, for whom money and prestige have brought generations of good breeding; although, in Bendy’s opinion, the end result was a little lacking in character.

Here upon the Desolate Road was none other than Alicia Aalto, the purinsesu, sole heir to the Gent Corporation and future ruler of all Inkwara.

Bendy blinked, open-mouthed.

He could have dealt with this with a toon spirit. He would have managed it. Well, somehow.

But the sole heir to the most powerful woman in the realm? This he could not comprehend.

The purinsesu was supposed to be summering in the northern prefectures with the other young duchesses, like she did every year. What was she doing galloping for the Joey Drew Village with no retinue to speak of?

Although he’s known the purinsesu was a few years older than he is (though toons cannot age like humans can), she seemed more adult-like than what the pictures made her look like, her dignified features white as if alight from within.

It took Bendy another second to realize she was white from within, her skin pale as paper. More than that, her body was more cartoonish than human. He watched, aghast, as her pretty face revealed horns and a dark hole on the left side of her face where, instead of an eye it had ink was dripping out of it. Her face was both pretty as a bird but ugly as an ink creature. Her face wasn't even human, either. She had her right face pieced–eyes just like a toon. And her halo looked like it was broken in the middle part of it. As she thundered closer, coldness seemed to radiate from her, washing over Bendy in wave after wave, making his inky body slick and his grip slide upon the balustrade.

Alicia Aalto, the heir to Inkwara, had been possessed by a toon spirit.

And she was going to run him over.

There was not enough space on the dilapidated bridge for both of them, and so Bendy grabbed onto the railing, hauling himself forward on his little leg as the spirit hurtled down on the Desolate Road on her enormous black steed.

Perhaps the toon spirit did not see him. Perhaps she was in too great a hurry to slow down. Perhaps she saw him and did not care enough to stop.

In any case, she was upon him in seconds. Bendy was thrown against the balustrade, toppling backward as the horse and rider jumped over the bridge, with the horse hitting Bendy’s head with its hooves. As he fell, he looked up to see the purinsesu turning, the toon’s pied-eyes fastened upon him, her black lips parted in an expression of greatest surprise.

Then, he struck the water, and the Metro River sucked him, screaming, into the liquid of its rolling depths.