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Quiet…..

The word never seemed to exist in what could only be called a hell-hole of a studio. There was always a fight that broke out between different creatures either made of just ink or had a soul as an extra ingredient, but they fought nonetheless over supplies or territory.

However that couldn’t keep one day of silence from appearing as all the inhabitants were in their own corners of the building. Left to stew in their thoughts they pondered their situations and how everything just fell apart so quickly.

Down in the sewers two searchers were sulking together in silence, one wore a bowler hat, while the other had a miner hard hat complete with a built-in headlight. They could hardly remember who they were anymore, still although the hats were simple accessories it gave them a sense of familiarity and helped cling onto what little humanity and sanity they had left. But no matter what they would always keep searching for a way to be saved….

In a hidden sanctuary within the music department a lost musician put up another cut-out of the creature that embodies a form his lord could never become. He was once a proud composer, before he had to worship his savior he used to write songs with ease, now almost all those old songs are forgotten, just remnants of who he used to be. His form could hardly sustain itself because of how much he loathed it often referring to it as a prison. He could only do what he could to provide sanctuary for his followers or “sheep” and promised them that he would convince his savior to finally set them free…

In a safe house not to far away, a lonely wolf stared at the collage of a character he did not know about. He was terrified of the beings lurking outside the door, because he’s seen what one of them does to his kind, and take it from him, she was heartless just like the clones of himself and other innocents that ended up as decaying trophies in her domain after being slaughtered and used for parts. He could barely muster any courage to go for supplies as often, and so he was afraid that one day he’ll go through that door and never come back out…

The remnants of the Toy workshop were quietly occupied by a giant searcher donning a brown top hat, just like the searchers with a miner hat and bowler hat respectively, this simple accessory had kept the last shred of his previous self. Though he wasn’t alone for he couldn’t be this big by himself, no. He along with many other searchers had merged to make his gargantuan form this gave him the unfortunate side effect of having to literally hear the voices of different people crying, wailing, and sometimes screaming to be let out, and so he became the driving force behind controlling their inky asylum, however he didn’t do this alone either for there was another equally strong presence. It was a male like him, but instead of a top hat he wore a simple newsboy, and apparently the only things he could remember were that he was Irish and had something to do with these toys as he possessed the body more often than not to evaluate each toy’s physical condition. The only thing he the top hat searcher himself could remember were fragments of memories having some sort of connection to money and economics but it would always slip out just as he was about to grasp it, and he would slightly wince almost as if the memory brought nothing but pain, So he stayed in heavenly toys, along with the Irish-searcher and the many other creatures imprisoned within this inky, dark, abyss, they have to call a body just waiting for the day they are no longer one with each other but one with themselves…

Just past Heavenly Toys a fortress of solitude contained angel who at this moment was scrutinizing her "face" in the mirror. She was so close now to completing her goal of becoming beautiful for the audiences that once adored her, everytime she looked at her reflection her head began hurting with painful memories of her past relationships with two men who were at odds with each other...if only had she not been so naive....anger replaced her sadness as she punched the mirror for what felt like the third time in a row, her features then gave off a look of determination as she flicked off one tear that managed to escape, she would be beautiful again, for all the world to see, once she was perfect, and no one would stand in her way...once she was perfect....

Down below on level 14 also known as the abyss it was the frequent domain of a human-like creature like the musician only he had a projector stuck to his head like solid concrete. He maintained the projectors down here with every bit of compassion he had left, his mind was a mess, and it was not just the constant sound of the machine permanently placed on his noggin continuously looping, but he also couldn’t speak and could only make inhuman noises so he couldn’t console himself for he was nothing more than a mindless machine or a wild animal bent on attacking anyone that comes near him. Occasionally when maintaining the projectors he would get flashes of a past that seemed so close and yet so far, since they always managed to escape his grasp he could only wander back to his daily routine, trying to find something, even when it’s right inside him….

Even deeper into the studio a single room housed a collection of ink creatures, whose lives were filled with nothing but grief, depression, and broken hearts, no matter what they did they would just drown in their own sorrow, and fall into a never ending pit of silence, they would give anything to be free of this madness, rebirth, and sky rocketing spiral of self-destruction, even if it meant looking up to a demon who had no such interest in them at all…

In one of the hidden attraction storage spaces a trio of mutated toons hobbled together around an ever burning fire from an oil can. They were considered the most lucky since they had the least amounts of memory and so they were blissfully ignorant of their past, despite that this trio in particular seemed to be a little more anchored thanks to this element of nature. It gave them a feeling that only they could have to themselves...warmth.....and they would do everything in their power to protect it...

Another storage space nearby was much more quiet, but it contained a massive ride with a being laced into the inside of its structure. He was the creator who built the ride that was now his torture machine, he's the one who built this park, that was until the HE came in, grinding him into the ground like a worthless bug...and now HE thought HE could just forget him? No. This was all HIS OWN accomplishments! His own glory! And even though he sleeps, waiting for the day HE comes back around, he swears for the unspoken, that he's still here....

Past the haunted house a duo consisting of an angel and a wolf sat side by side, unlike everyone else they had the strongest recollection of their old lives, that in turn however only caused them more agony as they could never return to the life they once had together. Through all that though they kept going fighting for a way out of this colossal mess, still... every once in a while they'd pondered if it would just be easier to give up all together.....

Down below to the deepest part of the studio the ink demon sulked on his make-shift throne, he scrutinized every one of the loops of cartoons that depicted him as a small, innocent, and practically harmless type of devil. The Ink Demon was just a twisted incarnation that could never be like the creature displayed on those many screens...He tore apart different posters of his image in rage and anger...and even though he wouldn't admit this to anyone else, he wished he could be the lovable toon on screen, but the liar had made that impossible! He called him an abomination, had him chained and locked away from the rest of the world, and worst of all...he was soulless....so he envied the other creatures who had that one ingredient the liar had concocted in his later experiments...There was only one thing to do right now at the moment. Using an ink portal he teleported higher up to cause more havoc, chaos, and ink-shed to fill the gaping black hole that was his heart....

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Quiet…..

The word never seemed to exist in what could only be called a hell-hole of a studio. There was always a fight that broke out between different creatures either made of just ink or had a soul as an extra ingredient, but they fought nonetheless over supplies or territory.

However that couldn’t keep one day of silence from appearing as all the inhabitants were in their own corners of the building. Left to stew in their thoughts they pondered their situations and how everything just fell apart so quickly.

Down in the sewers two searchers were sulking together in silence, one wore a bowler hat, while the other had a miner hard hat complete with a built-in headlight. They could hardly remember who they were anymore, still although the hats were simple accessories it gave them a sense of familiarity and helped cling onto what little humanity and sanity they had left. But no matter what they would always keep searching for a way to be saved….

In a hidden sanctuary within the music department a lost musician put up another cut-out of the creature that embodies a form his lord could never become. He was once a proud composer, before he had to worship his savior he used to write songs with ease, now almost all those old songs are forgotten, just remnants of who he used to be. His form could hardly sustain itself because of how much he loathed it often referring to it as a prison. He could only do what he could to provide sanctuary for his followers or “sheep” and promised them that he would convince his savior to finally set them free…

In a safe house not to far away, a lonely wolf stared at the collage of a character he did not know about. He was terrified of the beings lurking outside the door, because he’s seen what one of them does to his kind, and take it from him, she was heartless just like the clones of himself and other innocents that ended up as decaying trophies in her domain after being slaughtered and used for parts. He could barely muster any courage to go for supplies as often, and so he was afraid that one day he’ll go through that door and never come back out…

The remnants of the Toy workshop were quietly occupied by a giant searcher donning a brown top hat, just like the searchers with a miner hat and bowler hat respectively, this simple accessory had kept the last shred of his previous self. Though he wasn’t alone for he couldn’t be this big by himself, no. He along with many other searchers had merged to make his gargantuan form this gave him the unfortunate side effect of having to literally hear the voices of different people crying, wailing, and sometimes screaming to be let out, and so he became the driving force behind controlling their inky asylum, however he didn’t do this alone either for there was another equally strong presence. It was a male like him, but instead of a top hat he wore a simple newsboy, and apparently the only things he could remember were that he was Irish and had something to do with these toys as he possessed the body more often than not to evaluate each toy’s physical condition. The only thing he the top hat searcher himself could remember were fragments of memories having some sort of connection to money and economics but it would always slip out just as he was about to grasp it, and he would slightly wince almost as if the memory brought nothing but pain, So he stayed in heavenly toys, along with the Irish-searcher and the many other creatures imprisoned within this inky, dark, abyss, they have to call a body just waiting for the day they are no longer one with each other but one with themselves…

Just past Heavenly Toys a fortress of solitude contained angel who at this moment was scrutinizing her "face" in the mirror. She was so close now to completing her goal of becoming beautiful for the audiences that once adored her, everytime she looked at her reflection her head began hurting with painful memories of her past relationships with two men who were at odds with each other...if only had she not been so naive....anger replaced her sadness as she punched the mirror for what felt like the third time in a row, her features then gave off a look of determination as she flicked off one tear that managed to escape, she would be beautiful again, for all the world to see, once she was perfect, and no one would stand in her way...once she was perfect....

Down below on level 14 also known as the abyss it was the frequent domain of a human-like creature like the musician only he had a projector stuck to his head like solid concrete. He maintained the projectors down here with every bit of compassion he had left, his mind was a mess, and it was not just the constant sound of the machine permanently placed on his noggin continuously looping, but he also couldn’t speak and could only make inhuman noises so he couldn’t console himself for he was nothing more than a mindless machine or a wild animal bent on attacking anyone that comes near him. Occasionally when maintaining the projectors he would get flashes of a past that seemed so close and yet so far, since they always managed to escape his grasp he could only wander back to his daily routine, trying to find something, even when it’s right inside him….

Even deeper into the studio a single room housed a collection of ink creatures, whose lives were filled with nothing but grief, depression, and broken hearts, no matter what they did they would just drown in their own sorrow, and fall into a never ending pit of silence, they would give anything to be free of this madness, rebirth, and sky rocketing spiral of self-destruction, even if it meant looking up to a demon who had no such interest in them at all…

In one of the hidden attraction storage spaces a trio of mutated toons hobbled together around an ever burning fire from an oil can. They were considered the most lucky since they had the least amounts of memory and so they were blissfully ignorant of their past, despite that this trio in particular seemed to be a little more anchored thanks to this element of nature. It gave them a feeling that only they could have to themselves...warmth.....and they would do everything in their power to protect it...

Another storage space nearby was much more quiet, but it contained a massive ride with a being laced into the inside of its structure. He was the creator who built the ride that was now his torture machine, he's the one who built this park, that was until the HE came in, grinding him into the ground like a worthless bug...and now HE thought HE could just forget him? No. This was all HIS OWN accomplishments! His own glory! And even though he sleeps, waiting for the day HE comes back around, he swears for the unspoken, that he's still here....

Past the haunted house a duo consisting of an angel and a wolf sat side by side, unlike everyone else they had the strongest recollection of their old lives, that in turn however only caused them more agony as they could never return to the life they once had together. Through all that though they kept going fighting for a way out of this colossal mess, still... every once in a while they'd pondered if it would just be easier to give up all together.....

Down below to the deepest part of the studio the ink demon sulked on his make-shift throne, he scrutinized every one of the loops of cartoons that depicted him as a small, innocent, and practically harmless type of devil. The Ink Demon was just a twisted incarnation that could never be like the creature displayed on those many screens...He tore apart different posters of his image in rage and anger...and even though he wouldn't admit this to anyone else, he wished he could be the lovable toon on screen, but the liar had made that impossible! He called him an abomination, had him chained and locked away from the rest of the world, and worst of all...he was soulless....so he envied the other creatures who had that one ingredient the liar had concocted in his later experiments...There was only one thing to do right now at the moment. Using an ink portal he teleported higher up to cause more havoc, chaos, and ink-shed to fill the gaping black hole that was his heart....