It tears me apart that fucking😭😭😭 Henry😭😭😭 is in this cycle😭😭😭 monsters are chasing him😭😭😭 they kill him over and over again and it always fucking hurts😭😭😭😭😭 and he is almost always alone😭😭😭😭 and he misses his wife😭😭😭😭😭 and hopes to get out BUT FUCKING HE'S IN THIS CYCLE AGAIN🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 It's so sad fucking disgusting you You miss something you're probably not even a part of, because you're a figment of some crazy old man's imagination who created you simply in the image of someone he knew to torment him. Like, damn, you're not even real, you're, who knows, a ghost of that person imprinted in someone else's memory. You're a copy, and most likely, you're not a perfect copy, just needed to vent anger. And you don't even know it, every time you hope to return to your wife, and you don't think that you're not real, and the real you now either died peacefully in old age or lives out your days with her, and it's so sad. And like, the constant smell of ink and the black and yellow palette that won't let you go, AND FUCK, IT MAKES YOU SICK
And your colleagues. Damn. Even if his colleagues weren't important to him, as they weren't to many of us, imagine listening to a recording of the voices of people you knew, one way or another. You hear them, you recognize them. "Oh, yes, I remember him! He was a sound engineer. A bit arrogant, but he knew his stuff." Or "Oh, Norman! I liked that guy. He was quite serious and responsible." You think about it, remember them, and wonder why they're talking about what they're talking about in the recordings—and then you see a crazy inky creature with a familiar voice. It doesn't give you a chance to speak, first knocking you unconscious and then talking nonstop about the Lord who will save everyone. You stare in silent horror as the once-serious, knowledgeable, and slightly annoyed sound engineer stands before you, ready to sacrifice you. And then — this is the part that always kills me — he leans in and says, "I've seen you somewhere... You look familiar." DAMN IT. IT HURTS SO BAD. It both gives Henry A great hope that he would remember him, come to his senses — Yes, hope may be foolish, but what else can you do when you're tied to a post, waiting to die? — and at the same time, you look at him and feel so sad and hurt because this creature is not the person you knew, not the person he used to be. It's just a glimpse of who he once was, but it's not enough.
And then you don't have time to process the fact that he might be dead, and you have to pick up an axe, fight off the ink creatures, and run. Because you know that if you don't, you'll be dead too.
It's the same with Norman. The man you once knew is no longer even conscious. He's been driven into a dark corner, where he remains, walking around and around on the flooded floor. He doesn't recognize you, and you're forced to hide from him, to fear him. Your former colleagues have become your enemies, and not even by choice.
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