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“Test failed.”
Eight felt like that was the thousandth time she had heard that phrase and felt the following explosion against her lower back. She was convinced the eight-ball at this station was covered in oil due to how easily it rolled off the platforms to its doom. And she was so close this time, too! She could see the goal shining in the distance. But alas, the ball slipped into the void and – SPLAT! – Eight was before the station gate once again.
She looked down at her C.Q. card. Her point balance was getting too low for her to feel comfortable with giving the test another go today. I’ll just come back tomorrow , she thought. I’ll have better luck then.
As Eight stepped onto the subway car, she glanced back. The small, bioluminescent conductor of the Deepsea Metro followed her. She looked away. There was a strange, tense air between her and C.Q. Cumber. After all, he was the one in control of the ink bomb that ignited the burning pain in Eight’s back every time she failed a test. Yet C.Q. always acted like nothing had happened when they returned to the car, as if every station was nothing but a daydream that could be tossed aside when reality kicked back in.
It was weird, to say the least.
#
God. Damn. It. Eight was dead wrong when she believed nothing could be worse than guiding the eight-ball at the last station she completed. But this one was worse. With no weapon or any structures to shield her, she had to avoid taking damage from a barrage of Octotroopers and an Octosniper. She was running away from the shots as fast as she possibly could, but one of the blobs of teal sanitized ink bounced into her side. And then – “Test failed” – Eight was splatted.
She looked over at C.Q. when she respawned at the gate. He was standing there, nonchalantly stretching his legs. It’s like he doesn’t even notice me , she thought.
#
“Please, no!” Eight screamed. “It hurts!”
She knew her pleading was futile; there were no exceptions to the punishment for failing a test. But it was the sixth time in a row that she had been splatted that day, and the pain was becoming unbearable.
“Test failed,” said C.Q., and Eight knew what was next. But right before the bomb detonated, she heard something on the intercom.
It was quick and faint, and it sounded like… a sigh? A whimper? She couldn’t tell what it was, or if it had even happened. The metro was full of strange interference, after all. But before it could possibly be repeated, the bomb detonated, and Eight floated off to the respawn pad.
C.Q. wasn’t at the gate when Eight returned. Weird , she thought.
#
She heard the noise again.
It was as the timer hit zero and Eight failed to destroy all the target crates yet again. C.Q.’s message came over the intercom, and right after that was when she heard the noise.
This time, it was a bit louder, sounding like a garbled whine, or a cry stifled before it could fully ring out. And just like before, C.Q. was missing when Eight found herself back at the gate.
Could it be? she thought. No, he wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t care that much… does he?
#
Eight believed she may have just set a new world record for the number of times someone was splatted in one day: 34 times. She felt as if a fire was raging on her back. The pain caused her eyes to water, dripping tears upon the metal floor of the subway car as she walked. Eight took a seat and leaned against the wall, slouching, breathing slowly in an attempt to ease her pain.
The car was rather silent; Cap’n Cuttlefish was asleep, and the only other passengers were a few jellyfish and… C.Q. Cumber. Who was uncharacteristically sitting in the corner, facing the wall. As much as Eight wanted to keep sitting, she also wanted to know what was going on with the conductor, so she stood up and walked down to where he was.
“Hey C.Q.?” she said. “You okay?”
There was no response. Eight sat back down, waiting to hear something.
“I’m sorry you’re in pain.”
“Huh?” Eight looked down staring at C.Q.
“I’m sorry that I have to keep splatting you and putting you in pain. It’s just….”
“I get it. It’s your job.” Eight didn’t understand who exactly was employing C.Q. (the Kamabo Corporation’s origins were never explained to her), but she had the feeling whoever was above him was a strict boss, given the conductor’s obedience to his tasks. And after all, he had to make a living. She was never going to judge him for that.
Eight leaned deeper against the car’s wall. “Hopefully I’ll be better tomorrow so you don’t have to splat me so much, okay?”
“Okay.”
#
Much to her disappointment, Eight was not better at her tasks the next day. She had already been splatted four times and as the clock ran out on her test, that was about to become five times. It wasn’t like she was terrible at shooting moving targets or anything, especially considering she was using her favorite weapon class of chargers, but there were so many enemies and the ink switches were so finicky that it ended up being that the final Octocommander she was ordered to splat was on the other side of the stage in those final seconds – too far for Eight’s charger to reach.
C.Q.’s intercom cut on, and Eight took a deep breath.
“What does a fish do in a crisis?”
“I… what?”
“They sea kelp.”
Before she could even react, Eight was splatted, As she respawned outside the station gate, though, she was laughing.
“What the hell was that, C.Q.?” she asked, running over to the turnstile.
“I thought that I could distract you from being splatted. Did it work?”
Eight gave a thumbs up, buckled over from a mixture of laughter and pain.
#
And so then every time Eight failed a test, C.Q. would tell another joke. He was no professional comedian – his delivery was only one step above monotone, and he didn’t always get the punchline right – but it made getting splatted so, so much more bearable. The pain in Eight’s lower back didn’t stop… but her laughter didn’t, either.
Then one day when she failed a test, it wasn’t C.Q. she heard over the intercom. It was Iso Padre with “What kind of fish goes well with peanut butter? A jellyfish!” When Eight got back to the subway car, she found out that C.Q. thought it would be fun to recruit the other passengers for their jokes.
So then Eight started hearing the jests of many different denizens. Sometimes it was Iso Padre (he seemed to have a knack for “dad jokes,” as Pearl called them), sometimes it was one of the jellyfish (who Eight learned were Atoll A., Chryssie, and N. Mura.), sometimes it was Cap’n Cuttlefish, sometimes it was someone Eight didn’t recognize. Hell, even Pearl and Marina started getting in on the fun, jumping on the intercom all the way from Inkopolis.
And as Eight made her way from station to station, up and down the lines of the Deepsea Metro in search of the four “thangs,” the jokes kept her going. Was being splatted nice? Of course not, but she ran into that possibility, knowing that if worse came to worse, she’d get to hear a good joke out of it. And on the nights where the pain relentless and she couldn’t sleep, she’d stay up and talk to the denizens about the jokes they told her – where they heard them, why they liked them, and all the other questions Eight managed to think up about a simple set of phrases. She even started a list of her favorites; her handwriting may have been shaky and the paper may have become worn down by being constantly jostled around in her shirt, but she treasured that list, filled with gems such as “What do you call a pod of musical whales? An orca-stra!” and “What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, it just waved.”
Being trapped in the Deepsea Metro may have been the darkest point in Eight’s life, but the jokes were like shooting stars raining down from the sky, bringing her light and hope. And that’s what she needed the most – hope.
#
After the blender incident and the arrival of Agent 3, Eight was about to make her way to the surface – but before she started the journey, she had one more task.
She walked into the subway car. C.Q. was aimlessly moving about the middle of the walkway, but he stopped upon seeing Eight and waved.
“Do you need any assistance today?” said the conductor in his usual plain-but-approachable tone.
“I want to thank you for all that you’ve done for me,” Eight said, crouching down. “All the jokes, they… they’re the best thing to happen to me in a long time.”
“Not being saved from that blender?”
Eight chuckled. “Well I guess that’s number one. But the jokes are number two.” She paused. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too. But you have fun in the Promised Land for me, though, okay?”
“Okay.” Eight stood up and walked to the car door. “Goodbye, C.Q.”
“Goodbye, number 10,008.”
And then Eight was on her way to the surface. But C.Q.’s voice was always in her mind. Not him saying “Test failed,” or him crying, but him telling her jokes, brightening her life one fit of laughter at a time.