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Inklings were distantly related to birds. That was the only conclusion she could come up with after all the squawking that this old man was doing.
The Octoling was doing her best to tune him out, having long since learned that nothing he said was of any worth whatsoever, but he was the only thing making noise besides her and there wasn’t much to distract her attention. It really didn’t help that she had a splitting headache, or that she was stuck in what was apparently a weaving network of dank and poorly-lit tunnels, or that she was lost, oh and she also couldn’t forget how she’d lost all of her memories and was probably comprised of more stress than octopus right now.
And yet…
“ - much like Octarian tunnels from what I saw through the ol’ viewing machine when Agent 3 was doing her thing.” the elderly squid, Cuttledfish or something, was rasping behind her as they walked. “There’s a few similarities maybe, but that’s probably because they’re both human - or at least I think this place is human-built? Wrong size for ink folk, and the writing on those posters is probably some human language…”
She gave the posters a token glance, then confirmed for herself that she couldn’t understand what they said and promptly forgot about them. She didn’t care about this place anymore, with its dark corridors and all of the -
Her foot caught on a cinderblock which was obscured in the darkness, making her stumble.
The stupid trash on the floor! This crumbling, awful place! It twisted her up inside, and she hated it. Everywhere she looked provoked emotions from her, grief and regret and sadness, and there were probably supposed to be memories tied to these emotions but she didn’t have any memories. All she had was the empty feelings.
“Watch your step, now! Plenty to trip on, looks like.”
[Thanks for the warning.] the Octoling growled under her breath, hunching her shoulders as she kept walking with tightening fists.
The two of them passed through a wrecked subway train, picking carefully across shards of broken glass and jagged metal bits that were sticking out at odd angles. Her ears pricked up at a distant, sort of hazy sound from down the tunnel, but pursuing the sound only revealed a hissing spray of water that was cascading down from a crack in the ceiling and draining out through a hole on the ground. She couldn’t see the bottom. She also didn’t want to stay here, eying that crack warily - this place hadn’t been maintained in what must be a hundred years at least, and she didn’t trust its structural integrity at all. The places with existing damage would be the first to go if everything started coming down.
So she moved on - but she didn’t know where she was going. Everything looked the same as everything else. Endlessly, empty doorways and ruined subway platforms, and always more tunnels. Her traveling companion didn’t seem to know either, nor did he know where they were. Not only that, he was slow. She could’ve easily covered twice the distance by this point if she wasn’t having to constantly drop her pace so that this tottering old coot would stop hollering at her to wait for him. The idea had briefly crossed her mind of just leaving him down here - after all, she wasn’t a fan of how he’d wanted to beat her up until he recognized the Song - but she wasn’t that cruel. Annoying or not, this maze was immense, and the chances of him finding his own way out seemed slim.
Was a nice thought, though.
“Not a very talkative octo, are you?” Cuttledfish asked, clacking his cane against the ground behind her.
Not with you, no.
“Well that suits me fine, really! I’m used to being the only one talkin’, Agent 3 isn’t much for conversation either.”
The Octoling shivered.
That name again - Agent 3. He’d referred to this person a few times, and every time her body would have a physical reaction. Much like with the tunnels themselves, Agent 3’s name elicited emotions that felt like they should have memories attached, except that this time the emotion was fear. Their relationship must not have been a pleasant one, whoever she used to be.
Maybe that was another reason she was keeping him around, she admitted with a faint stirring of guilt. If the two of them came across this Agent 3, she’d like to have an acquaintance at hand who could negotiate on her behalf.
They took a break, not because she needed to, but because the old man was starting to sound like a faulty air conditioning unit. While he sat on a bench and caught his breath, the Octoling stood at the edge of their newest train platform and strained her ears, trying to catch even the slightest sound. There was nothing. His labored breathing echoed down the passageway for whole seconds. She wondered how far they had already traveled; there was no way to tell time down here. No way to tell direction. Her mental map of the turns they’d taken was solid enough, but for how much longer?
How much further did they have to go? What were they going towards?
She didn’t know. Maybe there wasn’t anything down here, and they’d just walk until they starved. It was a sobering thought - almost enough to convince her to talk to Cuttledfish, except her Inkling was atrocious and she had no desire to fumble over herself while he asked her to speak up or enunciate or other old person things. Sure, maybe she was just being stubborn, but her view of the situation wasn’t bleak enough yet that she’d embarrass herself for the sake of sentiment.
Once Cuttledfish had recovered enough to start yapping again, she resumed her walk without a word.
Finally, mercifully, they found something new - a large mechanism of some kind, emblazoned with a crab symbol. It was blocking the way forward, and although squinting through its clouded glass only revealed yet another tunnel, this was clearly here for a reason. Not to mention it looked much newer than its surroundings, which implied that someone had placed it here somewhat recently.
The Octoling paused in front of it, raising a hand to her chin as she contemplated the object. The old man stepped up beside her. “Oho! An Octarian vault!” he declared, stroking his beard. Seeing that, the girl immediately lowered her own hand. “So we are in the domes! Or somewhere similar, at least. You all haven’t found any other bases in the deep down, have you?”
She wondered why he kept asking her questions when she hadn’t answered a single one. That said, she was tempted to ask why an Octarian vault had a crab on it.
“Well, even if you don’t know where we are, we’ll need a key to open this up.” Cuttledfish continued, murmuring to himself as he hobbled away to the side. The Octoling let him go, sizing up the vault. Seemed pretty sturdy. She pushed on it experimentally, and as expected it either weighed a ton or was built into the floor. There was a gap between the top of the vault and the ceiling, but it was too low for her to safely attempt a Super Jump, and besides that, she didn’t know how she’d get the old man over it.
There had been some wooden planks a few corridors back, their integrity was questionable but if she stacked enough of them up, maybe they’d bear some weight long enough to use them as a ramp? She didn’t have anything on hand strong enough to break it, and of course they could just take another route, but this was the first thing they’d encountered that didn’t look like everything else.
A loud crash shattered her train of thought, and her hearts leaped into her throat. “Aha!” the old man crowed. “Bingo!”
Trying to calm her skyrocketing pulse, the Octoling whirled furiously towards her idiotic companion with a scathing remark on her lips, only to falter at the sight of a faintly glowing floor pad sitting beside him. The crash had come from a large wooden pallet that was leaned onto the nearby wall, now toppled and on the floor. It must have been concealing the pad - along with the partially-obstructed passageway that the Octoling hadn’t even noticed while she was examining the vault.
More recent machinery? Like the vault, the pad was scaled to their size. It was obviously placed here by someone other than the builders of the tunnels.
“Looks like it’s workin’!” Cuttledfish proclaimed, rapping his cane on the concrete and gesturing towards the pad. “Come on, give it a shot! Double time!”
[Do not give me orders.] the Octoling growled, rankled, though she nevertheless stepped over to the pad as instructed - no reason to ignore a potential opportunity out of spite.
She flinched at the musical tone that played from the device as she mounted it, and another mechanism nearby gave off a wet sloshing noise before emitting ink from one end, creating a connective path that led over the obstruction. Narrowing her eyes, the Octoling casually noted how convenient this was; a vault, a floor switch, and a pathway.
Clearly they had reached the end of the abandoned tunnels - or at least, the end of the truly decrepit. This wasn’t necessarily evidence that someone was still around down here, but there were only two explanations; they were approaching a habitable zone, hence the locked door, or they were meant to be leaving it. The latter clearly wasn’t the case, but that left the question of why these mechanisms were parked directly outside of a locked door.
If keeping people out was the goal, the vault was plenty. So why was this here?
“Never used an ink rail before?” Cuttledfish asked as she glanced between the pad and the vault. “Or maybe that’s just another lost memory. Should be safe enough, but who knows where it leads? Proceed with caution, I say.”
[You say everything that it’s possible to say.] the Octoling snapped, agitation rising. She’d finally found something that wasn’t crumbling and silent down here, could this squid fossil stop breaking her concentration?
“No sense in hanging around here, I’ll keep a lookout while you check the other side.”
Fine, whatever. She bit back another retort and shifted to ink form, swimming along the ink rail and popping out on the other side. There was another floor pad directly in her path, standing between her and a much newer-looking room filled with crates and hovering targets. The Octoling stepped forward cautiously, mounting the floor pad, then tensed up in alarm as a glass cylinder rose up around her, trapping her inside.
Part of the pad split open and a metal rack raised up out of the floor. It carried what looked like an ink gun. The Octoling reached out with hesitant fingers, grasping the weapon and lifting it from its position, and immediately the rack and the cylinder both retracted into the floor.
She stared, dumbfounded, between the weapon and the floor pad. If the previous mechanisms had been suspicious, this was just insultingly blatant. Something was very wrong about this place - not only were these relatively high-tech devices placed in a defunct subway, but they still worked perfectly? The weapon in her hands looked almost new, even. She didn’t know what was going on here, but at least now she was armed.
The enormous ink tank on her back had just been dead weight this whole time, so it was nice that she could finally put it to some use. Reaching back to grasp the connective tube on the pack, the Octoling pulled it forward, only to painfully pinch her finger inside of the ink gun’s slot as she was connecting the two. She yelped, raising the injured hand to her mouth as blood trickled from the little wound.
“What’s going on over there!?” she heard Cuttledfish shouting from the other side. “Don’t let your guard down, we don’t know - “
[Shut up!]
She was finally, fully fed up with this obnoxious old man! Her head hurt, her finger hurt, she was tired and hungry and trying to work and he wouldn’t close his stupid yammering mouth!
[I know to be careful!] she yelled, fist shaking as she stared resolutely ahead. [I’m not a child and you’re not my commander! I’m the only one who can get us out of here, so shut up and let me think, you stupid fucking squid!]
[Hey now, there’s no need for that language!]
[I don’t care what you - ]
The Octoling stopped dead, her anger sharply dropping off to be replaced by surprise.
The old man spoke Octarian? Not only that, but with hardly any accent - he was fluent? He could…
...he could understand everything she’d been saying?
A flush rose to her cheeks as she remembered all of her snide, irritated comments up until this point. They’d been leaving her mouth in a steady stream ever since she’d met Cuttledfish, her only outlet for all of the stress that had been building up throughout this whole exercise. And he’d understood all of them. That was…
Oh, that was very embarrassing.
She stood a few moments longer, helpless in her chagrin, before the old squid called out again. [A break’s fine and all, but we need that key! Hurry and find it!]
[Yes, right. The key.] The Octoling mumbled, face hot as she meekly stepped further into the room. [Right away.]
A burst of cool air washed over Eight as the metro’s doors hissed open. She stepped lightly into the train car, reaching up steady herself on the handrails as it began to move again, and took a quick glance around.
Iso Padre wasn’t here right now, or perhaps he’d moved to another car? She didn’t really feel like seeking him out right now, even though a new mem cake was rattling around in the side compartment of her ink tank, so instead she made her way back towards where Cuttledfish usually sat. Typically, she heard the squid before she saw him.
“When they say to get ill / This squid fits the bill / I want a sandwich with dill / Got a stomach to fill!”
Eight was reasonably confident in her ability to understand spoken Inkling, so she was pretty sure that this was lyrical nonsense. Still, the look on the captain’s face as she entered his car was pretty cheerful, so she withheld such thoughts. No sense in ruining one of the few moments of levity that they could find down here.
Didn’t look like he was rapping with Pearl, either. The radio was switched off and his phone was nowhere to be seen. Just practice, then - practice which he was so engrossed in that he didn’t catch sight of Eight until she was two feet in front of him.
“Ahoy, Agent 8!” he greeted, giving her a peace sign. “Didn’t realize you were back already! How’d the last trial go?”
“...adequately.” the Octoling answered sheepishly, unwilling to admit just how long it had taken her to find the last crate she needed to break. She was usually very detail-oriented, but her mind had been occupied by other thoughts today. “May I have the seat there?”
“Sure, don’t see a name on it.”
Eight ducked her head in confirmation, seating herself beside the aged Inkling and folding her hands in her lap. Outside the windows of the train car she could see that they had left the interior of the metro - or at least, part of it - and were now riding along rails that charted through open ocean. Distinct patches of light filtered down through the water, creating a very melancholic atmosphere, but just like usual, Eight couldn’t see the surface of the water when she looked up. Perhaps Marina was right, and this place really was some sort of… other space.
Beside her, Cuttledfish had started humming the Inkantation. Eight swallowed, then cleared her throat.
“Um. Captain.”
“Yes, Agent 8?”
She shifted in her seat as he turned towards her, absentmindedly rubbing her thumbs together. “I was… wanting to give apology.” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Cuttledfish frowned - or at least she thought he did. Difficult to tell under that beard. “What for?”
“For our meeting.”
A grimace crossed her face. “I was saying many of the unkind things, and did not think well of you.” Eight said. “I thought you could not understand… but no, it is no excusing. We have for some time been together now, and I realize I have never given you apology. So, I am sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for, Agent 8!” the old squid said without hesitation, patting her on the shoulder. “We were both pretty rough around the edges, and who could blame us? Look at this place!”
He paused. “Erm, the facility, not the train. Don’t tell the little slug person I said that.”
Faintly amused, Eight replied, “I will keep it secretive.”
“Nah, I didn’t give you much reason to like me, and I wasn’t keen on havin’ an Octoling around either.” the captain continued, crossing his bony legs loosely on the seat. “You knew the Calamari Inkantation, so I knew you couldn’t be all bad, but… I’ll admit, having a surly octopus calling me names under her breath hit a little close to home. I gave you a shot, but it wasn’t a fair one by any stretch.”
He rolled his head on his shoulders, then fixed her with another stare. “You’re a good one, Agent 8. Everybody deserves a chance, and even if I had doubts back then, I’m glad to have you now. Would you accept an old squid’s apology for taking this long?”
“Of course.” the Octoling nodded, a weight lifting from her shoulders. “Your company is pleasant… now.”
Cuttledfish laughed, tapping his cane on the ground. “There ya go, bucko! A jab or two between friends is how ya know you’ve made it!” he declared, pleased. “Maybe next you can work on that smile o’ yours - a big grin’s how squids say hello on the surface!”
Eight blinked, raising a hand to lightly brush her cheek. “My smile?”
“Seen it every now and then, but you’re a serious girl most of the time. It’s to your credit, for sure, but the occasional smile’s a healthy thing.”
With a shrug, he added, “Ah, but I see it most when you’re peekin’ at that old magazine over in your corner. Maybe when we get outta this dump, it’ll come naturally.”
He gestured towards the end of the train car, where Eight most commonly placed herself between tests - her makeshift bed was topped with a Haikara Walker magazine that she’d salvaged from one of the trash cans on an earlier subway platform.
Eight nodded slowly, thoughtfully rubbing at her face. After all, Inklings were much more cheerful than Octolings - or so it seemed, if Cuttledfish and Pearl were any indication. Most of the squids in her magazine were smiling, as well. Wasn’t it a sign of happiness, normally? Eight supposed that apart from her brief rushes of emotion when she retrieved a new mem cake, and the occasional amusement she got from watching Pearl and Marina’s interactions, she really hadn’t smiled much. Did she smile before she lost her memories?
Once again, she was made uncomfortably aware of how little she knew, even about herself.
And yet… she wasn’t really that person anymore, was she? That person was a soldier of Octaria, a unit of war, an enemy to squidkind. And here she was, Agent 8, exchanging apologies and jokes with an Inkling. She was beholden to no one, on her way to the surface. Maybe when she had lost her memories, it had also broken the remaining shackles that bound her to the domes. From what she’d already recalled, it had not been a pleasant place, anyway.
These memories were hers, perhaps, yet even when she regained them it was like looking through a window. They belonged to her, but it was a casual sense of belonging that carried no weight. It was nice to remember who she used to be, to have some context for her feelings, some knowledge of her identity…
...but she wasn’t who she used to be. That person disappeared when she was pulled down into the metro. Now she was Agent 8. And, maybe, she liked it that way.
Maybe losing her memories wasn’t the tragedy that she’d thought it was. Maybe it was a chance for her to decide who she wanted to be, instead of who she was told she should be - instead of struggling against the weight of Octaria.
She hadn’t smiled much, either in her memories or since she arrived here, but maybe that was because she was too fixated on who she used to be.
She was Agent 8. Maybe Agent 8 liked to smile.
Experimentally, Eight turned around in her seat, regarding her reflection in the glass. She wasn’t sure how to smile on purpose… just pull the corners of her mouth upward, right? It sounded simple, but after spending a few lengthy moments on it, all she’d managed was making herself look sick.
Watching her efforts with a twinkle in his eye, Cuttledfish chortled. “That’s the spirit, Agent 8.” he remarked. “Might take some practice, but there’s no rush. Still got two of those dang ‘thangs’ to find.”
Eight looked down towards him, opening her mouth to give a reply that was blasted away by the sudden sound of Pearl’s booming voice over the radio.
“‘Tention, ‘tention, do you read!?” the Inkling hollered. “MC.Princess on the mic, any posers wanna throw down?”
Cuttledfish jumped in his seat with a shrill cry, then snatched the radio up from the seat and gave a hot retort through the speaker as Marina chimed in to remind Pearl not to yell into phones. Eight watched their antics, amused, and decided that maybe she’d leave the surface dwellers to their fun. Fatigue was catching up to her now that she’d said what she wanted to, anyway. Might as well go take a nap.
As she was climbing down from the seat, the Octoling caught another glimpse of her reflection out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of it smiling back at her.
The smile quickly faded, but she could still feel it. She hummed lightly, gazing into her own eyes, distantly hearing the Inkantation echoing through her head.
Yes… perhaps Agent 8 did, indeed, like to smile.