Work Text:
It was night, in Inkopolis, the buzzing city dulled to a low hum.
“You know that's bad for your lungs, right?”
“Eh, it's what years in the field does to you.”
“...You’re 18.”
“I’ve been at this shit since I was 1Four. Think I deserve a smoke break every once in a while.
Agent Three and Agent Eight sat on the fire escape stairs, outside of their apartment building.
The “their apartment building” thing was relatively new, the move only being a month old. Better for business, Marie insisted.
It wasn’t all bad. Everyone paid rent, food was shared, and as much as Three hated to admit it, it was nice to live with their friends.
However, Three had some habits that she couldn’t shake. It’s not that she hadn’t tried, it just hadn’t stuck.
One being, when she can't sleep, she sneaks to the fire escape, smokes, before coming back in, taking a shower, and getting back in bed.
Nobody in the Splatoon had heard of it, so who’s it hurting? Besides Three’s lungs.
That was until, tonight, when Eight was up, and just happened to follow Three to the fire escape, and there they were, Three leaning on the edge, unlit cigarette in mouth, while Eight sat on the stairs.
“I assume you’re not going to offer me one?” Eight questioned, quirking a brow.
“Ha, no. You’re far too young to have these.”
“I’m a year older than you.”
“Agent-wise, I’m eons older.”
“I’ve been an agent for two years.”
“And I’ve been one for like five.”
Three took an unlit cigarette out of the pack, and waved it.
“You can have these when you’ve done five.”
Eight rolled their eyes, as Three pulled a lighter out of their pocket, and lit the cigarette, and inhaled.
“Lemme know if the smell gets bad, I’ll stop.”
“Ah, the tar-lunged Inkling has consideration for others.”
“Shh.”
Three took the cigarette out of their mouth, and folded their arms.
“So, what's this about the Splatoon overworking you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, I mean, you get to smoke, so clearly you’re doing something I’m not.”
Another inhale.
“The usual. I’m their golden child, so of course I get all the heavy lifting. Not to say what you and Four do is some easy shit.”
“They’re working you to the bone?”
“Eight, we don’t have bones.”
“You know what I mean.”
Three looked down.
“Nahhh, not really. I mean, I guess, but…It’s not as much as the quantity, as the reason I’m doing it. What the Splatoon stands for.”
“And that is?”
Three chuckled.
“You can’t tell me you, of all people don’t know.”
“I want to hear your perspective, o great hero.”
“Don’t call me that…”
Three took another inhale, before folding their arms again.
“We stand for the destruction of a struggling species, providing no solutions, other than violence. Shell, we’re all taught Octolings like you are inherently bad.”
Another inhale.
“From day one, I was taught to kill mercilessly, without a second thought. Like a machine. Like a puppet. As much as I thought I did, I had no free-will. Shell, I still don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at me. Even now, I’m still a puppet of the Splatoon. My entire life centers around it. I can’t do anything, without thinking ‘What would the Splatoon think? This isn’t hero-like.’”
Three looked down.
“I dunno. I just feel like I must be a kill-kill-kill machine, no feelings. That's what I was taught. And on top of that, I’m taught which life is deemed precious, and which is deemed okay to exterminate.”
Three and Eight sat in silence.
“You know…Agent Two still doesn’t trust you yet.”
“She doesn’t?”
“Not entirely, and don’t take this to heart. It was what she and Agent One were taught since birth, being born a Cuttlefish. One’s doing better with hers, due to the hypnotization, but shell, I’m not a Cuttlefish, and I still didn’t trust you upon first-meeting.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. It's what I was taught, after all. This doesn’t justify it, though. Obviously.”
Another inhale.
“I was scared of you. You were nice, but my gut instinct told me to kill kill kill kill, despite you doing nothing wrong. It took me two months to trust you, realize you’ve done no wrong. I’d trust you with my life now, but it was hard to shake that fear.”
“I understand. I was scared of you too.”
Three laughed.
“Of course you we're. Hey, look, I’m sorry for trying to kill you.”
“No biggie. You were brainwashed.”
“Brainwashed, huh? I think that can apply to my life until I met you as well. Into thinking you’re just irredeemably evil.”
A silence ensued.
“...I regret what I did, Eight. And I don’t think I’ll ever shake it. Four does too, I think. They tense up when asked about hero-shit.”
“What you did wasn’t your fault. You were a child, and Four was a new kid to the Square. You didn’t know the difference between what was good and what wasn’t.”
Three smiled at Eight.
“You know, we have a lot in common. I think that's why I finally trusted you.”
“How so?”
“We both want freedom from the borderline-oppressive corporation’s we’ve been thrown into since teenage years.”
“Huh, I guess so.”
“As I said earlier, everything I do is about the Splatoon. Even when I was younger. I’d go out to play turf with my friends, ‘Oh shit, does the Splatoon need me?’. Makes me feel like I was cheated out of a proper teenage experience. Same could go for what you remember, right?”
“...Yeah. Since the second I woke up, everything’s been about Kamabo. I just wanted to see the surface, but I had to fight for it.”
“Mhm. Shit’s fucked.
Silence again, before Three and Eight heard footsteps, before footsteps on the fire escape. Three looked up, and saw Agent Four come their way.
‘What’s happening- Three, are you smoking?’
“Evening, Four.”
“Hey, Four.”
‘Why is she smoking? She’s hardly an adult.’
“Okay, Mx. 20 year old. We get it, you’re old as balls.”
‘I'm two years older than you’
“Agent-wise, you’re nothing but a widdle baby.”
‘I hate you.’
“Good.”
‘Anyway, what are you doing?’
“Oh, you know. Talking about the high-key racism in the Splatoon.” Eight said.
‘Oh, damn.’
Silence.
‘Wanna watch funny Judd videos?’
“Shell yeah.”
“Yeah.”
The three agents sat together, in the warm hum off the city.
Sure, things are fucked, but hey,
There’s always funny Judd videos.