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Look at the stars in the big black ink.
Nothing could’ve prepared the octoling for the view of space in front of them. They had heard stories from various travellers and junkers about the nights sky, and how certain areas showed the most beautiful stars and colours, but they had never quite believed any of them. Until now, that was.
Every light around them caught their eye, twinkling in the endless black void around them. It was almost pretty enough to distract them from the impending situation, as their salmonid companion jumped into their backpack, trying to bury itself as deep as possible for protection.
Tell me what you feel and tell me what you think.
Agent 3’s steps were unsteady at first. Everything they were wearing was space-grade… enough. The bulbous helmet, gifted to them by Big Man, seemed to have enough of an air supply to ensure they didn’t suffocate immediately. The black leather jacket would hopefully provide more protection for the inevitable fight with Mr. Grizz, and their boots should hopefully prevent them from flying away into nothingness.
The last week had been… rough. Trying to block everything out and focus only on the task at hand was easy enough at first, being left relatively to their own devices allowed Agent 3 to power through the kettles as fast as possible. But everything catches up to you eventually. Eventually, everything will start to slow down. Eventually, you’ll begin to tire. Eventually, you’ll want to throw down your gun and quit, screaming in the Captain’s face that you never signed up for this and you want to go back to the surface and you hate searching for this random inkling for these guys and hate fighting these bandits that want you dead and you hate
Eventually, Agent 3 adjusts their grip on the gun, and keeps moving ahead.
The agent’s breaths begin to quicken as they see the nauseatingly round shape of Mr. Grizz emerge from the fuzzy ooze. They can hardly make out what he says over the chatter and panic coming from their headset, a flurry of voices all speaking over each other. They’d rip the headset off, but they didn’t feel like destroying their only source of survival in the process.
Is it cold outside?
The bitterness of the vacuum bit at their hands as they ran towards Mr. Grizz, ink firing from their hero shot and just barely sticking to their rocket’s surface. Despite what Agent 3 had previously acknowledged about their suit, it didn’t protect the hands. Might’ve been nice for Deep Cut to include some mittens, but it was a little too late for that now, seeing as they were merely metres away from the mammal.
More insane buzzing and shouting from the group of agents on Earth made them come to the conclusion that Lil’ Buddy could eat the fuzzy ooze off of Grizz’s body with the aid of golden eggs. It seemed to work… somehow, pushing him back all the way to the end of the rocket, yellow splotches of ink appearing on his fur. Agent 3 watched the glass near their mouth fog as they panted, throwing their salmonid companion at the last major ball of ooze clinging to Grizz’s skin. He fell to the floor, his rigid face unable to reveal his true emotion. Sad? Defeated? Angry? It didn’t matter: Agent 3 still lifted their gun to his head, ready to end this stupid ‘war’.
“You are proactive, aren’t you…” He muttered, voice not revealing a slither of emotion. Agent 3 tried to stop it from getting to them, but still felt slightly unnerved at how corporate the bear felt. “But it’s time to clock out.”
Another buzz in their ear. “Don’t let it get to you, Agent 3! You’ve almost got this!!” Agent 1 tried to motivate the octoling, but her attempts only made their stomach churn more.
“In a few moments, Earth will be ruled by mammals once again.” Grizz’s blindingly white eyes seemed to shine as bright as the stars around him.
“He’s only saying that to scare you off, all bark and no bite!” Shiver said, before adding a quiet muttering in octarian. “Unlike Master Mega…”
Despite all of their ramblings and encouragement, none of them could witness the impending danger in front of Agent 3. Their pupils shrunk in fear as they watched Grizz raise his fists high in the air. As they hung high above his head, Agent 3 could’ve sworn that they saw a small smirk on his face, breaking his usual emotionless demeanour to enjoy the act of near-suicide that was about to unfold.
Fur made contact with metal. The outer casing of the rocket creaked and snapped under Agent 3’s feet as important fuel rods and components were pierced and smashed by the immense strength of Grizz’s hands. Everything seemed to be engulfed with flame and extreme heat as part of the rocket detonated, burning Agent 3’s exposed hands. Before they even had a chance to scream in pain, the explosion knocked them back in to the empty void, launching them far away from the rocket.
Is it cold out?
Everything was spinning. Nothing could stop them. Agent 3 tried desperately to swing their arms, kick their feet, do anything to slow their spin, but it was hopeless. Lil’ Buddy launched on a completely different trajectory to them, spinning out aimlessly into the depths of space.
“Agent 3, are you alright?!” It seemed that everyone on the ground asked the same question at once, but the octoling couldn’t muster up an answer. Reverting to pure Splatlandian survival instincts, they tried to check the essentials, attempting to block out the rapidly spinning colours of the Earth near them.
Conscious? Check, Agent 3 was pretty sure that they were still thinking, considering their internal monologue was screaming at them to say anything through their helmet’s microphone.
In immediate danger? While they would consider being thrown into space ‘immediate danger’, it wasn’t like Grizz was launching towards them to rip them in half, so for the most part, they were about as safe as they could be.
Injured? Agent 3 felt around their helmet, ensuring there wasn’t a single dent or cut that could put them in immediate risk. Looking down at their hands, they noticed the slight swelling from the vacuum around them and the burns from the rocket’s partial explosion. Then, they clumsily felt around the rest of their body.
Lightly grazing an object that certainly wasn’t supposed to be near them sent indescribable shockwaves of pain through their form, revealing itself in screams of agony. A large piece of shrapnel was embedded deep into their stomach, piercing through the black leather jacket and exiting through their back. The large amount of spinning had hidden the leakage of ink and blood from their body, only revealing itself as it congealed on Agent 3’s burnt hand. The octoling gasped aimlessly, tears forming in their eyes as the reality of the situation begun to set in, physical pain being replaced with emotional anguish.
“Agent 3? What’s wrong? Come in, Agent 3!” Agent 2 was usually relatively softspoken, so to hear her concerned, raised voice snapped them back to reality. But still, try as they might, not a single word fell out of their mouth, the agent remaining mute as more blood leaked around the wound.
“Readings from their jacket suggests that they’ve been… damaged in some way.” Frye’s voice notably lost it’s usual tone of excitement as they realised the extent of Agent 3’s wound, some mutterings and gasps coming from the rest of the cephalopods on the ground.
A long pause hung in the ‘air’. Agent 3 considered ripping the bandaid off right there and then, grabbing at the piece- no, the chunk of metal and simply pulling it out of their body. It might be the easier way to go, compared to simply bleeding out or suffocating just outside of Earth’s atmosphere, their tormented stomach screaming for some kind of release from the shard.
It would be easy, wouldn’t it?
Just as Agent 3’s shaking hand curled around the sharp piece of metal, a shaky voice rung through their headset.
“A-Agent 3?” It was Agent 1, who had followed on from Frye by dropping her usual bubbly, excited voice. “It’s Callie, from the Squid Sisters. Everything’s g-going to be ok.”
Bullshit. They knew they were done for the moment she announced herself with her real name, dropping the ‘secret identity’ act for a final, personal moment with the octoling.
“Just know we’re all here, and so proud of you. You did so well for the New New Squidbeak Splatoon.” Agent 2 practically whispers into the headset. Agent 3 lets out a slightly-too-rough cough, leaving a small mixture of blood and ink on the inside of their helmet. They fought off the heavy feeling in their eyelids to try and listen for just a little while longer. Despite everything they had put the octoling through, everyone on the ground were their only source of comfort in their final moments. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Y-You put up a good fight against me!” Frye chimed in, “but trust me, I’d have you on the ropes in… i-in the…” The inkling trailed off, before a few sniffles and a faint sob were just about picked up by the microphone.
“I am so sorry for the battle I put you through.” The next voice was Shiver, speaking in octarian. Agent 3’s breathing calmed slightly as someone finally spoke in their native language, a luxury they hadn’t heard for many years now. “You did not deserve the battles and trials you have faced recently. I am so sorry it is ending like this.” Despite the overwhelming dread that the last sentence carried, Agent 3 felt strangely… calm. They chalked it up to their rapidly deteriorating grip on consciousness, another thought that should completely terrify them, but seemed to have little to no effect on the dying octoling.
The final voice to speak to Agent 3 was one they hadn’t heard before. It sounded croaky, as if it hadn’t been used in many years, and strained, as if merely whispering brought immense pain to the speaker. They barely hung on long enough to hear it. “Agent 3? This is the Captain. Thank you for your service in the New New Squidbeak Splatoon.” The Captain took a long, shaky breath. “You… you can rest now.”
It almost felt like those last few words lifted an immense weight off of Agent 3’s shoulders. Almost instantly, they closed their eyes, hardly even feeling the area around the wound anymore, let alone the shrapnel itself. Their breaths became more and more shallow, thoughts slowly slipping away from them, as if the agent was merely falling into a deep sleep.
And with those last few thoughts, Agent 3 finally let go, drifting in the cold expanse of the infinite cosmos.
Look at the stars in the big black ink,
Tell me what you feel and tell me what you think.
Is it cold outside?
Is it cold out?