Chapter Text
The silhouette of an old steel building is certainly an imposing sight to behold in the orange glow of the setting sun, casting dark shadows that stretched out like desperate hands reaching for a savior that wasn’t there. Concrete barriers that once stood so proud now lay crumbled and weathered with rusted rebars sticking out like twisted bone.
All around the millenniums old structure built into the mountainside, swaths of rock and sand made up the scenery with the occasional long-grass ornamenting the place.
Deep within the building’s confines lay an impressive network of tunnels more akin to a formicary in design. In most of the dead hallways rest the same tragic scene. Weapons, broken armor, and decayed clothing, rest still alongside the remains of people that once held them. Blood had long since stained into the Earth’s rock and the structure’s metal, in the way liquid from a pomegranate stains cloth, forever engrained into the material.
Not far from the entrance, a little to the right and a twist to the left, is a nine-inch-thick steel door decorated in copious amounts of scores and dents, some sections had metal warped from intense heat. Even the walls on either side weren’t spared the same harsh treatment, attempts at creating a new entryway and breaching the interior ultimately ended in failure.
...
... *ping*
A brief chime rings out from behind the door. It was the first sound to exist in the belowground structure in a long time. The sound’s location came from what appeared to be a large and rectangular metallic box complete with a lid to protect and preserve its inhabitant. A glorified coffin, really.
Another chime rings, this time sounding a note lower than the last, a response to an unknown signal from beyond what may as well have been the Catacombs. A third chime rings with the same high note of the first, followed by an ensemble of whirls and clicks that slowly fill the once silent room. It’s as if the machine itself was stirring from a deep sleep of its own.
CLICK!
A resounding click sounded through the canopy of mechanical life; the sharp hiss of pressure being released, and oxygen being deployed came shortly after. The iron-lung contraption’s lid opened no more than an inch as locks were being released. Colorless mist that makes the room smell like a hospital spill through the opening like a waterfall, pooling over the floor.
The sound filling the once still room begins to fall in a dull and low hum, not quite in complete silence, for the occupant within had yet to stir. The machine would not fall in complete silence again until the one in its care awoken.
⃝
“Pale summer moonlight shimmers on the sea floor.
An octopus, unaware that dawn will bring capture,
Rests within a trap, dreaming fleeting dreams…”
...
‘Ugh, I feel like I got body slammed by a pissed-off mako shark,’ is the first thought that enters his mind. Every part of his body ached and pulsed something fierce.
A headache he hadn’t acknowledged quickly formed as he became more aware of the waking world, its intensity so great tears threatened to form. He could just barely make out the sound of someone speaking to him through the jackhammers in his head. He focused on that voice. Then, just as quick as it had come, the pressure in his head began to dissipate into a dull yet annoying buzz. It’s an improvement.
“– no honor in defeating an unarmed opponent … and you do seem to have lost your weapon somewhere around here.”
‘… Huh?’ He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of an old bug-eyed squid garbed in a velvet green joggers set that sported medallions, proof that he had served in a military at some point in his life.
Opponent?
Weapon?
Just what exactly is this old man getting at? He seemed hardly the intimidating type. Though, perhaps he was, once upon a time in his youth, if the metals he brandished are to be believed. Certainly not now.
The elder before him looked about the tiled, grungy, and dilapidated area in question, before his attention turned back on him.
“Just where is here anyway”? He inquired.
How was he supposed to know? He’s just as lost and clueless. The question was evidently rhetorical as the man continued to speak.
“Last I remember, you and a company of yours were battling my protégé Agent 3, in Octo Valley, when all of us were attacked by a third, unknown party.”
Agent 3?
That title stirred up some emotions. Respect, anger, and a touch of fear.
“And now, somehow, we got marooned here. So, how about we call a temporary truce while we find a way to escape?” The man offers.
He felt upset towards the elder, yet he had no answer as to why. But the man is right, they are both trapped in this strange and dilapidated place. If either of them have any hopes of escaping, they were going to have to work together.
Deciding he had enough of laying on the cold and grimy floor, the young octoling carefully pushed himself off the ground and into a sitting position, still winded from… whatever happened to him. He did not like the increasing lapses in his memory.
“- where are my manners? I’m Cap’n Cuttlefish, leader of the New Squidbeak Splatoon!” the man proclaims.
Alright?
“And you are?”
The octoling opened his mouth to respond, before swiftly closing it. He couldn’t remember his name. He could not remember his name.
“I…I don’t know,” he spoke for the first time since waking up. “I believe I’ve lost my … memory.”
He hopes his voice didn’t waver too much.
“By kraken, you lost your memory?!,” exclaims Cuttlefish.
“Yes.”
“Can you remember anything? Anything at all?!”
‘Is this man going senile?’ “What part of ‘lost memory’ doesn’t click?” he barks. Unsure if the reaction was spurred by the knowledge of acquiring amnesia, or the illusive reason for disliking the man before him. Does it matter? Cuttlefish falls silent, giving the teenager a chance to collect himself. “Let’s try this again, and start somewhere small,” he begins after a few minutes. The octoling, having stewed enough in his thoughts looks up towards the captain, waiting for him to continue.
“Do you at least remember what you look like?”
He closes his eyes and thinks.
…Warm shade of tan skin, hair twisted in a single tendril, green eyes. He voices as such.
Wait.
He doesn’t have green eyes. No. His eyes are a pretty hue of ruby. Yes.
“Interesting, I took note of you humming the Calamari Inkantation right before you came to – “, the octoling tuned out for a moment, wondering whose green eyes he’d thought of. His brain might not remember, but his hearts do. They belong to someone near and dear to him, someone he’d go through great lengths to protect. He misses them.
“Sorry for siccing Agent 3 on you back there. Any fan of the Squid Sisters is a friend of mine! I mean that with all my hearts,” the captain says.
‘That’s good’, he thinks to himself. He means it.
“Not much of a talker are yeh’?” Cuttlefish states in a playful manner, eyes shining with warmth.
The octoling’s face colors in embarrassment. “No. Not really,” he says in a bashful tone. Cuttlefish lets out a warm chuckle, the kind of sound a grandfather makes when endeared by his grandchildren’s antics.
“Now, come along, dust yourself off and find your land legs. Let’s get moving and find a way outta here!” Cuttlefish says, enthusiasm growing with each word.
The octoling couldn't help but smile at the infectious energy the captain radiates. He gets up to stretch his limbs and get the blood pumping. No longer feeling so apprehensive about being teammates.
“Alright then,” he says at last. “Let’s find a way out.”
“That’s the spirit!”
They both walk through the abandoned space, past the rusting turnstiles, into the rundown subway carts. Into a new chapter in their lives and for the world.
Neither of them notice the sound of heavy steps slowly lumbering after them.