Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hike was therapeutic in the way that an electric shock was supposed to be good for you. I’m not discounting the medical credibility of shock therapy because medical science has already done that for me. What I'm saying is my legs were killing me. Really, I just wanted to keel over. The ground seemed quite inviting, bumpy as it was.

But my desire to prove myself won out. It usually did.

Octo Valley's a five mile hike from Inkopolis and quite the magnet for all sorts of ghost stories and urban legends… seeing as it’s all that’s left of the once bustling capital of the Octolings. Now all that remained was a smoking, ten mile-deep crater where we dumped our sewage. Inklings aren’t sore winners or anything, no sir!

Anyway, I’m not talking about nice urban legends like granting wishes or telling fortunes and other pixie shit like that. No, I’m talking ghasts and ghouls, dark tales of the abyss. Tales of the Deep Ones making residence there. Stuff that makes you wet your pants at night. There was even this one rumor that staring into Octo Valley would steal your soul. The deep, dark ravine would call to your essence and pull it away from any inkling body, pull it away from your respawn stone, and you’d never, ever be able to return. Ohhhh, scaaaary.

Stupid right!? ...but that was the kind of stupidity that ended up landing me here.

Some friends got it in their minds to start playing 'who has the biggest balls' and I got elected to be the one who debunks dumb rumor number fifty-three. Fun times? So here I am, respawn stone in hand, ready to staredown the void.

My stone is a real gem--uncut and dirty. That is to say, it looks like rough granite. Most people get their stones cut into some kind of shape or at least polished--all part of the fads, you know; gotta look hip. Nothing's sacred. Even gems that are supposed to hold our essence in case of being poofed are subject to the 'rule of cool.'

A lot of my friends ask me why I haven’t had mine cut into anything yet. I said 'I want to find something that really fit me.' Honestly, though, I just didn’t want to commit to anything that I couldn’t reverse later. This was my Birthstone and honestly, I didn’t want to risk losing it. I just love the azure, alright?

...plus new ones aren’t cheap.

Anyway, Octo Valley is surrounded by a nice hilly portion that might be better described as a small mountain range. There weren’t many well-worn trails so I had to carve my own through thorns and brush and stone and sheer cliffside. I ain't exactly the symbol of good health but it couldn’t be much further.

Could it? Deep Ones below, could it?

I pushed through the latest piece of brush to find myself in a clearing. The grassy area turned out to be a plateau that towered over the the trees, giving me a good idea of how far I'd come--I’d cleared at least fifty feet of this little hillock. So, as a reward, I changed to something more comfortable. My form shed and my bag fell to the grass behind me. It felt good to be a squid under the sun.

I just sat there for a little while, and it wasn’t long before I was just sitting there in my own personal, inky-blue pool. This was pretty typical of me--there’s nothing like enjoying a short ink bath in the hot sun. A man’s gotta have his beauty rest or something like that, right? Or was it a woman? Girl? I forget. Aphorisms are hard.

Whenever I take a breather, I can't help but think. Right now, what permeated my grey-matter happened to be, 'man, this is so much trouble.' Why had it even come to this? I wasn’t even into urban legends. That was Saffy’s thing. She’d even offered to come along, but no one else would let her. A test of my masculinity or something. Why am I friends with them again? Saffy's the only one I even care about.

She's one of my best friends. Always looking for adventure. To beat the bad guys. To solve the problem. To save the princess. Hah. Her short, fiery red tentacles really matched her passionate spirit. I'd wanted her along. She was always such good company, making a boring situation into a new and interesting one.

But that was neither here nor there. I’d show them I could prove a stupid rumor wrong and be home in time for dinner.

I reformed, picked some trail mix out of my backpack, and got back to the fun task of getting up this hill. The trees made it nearly impossible to see ahead, but I swore that I would make my way through it. No matter how long it took, I would press forward!

...which happened to be about three minutes, seven seconds.

Now, I’m not going to say I’m a klutz. But I’m totally a klutz. I swore there was another step, but cutting my way through another bush, I found myself taking a step right off of the edge.

Whoops.

Ingrained in every living being is this great thing called fight or flight. Ever been in a situation where you’re about to get hurt or in a particularly ink-pumping turf war and time just sort of slows down for you? That’s because of something called adrenaline. Now, I’m no chemist, but I’m really glad that I had the knowhow to, somewhere in the back of my mind, appreciate this physiological fact as I flew headlong into a gorge.

Science lesson aside, I got some time to look into the valley while I fell, which was pretty interesting. It was dark, but I could make out some rough geography. Rises and dips within the gorge and such. There seemed to be greenery down here too, somehow. And… was that light?

The whole ordeal would have been incredibly interesting. Except that, of course, I had my respawn stone with me and I happened to fall somewhere between terminal velocity and termination. That is to say, a respawn stone is kind of like glass and if that breaks, well, any splat would be a real game over. Morbid.

So yeah, maybe the rumors about the urban legend were true. Go figure. I guess this is what I get for making fun of things like that. Karma maybe? Can I still repent? Any good deeds to be done?

...

Yeah who am I kidding, I’m falling a thousand feet per second and have about two minutes. Goodbye cruel world. Of course, those are all snarky afterthoughts. The most pressing thing that was running through my brain was something along the lines of, 'mother of cod!'

And the award for greatest orator goes to...

I twirled myself down to look at the abyss and it didn’t look like I was going to hit the ground soon, so I had some time to formulate a plan. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I took off my pack and set it falling in front of me--which is totally surreal, by the way--and looked inside.

I had food and a sleeping bag, a compass and a number of other useless instruments in this situation, like my toothbrush, a water bottle, a flashlight and an illegal N-ZAP ‘89 I stole from the dome. So sue me, I’m paranoid about vagrants.

I could use the sleeping bag as a parachute, but a quick thought disregarded that--I’m pretty sure my arms would rip off. That’s thirty seconds lost, think, think!

Terminal velocity will splat me, even as a squid. But maybe if I respawned? I couldn’t guarantee that my stone would be safe this way, but anything is better than nothing. I took my liferock and shoved it firmly in the rolled-up sleeping bag. Padding. Still would like to avoid splatting, but eh. Beggers can't be choosers.

Best to look on the bright side. I resigned myself to my fate and decided to stop looking at the encroaching ground and my inevitable splat.

You know what they say about a new perspective? Well, I figured that 'they' had always meant something metaphorical or philosophical. But turns out that doesn’t have to be the case: I simply looked up. Before me was a wall, but what I saw was salvation. I quickly ripped open my pack and felt around for my N-Zap. Where, where?! The ground was dark and I would hit it soon, surely, so I had to find--there it was!

Tearing it out of my bag, I firmly held onto the gun with one hand as I tossed my bag away to push my fall toward the wall. Equal and opposite forces and all that. Man, science suddenly seems a hell of a lot more practical.

Now I was slowly approaching the wall and as I did so, I synched the NZap with me. Now, when you’re beginning a turf war, you don’t think about the three or four seconds before the gun links to your body or that frigid shiver as your ink starts flowing through it. Plus, normally, there’s an ink tank to facilitate flow--many an inkling overused their bodily ink to death--but I’d say this was an emergency.

I counted each second it took for my gun to link and couldn’t help but wordlessly scream at it to act faster!

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Click--Yes, yes!

If I had had solid ground beneath me, I would have jumped for joy. Of course, that was the primary problem, so there was no time to celebrate. Aiming at the wall, I made a long trail of indigo just about as dark as this pit. As I did so, I continued edging closer to it. Closer. Closer…

I stretched out my free hand to test the waters. It wasn’t until I could feel the ink swish through my fingers that I aimed the shots at the wall a little below me, said a quick prayer, and formed into a squid, the NZap ‘89 (now synced with my form) coming along for the ride. Fingers crossed--or tentacles?--I dipped into the relative safety of the ink, swimming up as hard as I could.

Ever been hit by a train? Me either. But that's what I think I felt as I suddenly had to fight against terminal velocity. I could feel the ink I was swimming through trying to crush me, push me down, pull me to my death, but I couldn’t afford to let myself hit the bottom. So I fought and I fought damn hard.

When I hit the bottom of the trail I’d formed, it was painful. My tentacles burned with angry nerves. The the shock tremored through my soft form. I felt like my eyes would pop out. But I was alive. Even conscious. And most importantly, I wasn’t falling anymore. Step one, complete.

I gave myself a moment to nurse my pained tentacles before peeking my head out from the ink. I heard a dull thud from below. Probably my bag. I could selfsplat and get myself back in there, but that held all sorts of trouble. Plus, what would be the point of, like, everything I just did?

Now that I think about it, what was the point? I was still hanging at least a hundred-something feet in the air. I still had to get down somehow. Remember. Time. I’d bought time. Time I sorely needed. Deep breaths.

I think fight or flight stops when you’re not fighting or flying, because now that I wasn’t flying, time seemed to speed up again. Then again, it’s hard to gauge something like the passage of seconds in a very deep, very dark hole. Still, I could feel my thoughts coming at a normal pace, rather than a manic one laced with all manner of sarcasm.

And thank the heavens for that because, I could finally think to myself for the love of everything deep, 'that was dangerous!' with a side of 'damn I’m good' not to mention a smidge of 'how the hell am I going to get down?'

It’s very hard to climb up past the range of a gun, but maybe I could move myself down? Well, it was worth a shot right? Pun unintended... though not entirely unwelcome.

I jumped out of the ink and shot another twenty feet down before pushing myself back into the trail’s relative safety. It was slow going, but it worked. Slowly but surely--and safely, I might add--I rappelled my way to the bottom of the pit which wasn’t that much further, actually. Explains why I heard my bag hit bedrock so soon after I found safety.

Well, now everything was dandy. Now I'm simply stuck. In the dark. A few miles below sea level. Everything was dandy. Just. Dandy.

“Whelp,” I allowed, “this sucks.” I pulled out my shellphone on habit, not knowing what to expect. Okay, that’s a lie I knew what to expect.

No service. No surprise.

I popped the phone back into my shirt pocket. Okay, so the therapeutic hike thing? Really take it back now. Like, if there was a starting line for jokes, I’d back it the fuck up and tell it to not quit its day job. Maybe have that joke find a nice lady joke and start a simple life with two kids and learn the values of family, love and hard, honest work.

...that joke also needed to back up.

I needed back up.

But that wasn’t an option. There was nothing really to do but… sit or walk. So, feeling that I’d earned it, I sat down and took in my surroundings. Which was pretty much just pitch blackness. I knew there were landmarks somewhere, but my eyes hadn’t adjusted to it yet. “Well, I guess the urban legend was right guys!” I shouted to no one in particular. “It really does get’cha! The fall’s a doozy!”

There’s something about an absolutely horrible situation and getting to yell at the top of your lungs that makes you appreciate being in a dark hole. Or, well, appreciate it as much as you can because there isn’t much else to do except slowly steep in anger, fear, annoyance, aimless blame and sarcasm. The last one might just be me though.

“So, what?” I continued, “you guys gonna let me fade away down here!? Huh!”

Yeah, I was angry. It wasn’t their fault, but I was angry. I was the one who took on their stupid idea for a dare. It wasn’t their fault that I had decided to actually do it. (It was). It wasn’t their fault that I hadn’t had a hiking companion in case of emergencies. (It was).

The more I thought about it, the more it was their fault. Fuck this all! Fuck them! “I didn’t even want to do this stupid, stupid dare! And what for? For this!? Huh?” I was screaming at the top of my lungs at the sky, which was a blue streak somewhere tauntingly high above me.

I screamed all manner of obscenities for what must have been at least ten minutes or so. I screamed as loud as I could manage and then some. Hell, I didn’t know I could be so loud. The valley called back, echoing my voice through the umbra.

“What for!?” I called one last time. I hadn’t noticed because I was busy with rage, but I’d started crying. My throat was sore and I couldn’t yell anymore as I whispered 'what for?' one last time.

I let myself drop my head down to the ground. I like to think I can keep my cool in hard situations, but honestly, a lot had happened. What did it matter right now? There was no one to hear me yell.

No one to save me.

No one to pick me back up.

I was alone. There was no one to see me cry.

Or, well, I’d thought. My head, which was gently crying into the rock below was sharply thrust into said rock. That noted, I was now crying for an entirely different reason. A hard grip crushed my neck into submission as a gruff, accented voice asked a gruff, accented question.

“Don’ move. Don’ morph.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I grunted, through some pretty intense pain. Maybe life called a ban on pity parties and I was paying the price for breaking the law.

One day I'll get the memo beforehand.

Chapter Text

“Oy, Mabyn!”

The man at the stall called out to me. I set down my pack and I pulled on my goggles to get a better look at the baker. He was older, maybe in his thirties, and easily riled. Cautiously, I replied.

“What’s the trouble, Balbus?” His misfortune was my opportunity. I walked over to him and let my pack down, easing my load. Getting comfortable, I set my elbow on his stall counter and almost-smiled. Forgotten how at this point.

“‘ave ya happened on a thief?” Ah. Common community problem. The baker made the only bread in the settlement. Hunger hits us all.

“Nah. Why? Ya got a one? Oy’ll knock ‘em upside the head.” I stood up tall. My confident poise and soldier's frame spoke for me. I could keep my word. I was tough.

“Haw! Thanks fer the offer, but if Oy can’t be protectin’ me own goods, what for the ever-inkin’ deep would Oy be good for?”

“Bread, Oy’d presume.” When I made my retort, I leaned in and pecked his cheek, common courtesy--means we’re done speaking. Other meanings flashed through his head though. While he was distracted, I grabbed a small bun and snuck it into my mantle pocket.

Hunger hits us all.

I waved goodbye a second later. Then, picking up my sack and slinging it over my shoulder again, I quickly said, “’luck with the thief!”

“Aye! Ya can trust me to handle meself, Mabyn!” Trust. Mm. I hopped from one Jetty to the other and each time I was getting better at sticking around. I was perfecting the art of being a parasite. Of trust.

Maybe this time I’d found a real home. A place I could live off the people. And they'd leave me alone. Still, best not get too comfortable.

I was getting better at the whole merc thing. I’m a pretty good shot with Eight-Legs. That Octoshot was one of my last mementos of my conscription. Though the wars have been long over, muscle was always in demand. Bodyguard. Patrol. General bashing of heads. I made myself useful.

I took my goggles off once I left the township. Nothing to see here anyway. I slipped them into another pocket in the mantle for safe-keeping. They were uncomfortable.

The walk to my place was an hour’s jaunt. Conveniently inconvenient. Solitude suits me. I don't want to get too close. Lack of proximity helps.

I pulled out the kelp bread. It’d been a long time since I had had something freshly baked and the loaf was good. Salty. Satisfying. Should last me two days, I’d say.

I couldn’t just finish all this at once. I didn't want to make a habit of this. Balbus might catch on. I put the other half into my mantle and walked on.

The closer you got to the border of our country, the darker things got. The largest known trench in the history of the world was our home. Sunlight struggled to filter between the floating islands. This was for the better. Shadows hide you. Keep you safe. Keep everyone safe. Better a friend everywhere than an enemy all around.

Knowing a friend means knowing its secrets, however. Hidden in the dark, there were steep drops into spherical chasms where clearstrikes had been detonated during the war. To stumble into one was inconvenient, sometimes fatal. If the fall doesn't finish you, a bandit would.

Those bombs were one of the turning points of the war. Evaporated anything their explosion touched, including essence. No respawn. Funny how they continued to plague us so far after the event.

Looking up would tell you our answer. The Flotilla: series of floating islands that could evade detonations. But now, they were simply the most habitable land and the most overpopulated.

With a half-hour behind me, I skidded down an incline to my home. Some fun. Simple exhilaration after a long walk home. But no. No. I shouldn't. I’m fifteen now; there’s no time for games.

My home is a hole dug out of the End--the wall-like border between the Valley and Inkling turf. Some rebel in me was proud that I'd technically broached enemy lines. The rest of me just worried one day it might come back to bite me.

The inside was rather quaint. I’d dug out enough that I didn’t have to crouch. Soon, I’d carve more simple furnishings out of the soft stone. For now, I had a chair, a bowl, some shelves and a slab that doubled as my bed.

I sat down and rested. The day had been long and I'd taken a serious risk. But no one needed anything today. Those days were hungry days.

I turned my attention to the baubles I’d accumulated. I like to keep things from my past. Sometimes when I looked at or felt them, I could relive memories. Family. Friendship. Lost glory. Broken trust. Hate. They existed to distract me from now. I needed that sometimes.

I snatched up a tattered photo. I didn’t know much about the Octoling, but apparently he was a great man. But not so great as to stay with my mum. Stay with me. She’d never say an ill word about him, so he was probably okay. A great man. But I hate him.

Hate is a great distraction.

Leaving the photo on the shelf I moved to my personal fork. Funny inheritance from my mum. It was the only thing I could salvage from the rubble.

Mum had prided herself on her utensils; forks, spoons, knives, all steel or iron. Not stone or wood, like most other tools. She said it was a reminder of luxury that we could have again someday. If we found peace as a nation. Or so she said.

Her dream is my dream. My dream is my life.

I set it back down and finally looked for my pin. A kelp hairpin. A reminder of satisfying days. But I can’t wear it anymore. It hurts too much.

I set down the pin. No more time for reminders. More work to do. I pulled out Eight-Legs and prepared to go out on patrol. Builds rapport. My weapon and I synched, a reassuring zap running down my spine.

I set my bag back down and pulled out my body armor. Not perfect, but an advantage against ink-based knives. I clasped the armor over my breast and pulled the faded mantle out and over, letting the lopsided cloth flow over my shoulders again.

I was ready. To patrol, yes, but for more too.

After all, I heard a crash somewhere outside my house. Sometimes things fell from the top of the cliff, animals--dinner--sometimes. But this was more of a dull thud. My weapon ready, I prepared to inspect the event before patrol.

I rushed outside and scanned the horizon for the source. But what I found, I didn't expect. A bag? Who threw bags into the valley?

I smelled a trap. I moved slowly, keeping my gun trained. No one was around. It didn’t seem like a trap. I’d hedge my bets. Cautiously I approached.

I slowly undid the zipping mechanism. This was… this was… a godsend. A sleeping bag. A real sleeping bag. Invaluable.

Next was food. Bags of nuts. Dried fruit. If I was lucky, there would be seeds! Very marketable.

I found other knick knacks inside, but figured I’d save them for later. I praised the Deep Ones for their gift. Things were looking up. I left the bag in my house and prepared to look for others who might have been attracted to my prize. After all, there was a thief on the loose. One other than me. That needed to be corrected.

If there was nothing to find, at least I'd keep up appearances. A show of force can prevent future crime. If you strike fear into brigands, you can win fights before they begin.

That was the goal anyway. But then, a scream. Male. Two o’clock. Time to prevent trouble.

It didn't take long to get there. At the bottom of one of the craters was a guy, sobbing. Why? Not my business. My business is keeping people away.

He didn’t seem to react so slammed his head against the ground.

“Don’ move. Don’ morph.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

If I remembered how to smile, I would have. Amusing. Crying like a baby in a crater? Assaulted. Then a wisecrack. Spunky.

I’d let him off with a warning. Or, I intended to. But something interrupted us. “Same deal ya gave ta 'im, girly. Som'in about not movin’ or morphin’.”

Okay. So we're doing this.

Chapter Text

I guess today was just one of those days. You know. Fall in a hole, barely survive, get threatened and slammed to the ground. I think there’s some adage about taking the good with the bad. Some lesson about learning how good things can be after they get real bad. Here's hoping.

I meant to throw out another quip, but apparently I wasn’t the focus anymore. Never waste good jokes. It’s prodigal!

“‘ere’s our terms, girly,” I heard, “jus’ come with us and nobody needs ta get ‘urt.”

Hurt? I’m already hurt. Could you unhurt me?

“No one gets ‘urt?” my assailant retorted, “that’s real flimsy comin’ from the guy wavin’ a knife at a lady.”

Hm. Knife does not sound like unhurting.

“Lady!? Haw!” came another voice. “Yer nawt earnin’ any brownie points smashin’ that kid’s face into the ground!”

A good point mystery voice number two! How does the defendant respond?

“Yeah, at least Oy’m nawt pointin’ a gun at no one!” My assailant retorted.

Oh. This just gets better and better. So knife-guy, gun-guy and female assailant with her boot on my head. Then there’s me: emotional wreck. Root for the underdog, guys!

In case it wasn’t obvious, I am the underdog. I am literally under everyone right now. The bottom of a crater. The bottom of someone's shoe. The bottom. Go me!

Then again Knife-guy can’t really use our pit his advantage assuming the blade is all he has, but gun-guy could pick off my assailant then me. Then there’s the girl directly on top of me pinning me to the ground.

Luckily, she was in the same situation I was:  at gunpoint at a severe height disadvantage. My best option for survival perhaps lay with someone who’s first actions toward me involved a violent thrust groundward. Least she's gung-ho.

I’m not a betting man, but I’d say that my best odds are with the person also being threatened. I’m not a huge believer in Stockholm Syndrome, though, so I won’t be getting comfy.

“H-hey,” I squeaked, through my crushed windpipe, “I’m armed... think we can... can take them?” I may not win points for eloquence but my trachea wasn’t winning air points either.

“Oy’ll give ya to the count a’ three…” I heard from knife-guy.

“Hey," gun-guy growled. "Oy run this operation! Remember.”

The crushing sensation lessened and the girl whispered, “yeah; Oy’ll get the firearm away from the guy. Ya jus' don’t get yerself killed. Go when Oy go.”

Don’t get myself killed? No, no. I'm angry now. I’m already basically dead down here anyway? Let's break things. Or people. Either work.

I never played Turf Wars, but I know my way around a weapon. Actually, probably better than most, even if not conventionally. I’m more interested in the mechanisms and how they work than, say, blasting people to little bits. Usually. Let me explain some cool things before I attempt to be a badass.

All Inklings have this wonderful thing called an essence. Even when our body splats, the essence remains. Now, no one knows what happens when we truly die, but everyone is given a respawn stone at birth. Synched with that, we can make mistakes without ever worrying about true death because our essence returns to the stone. Neat, right?

But, near-immortal convenience aside, that’s also what our clothes and weapons synch with. They literally conjoin with the wavelength that the essence exudes and once the two are on the same biorhythm, you can reform both things from the respawn stone, provided enough ink is available within the stone to condense into the proper form.

Science Cliffnotes over. Point is, I had a gun. It was already synced. I knew how to use it. I knew how it worked. Thank you science, preemptively for self-defense.

While my assailant and I plotted, the two above us bickered. I don’t even think they started the countdown when we attacked. The weight on me lifted. I stood up. Let's get this show on the road.

Now that I had vision, I realized I couldn’t really get a good shot at knife-guy. It was dark. He was above me and pellets fall quite fast. We have to close some distance. Gotta make sure I'm zoning properly.

Gotta remember. A knife hurts, but isn’t lethal, even at close range. Takes lots of stabs to splat anyone. My gun is lethal no matter the range. Logic tested; adrenaline approved.

I rushed up the smooth incline, bolting toward the knife-guy. I heard a surprised scream on the other end of the pit. Guess my assailant did her part. No splat though.

But that was there, not here. I had my part. Knife-guy would be hurting soon.

I was hurting. He should hurt.

Turns out running at someone with a knife has a few disadvantages. When I got closer, he ran at me and stabbed, cursing.

I dodged a little to the left. Good thing I did. It wasn’t lethal but the knife gouging my arm hurt like a bitch. Don't want to imagine what it would have done to my face.

“Deep Ones Below!” I screamed, as I scrambled to higher ground. The ink from the cut hurt like hell, making me angrier. He was gonna get it.

I fired shots around him and heard him curse again. He began to escape.

Now, I bet living down here made it easier to see in this blackness--dilation and all that--but my shots were indigo and even in the dark, they were a gripping shadow that would entangle anyone who’s chroma wasn’t in tune with mine.

Did I say I was smart? Well, I felt smart, because, in my haze of adrenaline and anger, I'd considering shooting ahead where I thought he’d run. And it worked.

As soon as he began his retreat, he was stuck. Like prey in a trap. It felt good to be the hunter for once. I sauntered over to him and grinned.

It was ecstasy to hear he was struggling and bliss to kick him to the ground. I simply could not wipe that cheesy grin off my face as he slammed further into my ink. I could empathize with his pain. His body was rejecting the foreign substance. I’d never played Turf Wars for that reason. It hurt.

“So? Feel like making threats now?” Intense pain made people sing a different tune. Normally I'm not sadistic. But Deep Ones, this has been a hell of a day. I wanted him to whistle like a songbird.

“Oy… please. Oy jus’… Oy jus’ needed ta… food… my family…!” the ideas were muddled and broken. Even I'd done better. And know what? He could too.

I squatted down next to him, my terrible grin still plastered on my face, “oh? Well then, I’m sure they’ll see you soon.” I jabbed my gun to his back. Fantasies danced in my head of pulling the trigger. Of watching him pop.

But someone had to get in the way. Of course. A gun to my back. “They’s nawt a problem anymore. Don’ move.”

She pulled away from my back, but the gun never stopped being trained on me. My assailant, a girl octoling in a lopsided mantle, crushed knife-guy’s hand into my dark pool of ink. Cruelly, she twisted her foot until, screaming, he let go of his knife. She kicked it away, into the pit.

When she spoke, it was authoritative. “Now listen good both of ya! Oy want ya all to be off of this land immediately by order of Jetty number fifteen. Oy nevah want to see the likes of ya 'ere again! Is that understood!”

The two struggled to their feet and seemed to weep out an agreement.

“Go on!” She cried, her expression stony. “Git! Ya mother-glubbin’ sons of a two-faced blowfish! Git!”

They got.

Which left me, again, at gunpoint. Welcome back, status quo. Neither of us spoke. But I was tired of that. I was tired of a lot of things.

“I suppose you want me out of here now?”

“Mm…” She put down her gun. She seemed… confused? “Ya almost killed him. Why? Don’ that bother ya?”

“I thought you Octolings were all about that,” I shrugged, “now that I’m in the fucking hinterlands, what difference would it make?”

“We aren’ savages!” she exclaimed, totally proving her point by jamming the gun back in my ribs. “And to show so... Oy’m gonna let’cha off the hook.”

“Well, gee,” I began, “thanks. Now I’m just lost in the bottom of a deep gorge with no hope of getting home. Look at me. Being totally. Grateful.”

She 'humphed' at me and holstered her gun. “Ya should be. Oy was gonna take somethin’ off of ya before. I's a toll. A business. Not savage.”

“So robbery is a service? Consider me an unsatisfied customer.”

She growled. “Yer on private property. Oy should do worse.” Hearing that resonated. A hint of civilization in a dead land. I thought Octolings were tearing each other apart down here. Primally, I wanted to resist the hint that that might not be the case.

“I wasn’t even aware that you Octolings had an idea of that was.”

“Ya Inklings aren’t aware of much it seems,” she retorted, walking off.

Right in the ego. Is she right? Maybe. I mean, I don’t know. Here was one person claiming hints of a society after two people just tried to mug us. I can’t really say what’s right.

And did it really matter? I could ponder deep questions about racism later. Right now, I was being abandoned and I wasn’t just about to lose a thread that might lead home. “Hey!” I shot. “You can’t just leave me here!”

“Oy’m not.”

Wait. Back up. She was helping me? And I didn't even need to ask? I must be out of my mind: I was considering her implicit offer.

“Come on,” she said. “Ya said yer lost, right? Le’s get this problem got. Then yer outta my 'air.”

Think. Rationalize. Not many choices here anyway. Follow her or be stuck. In the dark. With no direction to go. In (supposedly) private property. That I would likely be attacked in. I followed her closely.

Chapter Text

What am I doing?

The Inklings are the enemy. They ruined everything for us. They took everything. Turf. Power. Our family. Our friends. And I was helping one. Again.

Maybe they were right about me. I’m soft. I grit my teeth and bore back my disappointment.

We marched in silence. There was only a little bit to go before reaching my hovel. I was content to not speak. I had to look strong. Be strong. Silence and inaction were my best defense against the desire to punch the Inkling I was trying to help.

Unfortunately for us both this boy was chatty. “So,” he sighed, “what’s a Jetty?”

I took a deep breath, suppressing a scream. My body language already was shrieking. Arched shoulders. Clenched fingers. I was helping, wasn’t that good enough?

I was risking my peace for this idiot. I'm a freak? Fine. A disgrace? Yeah. A thief? Fair. But a traitor? Never.

I just want my privacy. I just want to live in quiet peace. I just want to forget everything. Then I can finally be happy. Fate keeps playing me. But… I can hold back. If just for awhile. Just a little. An hour or two. Deep breath...

“Ya know nothin’,” I sneered. “A Jetty is a ickle plot a’ land given a lord by their king. The lordling and ‘is vassals work it up into a strong township. Ideally.”

“Sounds involved,” he huffed.

“Oh? And ya Inklings know something better?” I shot.

“Nah. I guess not. Government is always complicated,” he shrugged. “We’re a democracy so things are always a bit of a pain in the ass.”

“A demo-what?”

“A democracy? Uhhhh.” He shut up for a golden moment. But, unfortunately, he had more to say. “If we’re going into what it literally means, which, according to the dictionary--which is usually the best way to start--it’s a government ruled by the people?”

“The ever-livin’ ‘ell does that mean!?” Don't mock me. That's dumb. People aren’t raised to rule. They don’t know how to manage themselves, let alone a country… it’d wreck. Stupid people and their stupid systems.

“Well,” he said. He scratched his chin. “We vote--you do know what voting is, right, miss ‘not a savage?’”

“...ya mean everyone raises their hands to see if they give a fuck?”

“Sure, something like that,” he said. I was pleased he seemed displeased. “‘A’ for effort anyway. Point is, everyone has a say in who rules them and laws and all that other junk.”

“Sounds dumb,” I said, simply. It was. Seriously, people do stupid things when they don’t follow orders. I should know.

“Yeah, well, you’re right to some extent,” he replied.

“Wha' a flash o' insight.” But what a stupid thing to say. His government was dumb, but it was still the chain of command. Heresy like that was clear rebellion. Did he have a death wish?

“But by and large,” he continued, “since voting is optional, people don’t vote in the first place or otherwise make a rash, biased choice and they end up screwing themselves over.” He shrugged noncommittally, “the elected officials and their puppeteers still basically rule everything since no one really pays much attention to what they really do.”

Huh. Looking at it that way, people who thought they knew better could make their 'votes' and feel like they're participating. Those that actually knew better could find a way up while those below could continue making dumb decisions. Thus, they were still ruled by the leaders, chain of command is upheld and “--the best still rise to the top. Hm…”

“What was that?” he asked. Bloody hell, did I say that out loud?

“Was nothin'!” I spat. “Anyway. Shut up. We’re almost back.” And we were. We were home.

Taking my goggles off, I motioned around my wonderful room. “Welcome--”

“Hey!” he exclaimed. His eyes were locked on the package of things that fell from the sky. “That’s my--”

Oh for the love of… “‘Hey’ yerself, ya inkin’ bum. Oy’m still talkin’ 'ere!”

“Well, excuse me. I'm just pissed about you stealing my stuff!” he shouted in outrage. “Is this just business too?”

“For yer information,” I began, “Oy didn’ steal nothin'! This bag 'ere jus' came fallin’ from the sky and landed outside my room right before Oy saved yer sorry arse!”

“Well,” he said, still angry, “well... it’s mine and I’m taking it back.” He hurriedly gathered his things and took a huffy seat in my chair. “And my ass is nice, thank you!”

“Jus' keep tellin’ yerself tha',” I quipped, adding, “keep yer stupid bag. Oy didn’ want it anyway.” Tsk.

He clutched the bag to his chest, pouting. His anger finally flared again, but it was quickly receding. That pause gave me time to actually look at him. I diverted my eyes from the sharp slash across his arm. It hurt to look at. Better to focus on other features. Nearly five feet, six notches. Tall. Dark skin. Deep blue hue. Long indigo tentacles, for a boy. And braided! I snorted. “Where’d ya find time to pretty yer 'air like tha'? Who ya tryin’ to impress?”

“...no one,” he retorted, “...I just like the fishtail...”

“Looks nice,” I said, snorting in half-laughter. “Really. No joke.”

As I ripped him a new one, I couldn’t help fingering my own locks. I could change my hair color if I wanted. Could even look good. But unlike the inklings, I couldn’t change my skin to match--not enough sunlight. But no point contemplating that, I’d never change my tentacle color. My patriotic purple means a lot to me.

I was enjoying the silence. It helped the planning process. But even in silence I was being nagged by something: I wasn’t angry anymore. Irritated, yes. But I'm always irritated. The implications of my complacency tore at me. Before I could simmer too much though, my 'guest' piped up. Clearly, he'd gotten over the bag.

“So what next?”

“Ya le' me bloody think,” I retorted.

I focused. No time to blow up. No time to contemplate my color or hair. Stupid thoughts. What do we actually need? A plan? Yes. But for that we need information. Topographical. Civic. Recent. The Jetty borders are always changing. So, in conclusion. Gather information. Plot a course. Find sewers leading back to Inkopolis.

“A map," I said, finally. "Ya need a map to get ya to the sewers and avoid Octoling civilization as much as possible so ya can make your way back to Inkopolis.”

“The sewers!?” he exclaimed. Wuss. Prissy ickle wuss.

I replied, “nawt my fault that ya globs equate us with trash.”

He fell silent again. What a sheltered boy. He chewed on my comment quietly. Wonderful feeling, getting the last words. Well. I needed to go. I don't own a map so I'd need to borrow one. Time was of the essence. I broke the silence. “Well! Oy’m gonna go. Ya sit tight now 'n'--don’ touch that!”

“What? I was just wondering why you have a fork on your shelf.”

“It’s nun’a’yers!” I shot back.

“None of my…?”

“Bid'ness! Nun. O'. Yer. Bid'ness!” I growled. I gathered all my mementos into my mantle and marched out.

I marched out. But, no. I shouldn't. I... He...

He hadn’t known. Forks aren't that special. He was confused. Just minutes ago, he'd been angry. Then calm. Then he flared. Then calm again. How did he fight the anger? He was pissed when we'd just met. He deserved to be. He was hurt. Bleeding. Torn from home. Where had the anger gone? I know angry. I am 'angry.' But he just looked confused.

He didn't mean anything. I knew. And I needed to--wanted to--

No. No…

I need a map. He needs a map.

“Don’t--!” I began. Another deep breath. Don't blow up. “...don’t touch anything. Just sit in the chair. That is an order. Got it?”

“Clear as crystal, ma’am!” he meeped. As he flinched, I could see his arm hemorrhaging. It looked painful. Yet he hadn't said anything.

I left. I couldn't be near him. He was unnatural. Asking about Octolings. Calm after being so angry. After being hurt. After almost killing someone in rage. He wasn't like an Inkling. Not the ones I'd known. Not her.

The march to town gave me plenty of time to collect myself. Besides, I had more I needed to do. I needed a map, yes. More than that, though, I needed to report to his lordship about the bandits. Second time this week. This time I had proof: a dented Octoshot and a beat-up knife.

And that Inkling may not have said it, but he was definitely in pain. This was a military-grade combat knife. They were designed to cause ink to bleed for days. He needed medical attention. Needed herbs to make sure he healed properly.

I counted my coins. I tsked. Wasn't gonna get any better though. The apothecary first. We went through the usual greetings and formalities. I shared the story of my tussle. Entertainment is sometimes worth a discount. It had the added benefit of keeping them aware that I could walk the walk.

I got gauze and antiseptic. The cheapest available still emptied my week’s savings. Wish it could've been less expensive but they need to make a living too.

Now, the map. I know the valley's general layout. I could get myself to any major or minor city. Nothing beats a good map though. Too bad we don’t have a cartographer in town. The only ones who could afford to pay for such services would be in the capitol so maps were hard to come by. But I knew a place that to get one: his lordship’s house. If anyone had a map, it would be him. He probably needed it. But I needed it more.

I made my way to the center of the growing Jetty. To his lordship’s austere dwelling. For those of you who not in the acquiring business, large houses mean multiple points of entry. A small settlement means not many people. Further, a tight-knit community means people expect people to report suspicious looking activity. I come and go from his lordship's place all the time. No one would suspect me, barring his lordship himself.

It was simple to walk through the back door into his vacated office. His lordship wasn’t here. As per routine. He always goes for an evening walk around the Jetty. A check-up to feel the pulse of the town. He's like clockwork. I've got nearly an hour. Plenty of time to find one measly map.

His room, like his schedule, was organized. Logical. Shelves lined every wall and were filled with to the brim with books. One particular set of shelves had an oil lamp and some matches. A desk was at the back of the room. It was an antique. Real wood with hand-crafted compartments. It must have cost a fortune. That map could be anywhere but I had at least an hour. I had time. I started with all the shelves, pulling out books one at a time looking for a map.

If ever there was a time to lament the fact that I couldn’t read, now was it. Mom had always intended to find someone to teach me but I rarely agreed with tutors. I recognized many of our symbols but that doesn't change the fact that I'm illiterate. A crying shame because at times like these, I’m pretty sure it would be useful.

I must’ve gone through hundreds of books, leafing through pages, when I heard the front door open--was it time already? I could feel adrenaline pumping. Think. Calm. Cool. Practiced.

Play it off? Might notice something amiss with me here early.

Run? Not enough time.

Hide? Where? Doorframe? Desk? Nook around shelves? Desk seemed like the safest option. In the rush, I chose that and ducked underneath.

It was a good hiding spot. Unless he decided to sit. Then I'd lose this home too. There was no way an hour had passed. Why was he home so early?

I stymied my breathing. Silence was my ally. I found where it was darkest under the desk and moved deeper in. I set the gun and knife down. A clatter when they dropped would only give me away. Only when my confiscated weapons were safe on the ground, did I morph from Octoling to octopus--a form I always found disgusted me.

Now all I could do was wait.

“Ya didn’ tell me she’d be armed!” That voice sounded familiar. And bemused.

“Oy figured that you’d’ve been prepared for a guard that could actually fight back.” ...his lordship?

“Why ya even tryin’ ta get rid’ve her? She’s fantastic patrol. Oy was disarmed in a second.” It was the gun-wielding bandit! He had hardly screamed when I struck and left too easy when threatened. Now it made sense: he was a hired gun.

“Oy don’ trust ‘er,” his lordship’s deep voice echoed. Well. There it was. I should have figured. I clenched my teeth. “Oy’ve 'eard reports from other towns of a one-armed vagrant. Did ya get a good look at ‘er?”

There was a pause. Then the merc went on. “She did seem ta favor a side… But still, why try to take ‘er out silently and instead just kick ‘er out?”

I morphed back bit by bit, drawing out the process to stifle the sound. The situation had changed. My mantle fell over my shoulders. Half the point was gone. It longer protected me.

“Two reasons,” he went on. “First, the people in town trust her. No report is going to convince them that she’s a thief and a murderer. Oy don’ want to look the bad guy.”

I could hear my hearts beat in my chest as his lordship came closer. “Second, Oy don’ want to risk the safety of the other Jetties leaving someone like her on the loose. Killing 'er makes me look good. It’s politics. Ya wouldn' understand.”

He pulled out his chair and I leapt at him. We rolled on the floor. He squirmed. I shifted my weight and in a flash, I was on top. He had a knife to his neck. “Ya made a bad dealie, yer lordship.”

I used my leg to pin his torso down. Hard. I could feel, hear and smell him defecate. I looked over to the merc who wasn’t surprised. Just amused.

“Oy…” his lordship began, “wh--”

“Stow it,” I growled, “Oy ‘eard it all. Lucky for you, Oy’ll be out in jus' a momen'. Jus' one tiny thing firs'. An ickle favor. Oy need a map. Then Oy’ll be outta yer hair. Fer good.”

I'm angry. I hurt. This hurts.

Chapter Text

Without warning, Ms. Octoling burst in. “We’re leaving,” she announced.

This just in! Octoling Girl Storms into Her Own Home and Suddenly Announces Life Upheaval for Total Stranger! Call the presses!

“Uh? We?” I asked, incredulously. “I thought I was--”

“Plan’s changed, priss. Oy’m leadin’ ya myself.”

"And here I thought you hated my guts.” I considered crossing my arms for that muy bueno confrontational effect, then decided against it because my cut hurt like a bitch.

“Oy do.” She shoved the gun we stole from the highwayman into my hands. Heh. Stole from a highwayman.

Weapon geek that I am, this distracted me quite handily. I examined the gun--I'd never seen a model like this. I squinted in the near-lack of light. Let's see...

It was heavier than my N-ZAP and clearly worn, and rightfully so: it had a much more reasonable loadout for general combat. While the ink compressor was a little dented it seemed to work fine. The suction bomb generator at base of the grip appeared functional, but I didn't exactly want to test it here. Older model though, so no special functionality.

The weapon felt nice in my hands, even if I only really understood how to use it in theory.

"Man so what model is thi--ayyyy! owow hey!” The girl had grabbed me by the ear and pulled. Hard. “Owowowow whyyyy!”

“Get off yer arse and get movin’!” Letting go of my ear, she marched out the door. Didn't look like she was stopping. Soooo, I gathered my things. Geez louize, what happened while I was in time out?

“I thought I was supposed to ‘just sit in the chair,’” I muttered, jogging to catch up. “I mean really? What’s the hurry?”

“Nun’a’yers,” was her quick, cookie-cutter reply. Oh boy, we’re gonna get along splendidly. Still, I suppose it’s more in my favor to go with her than not.

She was already starting to march off in a direction which, call me crazy, appeared to be perpendicular from the direction that she’d come from. She wasn't just leading me. She was leaving. And fast.

Not to mention her pace! When we were walking together before, I was struggling to keep up. Still am, as a matter of fact. I was also losing ink from a nasty lesion. Still am by the way. That said, I was walking as briskly as I could, but she wasn't even breaking a sweat. Gods below, what was this girl made of?

“Think you could,” I finally said, between gasps. “Slow down the pace? I think whoever. Might have been following us. Has decided. That you are. Too much. Of a pain. To catch. So. How’s about. We rest?””

It’d been what? Two hours of a constant march? One hour? ...okay, maybe just fifteen minutes. I'm in pain here, cut me some slack.

She kept marching, not even humoring my humble question with a simple answer. Kinda irking because, especially now, questions and answers are kinda my life. No answers means feeling more in the dark. Figuratively. Though I suppose also literally? Hm.

“Scientifically speaking,” I went on, still gasping for air. “I don’t think. I’m going to be able. To figure out. What you are thinking. From total silence. And a continued. Grueling march. Not to mention. Total silence. Sorry. Don’t speak Stoic.”

“Less chit-chat. Focus on breathing,” she ordered. Deep Ones below, she thought this was funny didn’t she? That I was suffering after ‘just this.’ She probably thought that all Inklings weak. Which was untrue: I'm just particularly anti-exercise. Also bleeding.

...but she was right. I focused on breathing and keeping up. But after another hour of trekking, no matter how much I willed it, I couldn’t generate enough energy to maintain her pace.

Falling over completely, I finally admitted defeat. “I can’t. I can’t go on. Anymore.” I was getting light-headed. And I don't think this was just from lack of breath. We'd probably ignored the bleeding too long.

“We’ve only traveled fifteen--” She had stopped. Looking at me, she finally seemed to notice. Her eyes widened. I grinned. I wanted to be angry but, I was just relieved. I was tired, hoo, I was tired. Today had sucked. But there was a direction now. And she noticed the pain. There's hope. Yeah...

It took awhile for me to realize I had blacked out. I would have probably been fine. Eventually my stone would take in my essence and I'd be back! Right as rain!

But I still hurt so I guess I can safely assume that that wasn't the case. You'd think grievous pain would really jolt you awake, but I was still light-headed and everything was pretty hazy. In fact, the clay seemed like a pretty nice place to just--yawn--lay down and nap for the next eternity.

"Ya awake?" she said. She... she... who was she? A girl. An Octoling. Yeah. Right. Her. Buuuut she was also likely my savior in more ways than one. And where did these bandages and painful medication come from? What else did she have in her mantle of miracles?

"Ya awake?" she repeated, more gruffly this time.

Oh right uh.

"Yeah," I groaned. I hadn't intended a groan.

A pause. Neither of us seemed to know what to say. Normally I'm not okay for it to be this way. Buuuut this was good. I mean, my cut was hurting hard, but that meant it was healing or something. And I wanted to think a little. I want to think a lot, actually.

Where did she get those bandages? Like seriously. She seemed to gather things up really quickly and they weren't in her place. Or at least on her shelf. (Why was she displaying a fork???)

Anyway, there wasn't anything else in her house so unless she randomly had them on her all the time, then she'd just gotten those bandages. She got those bandages for me. She really wasn't a savage. She was actually more nice than some people I know. ...most people I know.

I need to confirm though.

"Where'd you get those bandages?" I asked. My voice was meeker than I'd expected.

"Nun'a'yers."

"Yeah I kinda expected that so, here, lemme paint a picture for you..."

"Pain' a--"

"It's a metaphor," I explained. "So hypothetically, an Octoling walks into a--what'd you call it?--a Jetty? Right? This Octoling walks in and gets the map, but, not forgetting her refugee in so much pain you got these bandages for him. I mean she. She got these bandages for him and then doesn't know how to take a compliment honestly or wants to hide something. Or both. So she puts on a harsh exterior. All to hide she can't go back to the Jetty for reasons. Hypothetically.

She looked at me. I saw a lot of delicious emotions there. She was dumbfounded and rightfully so. ...then again this wasn't that hard to guess. Even if this girl doesn't say much her body language speaks volumes. She was struggling to find words. But we all know that's not her strong suit. Kind of adorable really. I'd chuckle if this bandage didn't sting so much. She was angry. She always seemed to be angry though, so meh.

No response from the peanut gallery. Whatever. Her face said I wasn't far off with my guess. Poor girl.

Guess we're both stranded.

We were quiet for a long time. I think the Octoling started setting up camp, but I wasn't too sure. It was dark and I wasn't really looking around all that much. But I heard her doing something, so I supposed we weren't moving for a bit.

"Ya really didn' las' lon'," she finally said. Didn't expect her to break the silence.

“Yeah well,” I responded, “I dunno what you're made of, but I'm fine being a prissy wuss.” This statement was really convincing with my whole body plastered to the ground. “But let's be fair, I’m carrying more than you.”

She walked back to me and squatted to where I was lying. Then, the scariest thing happened. She looked smug. She didn’t grin--nah I’m pretty sure this girl has never smiled in her entire fucking life--but she definitely had the look of someone who meant to prove a point.

Under her mantle, I heard clicking. In just moments she had something in one hand. She had removed a thick-looking, well-kept, stainless steel breastplate. Who the hell wears a breastplate?

“I’s reinforced.” She said holding it over my head like it was nothing. That smug look didn’t move an inch. So, of course, my goal was to wipe it away.

“Wow, I’m sure it’s reeeeeal heavy!” It was hard enough to stand up, but I did it, shakey knees and all. Then, rather unwisely, I grasped the breastplate. Then she let go. Well, I was back on the ground, to say the least.

Guess this is what I get for not participating in sports. Ever.

“I’s just thirty pounds. Oy take this everywhere Oy go,” she sneered. Then, setting the armor down, she did something amazing. She removed one strap of my backpack from my arm, then the other. Then, before it could fall to the ground, she snatched the bag up in one arm.

That thing was easily twenty pounds. Her smugness didn’t budge an inch.

“If this ‘s too much for ya, Oy can always carry it, ickle lordling.” Her point proved, she set my bag aside and knelt to put her armor back on.

Now that I thought about it…

“Hey, why kneel? Isn't it easier to just pick it up?”

“Why do ya talk so much?” she shot, while she reclasped the armor.

“And why didn’t you take off the cloak thing first? Isn’t it in the way?” For some reason her face twisted. The smugness was terrifying but this was worse. The look was a nightmare incarnate.

...well, best to look on the bright side: I succeeded! She wasn’t smug anymore!

I didn’t ask anymore questions.

I guess she wasn't setting up camp. Maybe she was just pacing? Point is, we got back to marching after that. Without the bag, it was significantly easier to continue at her pace. Or maybe she'd slowed down with the extra load? But really, what was more amazing than me keeping up was how much it took to slow her down. What a juggernaut!

In a way she reminded me of Saffy. Kind of. Just, less cheerful. And missing the bright red.

But yeah, Saffy is the same way in that she doesn’t take no shit from no one. Not only that, she’s athletic, confident and has a presence that few can match up to. This Octoling has that same presence, though not my friend’s demeanor. Not at all.

Or maybe she's nothing like Saffy and this is just the Stockholm Syndrome kicking in. I guess I can’t fight named diseases. Conditions? ...Categorizations? What is a syndrome anyway?

Whatever the case, whenever I glanced over to the girl marching alongside me, I couldn’t help but think about my friend. Somehow, because of that, even though I still don’t know how to feel about this cloaked guard, I felt less alone.

A little.

I wish Saffy had come along. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

Speaking of messes, why had Miss Hasty given me an Octoshot? “Hey. Yo. Hey!” I said in-between breaths. I did this for some time. Wow she was in a bad mood. Was she still sour about the robe?

Eventually, I got to her. She twisted around, that same, terrifying look plastered on her face. She exclaimed “what!? What the inkin’ ‘ell do Oy need ta do ta make ya shut up?”

“Answer my. Questions? Maybe?”

She snorted. “‘kay. Fine. Make it fast.” Great uh, what was I going to ask?

Uh… what was it… weapons… oh right! “Octoshot.” I gasped.

“What about it?”

“Why did. You give. It to me?”

“Yer other weapon was an obnoxious color that woulda given away our position,” she said, stiffly. “Any other dumb questions?”

Well when you put it that way… “no.” It just wasn’t worth it.

I got the hint. Both of them really. The first was that I needed to be armed. The second was that she basically wanted me to be quiet so that she could get us where we’re going. I was getting irate about this, but I had to remind myself that somewhere, deep down, she had been kind. She had treated my wounds. She could have left me behind. But she didn't so here we are. Snarking.

I just needed to march a bit further. A bit further with a stinging arm. A bit further on aching legs. Did I mention that before this I took a freaking hike into a mini mountain range? Well, for those who don’t remember, I was already pushing my limits there. Now, I’ve been plodding through this featureless terrain for what? Two, three, eight hours?

Okay, I admit it. I’m bad with time.

But how are we even navigating? Where are we even going? This girl was harping on about a map before she left, but I haven’t even seen her pull it out once.

“Hey,” I began.

“Can ya be quiet fer, like, mo'e than ‘alf an ‘our?” She retorted, immediately. After a pause, she asked, “what?”

“Sorry to. Shatter the silence. With this groundbreaking revelation. But do you even. Know where we’re going?”

“Of course Oy do, ya loon.” She pointed off in some general direction that we appeared to be trekking toward. “We’re followin’ the wall and need ta get a good distance away from--where we were. If we keep 'eadin’ this direction, we should reach 'ollow 'ill in an 'our or so. A decent place to camp and a good landmark to start. 'Cause i’s a little far from everything.”

“Okay. Thanks for tellin' me. That we actually have a destination. But I’ve gotta clarify,” I took the moment breathe. I mean, to create dramatic tension. Then I finished, “why the hell are we running from your home?”

“Oy don’ ‘ave a 'ome.” With that harsh sentiment, she continued our march. So did I. Guess I was more right than I expected. Sadly right. A felt a cold chill run through me.

That momentary moment momentarily blew away the fatigue, but not much can really stop you from forgetting incredible muscle pain. Now, remember that I’m bad with time, but I’d say that after at least thirty minutes I finally collapsed. Seeing as I haven’t had to exert myself since the school hiking trip I’d say I held out pretty well. But…

“I can’t… go on… anymore…” I complained. I don’t know what position I’d sprawled in. My face was stuck to the floor and I couldn’t feel the rest of my body. “Can we rest? For like? A year?”

She sighed and oddly enough, she said, “awlright. Fine. We’ve been marching a couple hours. I’s important to rest too.” She snorted before adding, “but nawt for long. We need ta reach the 'ollow within an hour and a half.”

“Why. Does the time. Even matter?” I gasped, “It’s. Always dark. Here. And did the ETA go up??”

“Nawt that ya’d know,” she began, ignoring the last comment, “but a lot o' places in the Valley get sunlight. Jus' the wall’s in the way ‘ere.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” And so we sat. In silence.

Again.

“Damnit! Are all Octolings so bad at conversation?”

“Are all Inkling globs as mouthy as ya?”

“Well,” I huffed, letting my pent up frustration come out as more than just steam, “I’d imagine a lot of them would be if they were suddenly dragged out of their home into relative danger with someone that they can’t learn to trust because she doesn’t even fucking say anything of her own accord.” She looked ready to retort, but I cut her off.

“All she does is be fucking edgy about why we’re suddenly marching off in, for all I know, is some random direction without even offering a clue as to why we’re going the way we’re going,” I was shouting now, but she didn’t look perturbed. She didn’t look like… anything. And that pissed me off more.

“Yeah, maybe I’m a little nervous and I’m trying overly-hard to make polite conversation. I’m in the middle of nowhere with some person I don’t even know the name of. And... I’m just… scared, okay? I’m scared…” I sobbed, “I’m scared…”

My emotions had been all over the place today. I just wanted to give up. Anger would flood in, then drain out. Confusion would come, then be replaced with fear, or anger or despair. But I had to be strong. I had to joke. Gotta keep my spirits up.

At some point I’d gotten myself into a sitting position. I’m not sure how, but I did. We were there for a while, neither of us saying anything.

I was crying. And not a few tears, no, I’m talking about a continuous flow. This was embarrassing. In the middle of nowhere, I was crying in front of a girl who I hoped wouldn't just decide to kill me. Or more realistically, leave me behind. I mean, how can I say she’s going to help me at all? I'm not worth anything down here. I don't know anything.

Just… kill me now.

As that thought crossed my mind she began to approach. Shit. Was she going to kill me? Had I shown weakness? Was this that part in the movie where the traitor shows themselves? Was this the end of my tragedy?

I was ready for anything. For a gun to the face, for a knife to the chest… for her to destroy me. Instead, she slapped me. Hard. “Sto' bein’ melodramatic.”

I didn’t expect that. Hell, I didn’t expect what came next.

“Look,” She went on, avoiding eye contact. “Oy… Oy’m sorry. Oy’m bad at talkin’. Oy don’ intend to get better. But… Oy’m Maybn. And Oy swear on my ‘onor. I swear on whatever tha's worth anymore. Oy’ll get you ‘ome safe.”

“I’m…” I was going to introduce myself, I swear, but I just… I started laughing. Smiling. Still crying.

“What! ‘ere Oy am, pourin’ 'eart and soul out--”

“No, no, it’s just…” what was it? The release of tension? The honest words? The fact that I wasn’t dead? That I truly expected the end? Or the fact that her 'I's sound more like 'oi's.

“Thank you, Maybn. That's all. I’m... Innes.”

“Alright, Innes,” Mabyn began, “le’s get goin', we’ve 'ad a long enough rest.”

“But I--”

“Yeah yeah,” she muttered. She gathered up everything. Including me.

And that’s the story of how I was carried fireman-style all the way to the Hollow.

Chapter Text

“But he’s been gone for two days now!” I exclaimed. Innes, if anything, was one to play it safe. I thought the trip would be fine because he’d get there, or pretend to get there, look down the cliff, debunk the rumor, then it would be over.

But he didn’t come back.

“You worry too much Saffy,” Kyle said. “Any minute now he’ll be running in, late, with some snappy excuse about why he’s--”

“About what?” I exclaimed. “About getting lost heading into a forbidden area? About charging headlong into where he knew he shouldn’t have been? About how his friends goaded him into--”

“Saffy, it was just a dare, jeez,” Kyle was trying to brush this off as not a big deal. Probably to help his dumb conscience deal with the fact that he might just have killed one of his ‘friends.’ But let’s be brutally honest here, Innes isn’t his friend. Innes doesn’t really let many people get close to him.

“A dare? You really think that’s excludes you from blame? Like you had nothing to do with it?” I could see him turning red. He turned away… he couldn’t face me. He couldn’t face his conscience. “Dare or not, Innes might be out there, hurt,” I growled. “I’m going to go get him or meet the same fate.”

“W-wait, Saffy!”

“What!”

“Why not just, uh,” Kyle began, thinking. You could really hear the gears grinding. “Uh, call the police?”

“According to treaties, we as a people signed ourselves, the Inklings aren’t allowed into Octo valley, you braindead bloat,” I seethed, “and if you haven’t put two and two together by now, that means it’s both outside the police’s jurisdiction and a great way to get yourself in big trouble. And no one helps anyone from jail.”  

I was pissed. Now, I’ll admit, I’m pretty easy to piss off. I’m also pretty easy to make cry and to make… emotional in general. But I like that. Know why? Because I’m not going to stand by while some idiot tries to convince me not to go save one of my real friends from what might be real danger.

“Saffy, but wait!” I won’t even grace him with a response. “Wh-what if it sucks up your soul too!?”

Okay, now I’m definitely not.

I began marching toward home, there were some things that needed doing. “Shouldn’t you at least make it through the school day first!?”

If you’re not going to shut up… “Look, Kyle. One of my friends might be dead.” He did not take well to me closing in on him. I could see him visibly shrink. “I am not going to stand around and let him die because of some stupid dare that some of his friends pushed him into, got it?”

He nodded.

It’s interesting to me how some people can put the trivial before the important just to uphold the status quo. As if comfort is important if you had to screw people over to get there. As if power is important if you’re going to use it for the wrong reasons. As if school is important when a life is in danger. Things like that.

So, it was with a great sense of justice that I got myself straight back to the train station and waited for it to come full circle again.

I will admit, waiting for the train when you’d just taken it to get you someplace is a little jarring. My home is a good few miles away from Inkopolis, but within walking distance of the train line. Since it’s free and comes regularly, the train makes it the best way to get anywhere I’d want to go.

Though to be fair, my choice destinations aren’t that... uh... diverse. That is to say, my home, the mall, or the Tower, the latter of which was my destination.

Just as I’d advised Innes to bring a weapon, so too would I need to arm myself. I know that it’s dangerous to go alone so I have to take something! ...Okay, I had to throw in a meme, ehehe.

But seriously, it’s important when you’re going into what might be enemy territory to not be totally defenseless. I’ve been taught that time and again.

But of course, it’s pretty much entirely illegal for anyone under the age of twenty to get a license for a concealed carry because ink weapons can, in uncontrolled environments, leave some serious scarring upon respawn. In some cases, whole limbs failed to regenerate, which leaves for incredibly awkward, life-changing situations.

So yeah, weapons are a little hard to get out of the Tower. Good thing I knew the right people.

Anna, the guard supposed to be watching the weapons around this time, ran a deal on the side. She knew about underground turf wars--not nearly as safe as its sporting counterpart, but definitely lucrative--and she let little kiddies slip out with a weapon if they slipped her a little cash.

There were more nuanced details, like offering her percentages of winnings or offering to do odd jobs for her, but I wouldn’t know anything about that. I’m always on the straight and narrow, yessir!

“I left the money where you’d expect,” I said. The sly guard gave me a little nod and a wink. She must think I’m some pro, underground ink battler with how often I do this. She must think I constantly need new weapons because I need the right edge over my opponents or something.

No, I just, uh... I just break my weapons often.

Besides, I’m good enough in the real games and make some clean, safe money.

Anyway, I took with me today my Tentatek Splattershot--trusty in almost any situation--and my Bamboozler. You may be wondering about that weapon choice, but I swear up and down, it’s one of the best chargers out there!

That and it’s the smallest and easiest to get out of my locker without gathering too much attention.

Innes always laughed at me for using it, though, but what does he know? He doesn’t even Ink Battle. I’m a solid S rank, thank you very much.

...okay, fine, so he’s a bit of a weapon’s geek and he knows more about the stats of weapons than I do, not to mention how they’re made, maintained, how syncing works, but damn, who need to know all that? Using them’s the fun part.

But that’s just one of his cute quirks, I suppose.

Anyway, the two weapons prepared, I felt a lot safer. Now I just needed to head home and get my ink tank.

The square was as busy as usual. This was the usual hangout for me and all my “friends.” I have those beautiful air quotes there because most of them don’t even really get to know me. They just know I’m an S Rank and they want to be around me because I’m “so cool.”

Heh. Innes doesn’t care about that, now that I think about it. Just another good reason that he’s one of my only real friends.

Unfortunately, the world isn’t filled with ‘real friends.’ In fact, it’s fill to the brim with hundreds of thousands of jerks that just don’t know when to let go. Hector is living proof of this. “Hey, Saffy!” he shouted, too excited for his own good. “What’re ya doin’?”

Do not want. Not now.

“No time, Hector.” I attempted to shake him and make a beeline for the train station, but he cut me off.

“You skipping school, too?” There he was, in his dark vest, dumb shades and even stupider rainbow shoes. He said the build was perfect for someone who lived on the edge. Yeah. Edgy.

“Yes, though for different reasons no doubt.”

“Well, if you’re free, why don’t we--”

“No.”

“Come on baby--”

“No, kthxbai.” I pushed him out of the way, continuing my trek to the train station.

“But Saffy, look,” he began. Okay. So I tried to be nice. Or rather, I tried not to blow up in his face in the middle of the square. But if he was going to be this way…

“Look here, mister!” I growled. I would have shouted, but I didn’t want to use my full voice; my full voice was loud. But I certainly raised the intensity. I could already feel us attracting unwanted attention. Especially considering I was carrying on me illegal weaponry. Best to get this over with fast.

“Hector. We’re. Over! Did that register in your brain this time? Does it ever register in your brain?”

“Baby--”

“Don’t baby me, asshole,” That last expletive got people’s attention. “Right now, I have someone who really cares about me, and I really care about him. He’s in trouble and I don’t need you weighing me down.”

“Well, uh, maybe I can--”

“No. That is. Final!”

Marching off in a huff, I prayed that the audience we had attracted would be enough to push that arrogant asshat away from me and out of my life, for good this time. I hope.

Gods below, I pray, one day he gets the message.

I didn’t see him as I waited at the station--it’s kind of hard to miss him when he’s in such obvious garb all the time--so I assumed that he’d left me alone. All for the best, thank god. I didn’t want him weighing me down, not now.

The train ride to my apartment was uneventful and luckily had given me time to cool down. Deep breathing really does help, for all you emotional people out there. That, and a good mile or three away from whatever is ailing you.

So, when I got to my house, I was pretty darn hyped to get my last piece of important combat equipment. Innes has explained to me time and again that a tank is incredibly important, not because it actually makes ink (which I thought until he explained it) but that it manages the amount of ink that we use.

It’s a safety feature, apparently. Ink weapons can keep firing until the user has depleted their whole body, which is worse than being splatted. If you’re splatted in a dangerous environment, you might reform with some scars or a missing limb if you’re unlucky. No, people that use up all their ink from shooting their weapon… well… they can’t really reform totally. Usually it’s just a head or a torso.

Pretty nasty huh?

Anyway, my flat is pretty sweet, if I do say so myself. I’ve got some rockin’ posters up over the walls, a nice wall dedicated to Ink Battle trophies, and a closet for keeping gear in. Only one room, but one room was all I needed… though it did make going to the bathroom in the middle of the night really awkward.

...it’s dark in the hallways.

But that’s neither here nor there. I’ve got more important things to do, like getting myself to Octo Valley and saving a friend. I quickly grabbed my tank from my closet and synched myself up to the Tentatek, then strapped the Bamboozler on my back.

Going through my stuff, I found an old hiking bag and started packing it with things. It was a long hike to Octo Valley and it was best to go prepared.

Chapter Text

I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t going to get any better at conversation. So I certainly hope telling Innes to shut up every bloody second doesn’t count towards improving my speaking skills.

We reached the Hollow and slept there for the day, but after that moment where he’d admitted to being weak emotionally, not to mention physically... I’d kinda have hoped that he’d, I don’t know, stop trying to bug me every five to ten minutes with some random thought.

But I digress. “Maaaabynnnnn,” he whined. Again.

“What,” I snapped, “what do ya need now?”

“Remind me again why we’re here in this cavern-thing?” he said. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was probably in some position that told how much of a slacker he was. Laying down, sitting down, kneeling... I don’t know. And I could just imagine him with a dumb look on his face that was simply infuriating.

With that annoying mental image, I spoke, after taking a deep breath, “outpost. I’s a good place to camp because i’s very difficult ta see here.”

“I’ll say. It’s a valley inside a fucking valley. It was dark out there. I can’t see anything in here. I’ve tripped over the same piece of fucking debris at least like, ten times now.”

“Good.”

“Um, to the tripping or to the darkness?” he said, before changing his mind and saying, “nevermind. So like, do you know where we’re going from here? Is it a straight shoot to the sewer or...?

“No,” I said, quickly. Well, it could be. But to do that would be entering territory that likely wouldn’t want to see my face again. Not that he needed to know that.

“Well then, why are we here?” he asked, exasperated.

“We need a safe place ta read the map and come up with a plan of attack.” Answer the questions quickly. Swallow the frustration. Answer. Quickly.

“Great, so you take us into the darkest place in the Valley. That’s where I’d go to read a book. Or a map. Simply brilliant move. I await the next one with glee and hope it is just as genius.”

The sarcasm was starting to seep into my brain, grating away at my nerves, “y’ll see. Oy promise. Now git some rest for the love o’ everything deep.”

“Now, that’s a plan I can get behind,” for once, his tone wasn’t entirely dry or dreary. Wimp, thinking only about rest. Though… today was a pretty hard march.

Hearing that, I changed my plan. I had originally intended to wake him up midway through the night to switch shifts so that I could get some rest, myself, but I’d gone plenty of nights without sleep before. What would be one more?

Just me and the silence. Together, we crawled out of the dip, the only reasonable entrance to the Hollow, and periodically paced, weapon in hand, checking around to make sure that no one had followed us.

...though, I guess I can’t understand why they would follow this far out. I’m not that important. They just wanted me gone.

So, secure in this knowledge, I sat down and stared up at the stars, remembering better times. Silence wasn’t always my companion. There was a time when I had a mother. And she taught me all there was to know about constellations. Not that much of it stuck. But now, I could appreciate their beauty.

Their gentle glow gave me time to relax through the night, and even if I wasn’t able to sleep, I did get some rest. To stay on the safe side, when the sun began rising, and the gorge began to brighten, if slightly, I slinked back into the safety of the shadows.

Inness was sleeping still and normally I would have moved carefully to avoid tripping over the cute little prick, but he snored so loudly that the moment I stepped back into the cave, I knew where he was. So, I waited a bit, but when ten minutes passed and he didn’t show any signs of waking, I got very close to his ear and shouted, “rise and shine ya sleepy motherglubber!”

That got him up.

I won’t try to describe the utter nonsense that he babbled as he shot up and knocked me in the head. Something about toast, ink pellets, and a large helping of something called chocolate. I wasn’t about to ask.

Not about that anyway. Instead, I inquired about something much more important. “Innes, can ya fight?”

He paused as if orienting himself. Then he said, “so this wasn’t all a bad dream, was it?”

“It may as well be a nightmare for ya ‘n me both. Now, Oy asked a simple question--”

“Jeezuuuus, lady, I just woke up,” he complained, “and besides, is that something you ask when someone first gets up in the--”

“Spare me ya whinin’,” but I figured that the best way to get my answer was to actually let him have his way. So I waited a little bit. I waited a good five minutes. I could feel my anger building up as I tried to push it down with patience. Just a little more. Just… a little…

“Okay, thanks,” he said, suddenly. “Sorry, I’m kinda cranky if I don’t do my breathing exercises.” Who the hell does breathing exercises in the morning? “Now you were saying something about fighting?”

“Yea. Can ya fight?” I already knew the answer. He knew his way around a weapon. The first time that he’d taken down that marauder, he showed that he had some skill in tactical decision-making. Further, when he looked over the Octoshot, I noticed his eyes flick to all the important places on the weapon. He knew what he was looking for.

But he was messy. No skill to back up the theory. Would he admit that?

“Well,” he began, tousling his dumb, long tentacles, “if I’m being entirely honest, no. I mean, anyone can synch to a weapon and pull a trigger. Easy peasy. But to fuckin’ outgun someone? That takes skill and athletic ability that I simply don’t have.” He snickered as he added, “I think you know that by now.”

“Yea,” I replied, simply. “Oy knowed. Oy jus’ wanted ta’ see if ya were honest with yerself about it.”

“Well, that’s me. Fuckin’ brutal with a capital ‘B.’ I’m no fighter. I’m a scient--”

He was about to say something dumb so I cut him off. “Yer no fighter now ya ain’t.  But before we move on from ‘ere, yer gonna have ta learn. And ya aren’t too shitty ta begin with, so Oy ain’t gonna spend too much time on this.”

“Maaaan, do I have to?”

“Yes,” I adamantly snapped.

“But I don’t have the body! Or the stamina! How are--”

“None of us start as fighters, priss,” I hissed. “We all start somewhere.” I didn’t expect that to clear out the complaints but clearly it did. After a moment of silence, I said, “are you ready to begin?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” he admitted. It was a decent reply.

“Then, there’s no time like the present, pick up a shooter--it don’t matter which one.”

“Okay, first question,” Innes said, rummaging through his gigantic bag. “How are we going to train in the dark?”

“We’re not training in the dark, ‘the dark is training us.’” The words of my previous instructor spouted from my mouth almost robotically. He had taught me well.

“Wow, how zen,” he said, falsetto enthusiasm lapping at each word. “So how do I avoid killing you on the off chance that I manage to, I dunno, hit you with a lethal stream?”

“That would be my fault.” I meant those words. And he seemed to sense it. “No more questions then? Then Oy’ll move on. The goal of this is to ink the turf Oy’m standin’ on to make it impossible for me to move. Oy’m not askin’ ya to concentrate fire or try to kill me--Oy don’ have a death wish--but it may be useful to threaten me into another position.”

“But I can’t fucking see you. I can’t fuckin’ see my own bag!”

“Tha’s the trainin’.” I said simply. “Oy will be closing in on ya and you’ll receive one smack each time ya let me get into range.”

“Well,” he sighed, seemingly resolved. “I’m gonna be hurting after today.”

“Oy will begin, then.” Clearing my mind, I felt through the darkness to where Innes was. I had been trained in the Hollow once upon a time to gain a sense for where enemies were even without seeing them. It was nostalgic to train here again, even if it was on the teaching end rather than the learning end.

Innes proved an easy target. Each time I dashed stealthily in his direction, he didn’t seem to know which way to fire. He shot this way and that, nonsensically… I could feel the ink pellets and knew where they landed around me.

He wasn’t even close. And for that, he received a jab to the ribs. I could feel him thump to the floor and curse.

I dashed back. “Again!” I scolded.

I expected him to complain, but instead, he just got up. This was gonna be a long day.

“Deepdamned, did you need to hit so hard?” he complained after everything.

“‘Pain helps you learn.’” Once again, the words fell out of my mouth automatically. That said, it was kind of fun to just smack him around. I could see why my instructor did it for a living.

“Maaaan… still…” he whined.

That considered, for all his aches and bruises, Innes wasn’t improving all that much. He’d kept going, that was admirable, but even after hours of continuous training, he hadn’t improved at all. In fact, he was taking more hits!

“Ow… my neck…”

While he complained about his bruises--his voice slowly becoming white noise in my mind--I kept fervently thinking of what I’d done wrong. Was he just not physically fit enough?”

“Like, how am I supposed to know what you’re doing in the dark?”

Or maybe his life in the city had made him soft and unable to react as quickly? If that were the case, there was no fixing him. He was fucked.

“And how did you always get the drop on me?”

Annoyance comes easily to me, I’ll admit that much. But this was impossible! After a day, a soldier was suppose to show aptitude with dodging! At least!

“Helloooo?”

And this hopeless excuse for an Inkling is the person stuck under my care until I get him out of a stupid situation that he got himself into by being a fucking idiot!

“Could you talk to me for like, two seconds?”

I thought all Inklings were like… well, I thought… Agent 3...

“Maybn? Mabyn! Hey Maybn!!”

And here he was, still jabbering. He asked for it. I exploded. “Kelp-fucking crabs, Oy am tryin’ to think of a way to make ya not totally useless so can ya stop sayin’ things for like, a moment!”

“Yeah I can--” he began.

“All Oy’m tryin’ ta do is make yer life an ickle bit easier,” I stomped up to him and spat at where his face probably was.

“Yes, but if you’d just--”

Oh no, I’m not done yet. “And all ya do is jus’ yap yap yap! Oy told ya. Oy! Don’! Talk!”

“Can I speak now?”

“No! Because fuck ya up the ass, that’s why! Fuck you! Fuck yer hair! Fuck yer bag! Fuckin fuck!” After something halfway between a growl and an intake of breath, I shouted at the top of my lungs, “fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”

For some time, the cave was filled with reverberations of that single curse, echoing over and over. And then, after a bit, it faded. And then my anger faded. And then I just kind of felt bad.

“Can I speak now?” he continued, calmly, after a few minutes.

“Yea... whatever.” My voice was dry, hollow. I was burnt out.

“I wanted to know how you always knew where I was… but I figured it out just now.”

I just looked at him in response. Or rather, looked where he was supposed to be.

“At first I thought you put on the Octogoggles and turned on a infrared-detector or something,” he began, “but then I realized that you wouldn’t do that. You’d want this to be a real learning experience and you strike me as a ‘lead by example’ kind of person.”

I was silent, but it amazed me just how much this guy was able to think under pressure. I’ll admit, my mind goes blank in battle. I’m a soldier, I do what I’m told. But he… he thinks.

“So, that in mind, there has to be a trick. And now that I’ve figured it, it’s obvious. I’m amazed it never occurred to me before!” I was just as interested to hear how I knew as he was. “You hear me. Duh! And then from the sound, you can get a general idea of where I am! It’s just so obvious in retrospect, but I didn’t think about it until you yelled at me before.”

“Well, uh, no prob.”

I was wrong. He was improving. Not physically, for sure, but mentally, he had deconstructed the situation and, when he was no longer under pressure, figured out the solution.

I… just felt things. I didn’t know how I knew where he was. I just knew. Hearing the answer made it so obvious. But before it had just been second nature. I knew where Innes was.

But now, I knew why I knew. And that felt oddly empowering.

I was broken from my thoughts by the sound of rummaging. “What’re ya lookin’ for?” I found myself asking.

“Food. I don’t know if you brought any, but we need to eat, right?” My thoughts flashed straight to the kelp bread I had stolen the day before. I was used to going days without eating, but he was right. We were travelling and travelling meant more energy spent.

So I started to grab it to pull off a rationed chunk when Innes pulled something out of his bag. After a quick popping sound, I heard him pour something as he said, “do you want some trail mix?”

“Wha’s trail mix?”

“It’s like, stuff that you eat on the road. Nuts and fruits and chocolate and stuff to keep your energy up,” he explained, happily. “Saffy said I was being too prepared for a dumb day-hike, but I knew it couldn’t hurt to come prepared!”

“Ya… ya don’t need ta share with me,” I… I wanted to try the food. But...

“You’re escorting me. Through Octo Valley. For free. For a stranger you don’t even know.” The words came easily to him. “The least I can do is offer you some of my food.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing.

I don’t know how to feel about this. So I just… I accepted.

That night, I kept watch vigilantly as usual, but I couldn’t help but think… Innes wasn’t like her. Agent 3. She had been the first Inkling that I had ever met. That Inkling… she destroyed ruthlessly. She murdered carelessly. She alone managed to destroy the Octarian uprising.

When I met her, I knew that she had to become like her to win. Cold. Ruthless. Unfeeling. Otherwise… well, I’d could never win.

“But Oy could nevah do that, huh?”

And honestly… he may not have that monster’s killing prowess, but maybe that was for the best. It might not make this escort trip the easiest, but at least I wouldn’t need to watch my back every second to see if I had a murderer out for my blood.

...not that anyone would miss me.

As morning came and the light slowly let itself crest over the rim of the valley, I slunk back into the Hollow. Back into the real darkness.

I didn’t feel like tormenting Innes this morning, so I woke him up normally and let him do his dumb breathing exercises.

Then, after that, he said, “let’s start.”

“No dumb banter today?”

“I want to test my theory. Let’s get to work.”

Yesterday, he’d been slow to react and easy to hit. Today, he actually moved out of the way before I managed to hit him… a few times. He still got clunked a little, but he was dodging a lot better.

In fact, the more we fought, the more I closed in on him, the less sound he made. The only times I heard him move were when he shot his gun. Conserving his ink and his position, he didn’t shoot much.

The change was phenomenal.

As a passing thought, I noticed that none of those shots had connected with me. But that wasn’t important. Until they did, the battle continued.

I complexified my movements, dancing around ink puddles. With a minimalistic motion, I launched a kick at his location… but he wasn’t there. Then, I felt it… he’d won.

I don’t know how he did it, but he won with a shot from below.

“Can,” he said, puffing, “can we stop now?”

“Explain.”

“What?”

“Explain whatcha did and why ya weren’t firing at me.” Now that I knew he was actually useful in some way, what with his describing shit, it would be best to see what he was thinking.

But of course he took it wrong. I could hear him grin. “I thought. You didn’t. Like hearing. My voice?”

“Oy’ve nawt got time fer yer shenanigans. Do yer breathing exercise, ickle priss, then explain.”

Once he could speak normally, Innes said, “Two things I realized. Even though I could track you with sound, theoretically, you move too fast. Faster than anyone I know. Further, you’re fuckin’ silent--I don’t know how you manage that, but you move like lightning and manage to stay quiet… mostly.

“It’s only when you aim to attack, to kick or strike that you make any noise. So, I fired some shots inking some paths. Some were to try to make movement harder, others were to attract you to the noise. Then, I ducked into the ink--Inkling transformation takes only a fraction of a second. After that I just came back up to shoot you. Easy.”

“Ya said two things,” I reminded. “An’ Oy’m pretty sure ya meant movement all as one thing.”

“Yeah… nahh… nope...” he trailed off. I didn’t like that.

“What’s the second thing!?”

“Say, how about we talk about something else!” he said abruptly.

“Oh no, ya ain’t wormin’ out! Oy thought ya liked talkin’!”

“I do when I… ughh. Look. How about this? I’ll ask a question, then I’ll answer your question.”

“Ya go first,” I snapped.

“Well, I guess that means you agree. Awesome. Anyway, I didn’t say this because it would hurt your pride, but--”

Hurt my pride? Wow seriously? Like that’s something to worry about in life or death combat. Really. Hurting the others’ feelings--

“...but I didn’t want to risk possibly injuring you. In the case that I got lucky and actually did hit you--”

“It would. ‘ave been. My fault,” I growled.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say.” It was quiet for a little bit. ...he was right, that did hurt my pride. I supposed to be training him and that means both of us were supposed to be in a situation where we could kill each other. He was supposed to fight as if this were life or death.

“What makes this different than before? Huh!?”

“What?”

“When you nearly shot that mugger to death? Huh!? Why go easy on me? Huh!?” Angry words flitted out of my mouth as quickly as I could feel them bubble up. It wasn’t fair. I knew he could kill. Why not try to kill me? “Oh, Oy get it,” I continued, “ya need me alive so Oy can lead ya to--”

“Okay, stop! Stop stop stop, let’s not snowball that anger. You’re right, I am grateful to you but that isn’t why I--” he stopped. Then almost immediately, he said, “I get a question! Right?”

“Tha’s! Tha’s…” he got me there. He got me pinned. I keep my promises. Even dumb implicit ones to stupid prissy inklings. “Fine. Ask.”

“Where did you learn to fight?”

“Are ya kidding?” I spat, “Oy grew up fighting! Oy…”

“Formally. Where did you learn to fight formally,” he corrected, hastily. “You don’t fight like a brute, I can see what that looks like from the muggers. And you took out that bandit way too quickly. And you wear fucking armor for christ’s sake!”

“Oy… yea. Yea, yer right. Oy was…” should I tell him? Did the inklings know about the Octarian army? About their cause? About… no. No, I promised. I wouldn’t lie. “Oy learned to fight while Oy was in the army.”

“Ah,” was all he had to say for a long while. I was still angry at him. But I didn’t feel like yelling at him anymore. All I wanted was some peace to-- “So I guess you’re off duty then?”

I paused. “Yea. Permanently.”

“I… I see. I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ Oy didn’ deserve,” I sighed. “Soldiers should follow orders. No questions asked. Tha’s all. My bad.”

“Mm,” was what he said. “Look, you… I know you haven’t been sleeping. I can watch the cove tonight.”

“Wait, ‘ow did’ja know?”

“Pretended to sleep when you woke me up this morning. Plus,” he added, with a small grin, “you didn’t contradict me when I said it now,” --fuckin’ smartass son of a-- “get some sleep tonight Maybn,” he said, gently. And the worst part was… I sat down and followed orders.

No questions asked.

"Mabyn! Maybn, wake up!” I woke to the sound of the little priss shaking me. Quickly, I hopped to my feet and picked up my gun, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Did they catch us? Have they followed us?

“What!” I growled, in a ready position to strike whatever number of foes had come to pursue us. This time I wouldn’t just subdue--

“The sun! Mabyn, the sun!” Oh right. I forgot, the other reason we’d come here.

“Yea yea,” I moaned… the sun shone down into the cove every other week. I’d been thinking that it would come within the week… but this was earlier than expected. As early as Innes’ precocious improvement.

I got up--we’d have at least half an hour of light--and pulled the map out from my mantle. Laying it out on the ground, I started tracing my finger over the path we would take.

“Hey uh,” Innes interrupted, “if you, uh, were just waiting for light I had a flashlight--” I ignored him. “Whatever I’ll just sunbathe while I can then.”

Tracing my finger over the path, I did some rough calculations. That is, I had marched the whole valley, so I knew how long our trip would take.

“It’s a two day hike. Midway we’ll make a stop at Jetty 5 to rest. Then we’ll get to--”

“If that’s all planned!” The rude Inkling interruped, “just enjoy yourself for a bit, Mabyn! We’ve been working for two days. You just got a night’s sleep! Come on! Live a little.”

“Hmph.” I rolled up my map though. It was a rough plan, but we had a plan. So… I let myself sit down and enjoy the sun. It had been a long time since I’d just felt it.

Chapter Text

“Do ya need a rest?” Maybn muttered, out of the blue.

In fact, yes. Yes I did. “Why yes, it is soooo nice of you to notice!” I said, rolling my eyes. I wanted to say more, like ‘we’ve been marching for three to seven hours your dolt!’ but I’ve been trying to not berate her. It seems like she’s actually trying her best to be amicable so I figured I’d give it a shot too.

I just keep shooting. I just keep missing.

Everything comes out as a complaint. Clever, funny complaints if you ask me, but complaints nonetheless. So I took the hint:  keep quiet and just focus on the task at hand, lest I risk letting some of my frustration seep out.

In any case, she didn’t say anything. She was getting better at that, even though it was clear I infuriated her. She just set down my bag with a dull ‘whump’ and pulled out her gun, holster clicking in the darkness.

I was starting to notice those things. As I sat, I watched her take apart her gun and clean the pieces. It was good weapon upkeep and I admired that about her.

As I watched, a thought bubbled to my mind and suddenly I asked, “what was the army like?”

I kind of expected a ‘none of yours’ or something. Instead, I got silence as she put the gun back together. I figured she hadn’t heard me--like she was too focused to notice or something--and I decided to let the question die.

But then, I heard a, “tough,” from her direction. That was unexpected.

Mindlessly, I let out an inquiring, “oh?”

And just as unexpectedly as before, she continued. “Yea. Oy didn’ exactly ‘ave a choice though. Oy preferred it to the alternative. There, Oy ‘ad a goal. A purpose. A leader. Oy had ‘ope.”

She reholstered her gun before she went on, the pause deliberate. “T’was tough, the drills, the learnin’, but it was worth it to ‘ave a place. Oy ‘ad friends. A ‘omeland ta defend. Oy was takin’ in when Oy ‘ad nothin’. Oy’d give anythin’ ta go back.”

“Well, uh…” I began, eloquently, “then… why don’t you?”

“They don’ need me no more. Oy failed.”

I didn’t say anything. The tone of her voice said enough. Instead, I just sat down as I munched on some trail mix.

After a little bit, maybe ten or twenty minutes of silence--I don’t know, time is hard--Mabyn said “alright, time to go. We’ve got a few more hours ‘fore we reach the Jetty and Oy’d like ta get there ‘fore too late.”

It was getting easier to tell when ‘late’ was the more we marched. Mabyn was leading us closer to the center of the valley and, though it was still dark, the sunlight was starting to make the features of the land clearer.

It was only too plain that this place wasn’t made naturally. The curves in the land, though eroding, were too spherical. The dips, too great. The… tsk...

I’m gonna stop thinking about this. My ancestors did this. not me. Not me… and yet I felt responsible.

To ease off of the thought of wars long past, I stopped looking at the scenery, and looked at Mabyn, marching ahead of me. As we’d always been in such dark places, I’d never gotten to really see her per se. And she wasn’t bad-looking either.

Her tentacles were long, especially for an Octoling’s. They were a dark shade of purple--almost black--and stretched all the way to her waist. Her mantle covered all the way down past her hips so it wasn’t easy to get a good read on her figure, though her legs were amazingly toned.

She was constantly looking around, endlessly vigilant, so I caught glances of her face. Her eye markings were interesting, less like a mask and more like an accentuation--they almost weren’t even there... but they really set off her purple irises.

The overall look was pretty exotic.

The only thing that could make her look better is if she smiled once in awhile. Like, jeez, would it kill you to look happy? For like a moment? Like I mean, I know the situation doesn’t exactly call for cheerfulness but… I get the feeling that at least a few of my jokes amuse her, but she doesn’t laugh or smile or... anything.

Wow, what am I even thinking? Stockholm syndrome. Totally.

Well, whatever it is, it certainly made time move faster. Is this what they mean by time being relative? I never understood that theory. Point is, it wasn’t long before it got dark and I started asking Mabyn the standard “are we there yet?” question. Again and again mostly to pass the time.

“‘Ow about,” she snarled after what was probably the seventh time, “ya look with yer oyes!?”

“Wait what?” Her shadowed figure pointed toward the distance. Out there was a bright light--well, brighter than anything else down here--that couldn’t be more than a mile out. “What’s that?”

“That, priss, is Jetty 5.”

In this dark abyss, seeing something so well-lit was… hopeful. The closer we got to it, the more I started wondering… where did they get the power for electricity?

Inkopolis wasn’t the only producer of zapfish--though certainly the biggest--but all of the countries, after seeing the Great Octoweapons and their destruction, had agreed to avoid trade with the Octarians. But here I was, walking to a city that was fully lit and everything.

“Hey uh,” I began.

“Jetty 5 is one ‘a the more wealthy ‘amlets if that’s what yer wonderin’.”

“Uh, okay. So do they have a zapfish or something?”

“Ya know, there ‘r other ways ‘a producin’ power,” she muttered. “Jus’ not as efficient or mobile.”

“Oh,” I replied, dumbly. I knew that but… once zapfish had become utilized for their extreme energy efficiency, it was hard to think of an alternative. But she was right. “So what? Like, geothermal?”

She paused, pointedly not answering my question as we marched. I was a bit sour about that, until I started to hear rushing water. Then it hit me:  “hydroelectric!” I exclaimed. Though Mabyn didn’t do more than a grunt of approval, it was clear that she did, in fact, seem pleased I figured it out.

I felt a little better about choking off these people of power, knowing that they used what they had around them to make their lives better but… the wartorn landscape... Mabyn having been in the army…

We Inklings always paint ourselves as the heroic victors in history class but, well, “history is written by the victors” and all that. And the more I saw, the worse I felt.

“Mabyn,” I asked, my voice choking just a little, “how old were you when you joined the army? I mean.... you can’t be more than seventeen or eightteen.”

“As soon as Oy ‘ad my full form. So somewhere ‘round fourteen.” She answered quickly, but at least she was answering me. Actually, maybe that wasn’t so great because I only felt worse.

So we marched in silence until we reached the outskirts of the Jetty. There, Mabyn did something she didn’t do often; she stopped. Turning around, she said, “Oy’m gunna need ta have ya stay ‘ere. At least until I ‘ave somethin’ to mask ‘yer mask and cover up that silly braid ‘o yers.”

“The braid looks nice, come on!”

“Yea, fine, but it’s kinda obvious yer an Inkling and no one’s gunna take nice ta that.”

“Well,” I considered, “fine.” And so she left me my bag and entered the city. The Jetty was surrounded by flowing water, at least from this side.  It was a wide, dark river that reflected the moonlight, even from so deep in the dark.

The river’s banks curved so gently that I’m certain that they couldn’t be natural. As I walked down the gentle slope, I appreciated the force of nature that the Octolings had harnessed by dipping my feet in the cool water. After days of walking, blisters had begun to form on my feet and the water was nice.

Of course, I made sure not to stay there too long--already after a few seconds I could see the ink on my feet dissolving away. Still, it was soothing and the blistered ink washed away.

I walked the bank a little bit to kill time, though made sure not to wander too far. Mabyn would have my hide if I got too lost, after all. But what I really wanted to find was a water wheel. I wanted to see how the Octarians utilized this outdated energy form.

The wheel wasn’t that hard to find. It made a large amount of noise, its metal frame squealing loudly, though it turned like a charm. It must have been well-maintained.

I spent quite a bit of time inspecting it, there weren’t many opportunities like this to look over what many would consider an artifact of history. Probably too much time, because I heard a little voice from behind me. “What are ya doin’?”

Shit. Slowly I turned around to find… a small tentacle Octarian. “Uh… I’m just inspecting the wheel.”

“Oh. Oy see.” He… she… they? Their voice was so high pitched and their form so foreign… it was hard to tell. Maybe they didn’t have genders? “Oy come ‘ere sometimes when Oy’m feelin’ lonely.”

They didn’t seem to worried about me. Probably young. “I see,” I said. “Why are you lonely?”

“Well, the Festival ‘o Plenty is happenin’ an’ no one wanted me,” they sniffled, “no one wanted me around. They called me a freaky squib!” A squib? A what?

But I got the hint; apparently that’s not a nice thing to call someone. Hell it doesn’t sound nice. “What!” I exclaimed, making sure to sound surprised, “they wouldn’t!”

They started to cry and so I patted their tentacle just a little and said, “when’s the festival?” Between sniffles, the small Octarian managed to say “tomorrow” and, somewhere in there, I felt bad enough to promise the kid that I’d hang out with them for the festival.

Great. Mabyn is gonna love that.

Speaking of Mabyn, I found her standing on the bridge near the entrance to Jetty 5 when I returned. When she saw me crawling out from the bank, she approached and quickly said, “put this on.” Pulling out an old newspaper-boys cap and some facial cream of some sort, she jammed them into my hands. “Seein’ as there’s a festival goin’ on, everyone’s busy gettin’ prepared. We should be able to slip in for supplies and get out unnot--”

“Hey, uh, Mabyn,” I interjected.

“What, gotta problem with the plan?”

“Uh well,” ...how was I going to phrase this? “Don’t you think a festival sounds like a good time to take a break?”

“Priss, we been at this fer about five days. Tha’s--”

“A perfect amount of time for a break! I mean, come on, we’ve been at a hard march for three of those days, and you seem really stressed out--”

“Oy’m not stressed out!”

“See? Ya flipped at just the mention of it!” The more I spoke, the more I agreed with myself. I was a little stressed over the situation and Mabyn seemed like a stick was constantly shoved up her ass. It couldn’t hurt to hang around here for a bit.

Mabyn grit her teeth. As she decided, I put on the hat, curling my braid underneath. “How do I look?” I asked, doing a graceful twirl.

Her frown grew. “Like a priss, priss.” The silence grew until finally, she said, “fine, but only for one day.”

“Yessss! Awesome, you’ll need to show me around so we can see everything!” I exclaimed, literally jumping for joy. Man, it is good to get what you want.

Later, when Mabyn and I were setting up camp outside the Jetty, a thought came to me. After careful contemplation, I decided to casually mention our guest.

“Oh, and also, there’ll be a little Octarian joining us for the--”

“WHAT!”

It took a lot of convincing to get Mabyn to agree to meeting the Octarian and keeping them company. Or her? Or him? Would it be rude to ask?

Anyway, the next day, I waited at the waterwheel for the Octarian child to show up and, sure enough, there they were. I guess I didn’t need to ask, because someone had dressed her up in a cute little dress which--might I be honest--looked kinda silly around a little tentacle.

“How do I look?” she squeaked.

Before I could answer, Mabyn gently said, “adorable.”

“Yeah, little cutie. Ah and this sweet young lady has offered to--” Mabyn punched my shoulder painfully. “Uh, this, uh, soldier, she has offered to show us around! I’m a bit new here.”

“Wow! Were part of the Octoling Corps!?” The little Octarian stood, mouth agape.

“Y-yea, but--” Mabyn was legitimately blushing.

It was adorable. She tried to explain to the Octarian, who we learned was named Augusta, that Mabyn was kicked out of the army without opening that can of worms explicitly, but no matter how we explained it, Augusta only got more excited.

“Look,” I said, finally, “you’ve gotta keep quiet about miss soldier here, alright? If you don’t, we’ll have to leave. She’s playing undercover to catch bad guys, got it?”

She seemed to understand that and nodded her whole body. And so, we crossed over the bridge into Jetty 5.

The place was beautiful, in an old-timey sort of way. The buildings were simple, all carved from stone and probably one floor high, though they had intricate carvings on the outside of them that made each unique. The streets were cobbled and well-lit. You couldn’t go anywhere without a being bathed in golden light--a welcome change to the darkness of before.

Not only were the streets filled with light, but with people. Octarians of all kinds, many, tentacle creatures like Augusta, though some were small things that waddled around. A few even flew with propeller caps!

Now that I looked around, some of the tentacles were riding on disks that they hooked to their feet, gliding around effortlessly. They didn’t shift their body weight… they just… moved. Which meant that… was it possible they were moving it with their minds?

I’d heard that the Octarians had some pretty interesting technology before the war, but I couldn’t help but think that they were way ahead of us in the biotech field if they’re making disks that are extensions of their body!

While I was ogling the tech, Mabyn had started leading Augusta around, walking from stall to stall. Not wanting to get lost, I quickly caught up to them and made sure to keep close.

There were a huge number of stalls with simple carnival games like shooting stuffed animals down (Mabyn sniped, like, three in a row before the vendor made her stop), a test-your-strength game (which I failed miserably), and a go-kart racing game that used the disks some of the adult Octarians were using.

Augusta had a go at that, it seemed to be a good fit for her, and though she was tentative at first, she quickly got better until she was skimming ahead of the best. Mabyn cheered louder than any of the other Octarians, which is saying something because these people are loud!

And that’s coming from me.

Oddly enough, Mabyn seemed to be having a good time (though still no smiles). Same with Augusta, but as we went, it became apparent that the Octarian child wasn’t focused on what we were doing.

After about thirty minutes of Mabyn dragging us from one place to another, I stopped our onslaught to ask Augusta “are you okay?”

“Yea,” she said, somewhat enthusiastically. “I’s jus’...”

“Jus’ what?” Mabyn asked, kindly.

“Jus’... Oy wish Oy had friends my age,” Augusta sniffed. “Oy don’ mean ta say ya both aren’t spiff, but…”

“Nah, I totally get it,” I said. “Hangin’ with adults is a lot like being chaperoned around.” I scanned the area for people who looked around Augusta’s height and, by proxy, her age. It was really crowded in the alley though, so I moved us to a less people-dense area.

After some time, we found ourselves in the square, probably the center of the town. It was picturesque. A huge, beautifully-designed bridge arched over the river, which ran through the heart of the city. And it was wide too, filled with people a bunch of people… though it was less dense than the alleys.

There, it was a simple matter to find a group of small Octarians and lead Augusta toward them. “Go on,” I said to her, pointing toward the group, while beaming her my most reassuring smile. “Say hello.”

“Oy’unno… what if they don’ like me?”

“Then whatever? Life goes on. But remember how you greeted me? Well… if you didn’t do that, we wouldn’t be friends, now would we?”

Augusta thought it over before nodding and going to talk with the group. Mabyn and I both watched as she socialized, and things seemed to be going well. Suddenly--

“Thank ya all fer comin’ to our tenth annual Festival o’ Plenty!” Cheers erupted from the crowd and the announcer wisely waited as the Octarian masses calmed down before continuing. “I think ya all know what’s comin’ next so everyone, find your partner!”

“Oh this,” Mabyn grumbled, “well, Oy’m ou--”

I cut Mabyn off. “What is this?”

“Oh, jus’ some dance.”

“Well now, there’s my thing!” I grabbed my partner’s hand.

My partner pulled back. “Oh no, ya ain’t gonna pull me out there--”

“Oh come on, live a little!”

“Oy don’ dance,” she said. Was that… pouting? Was she really pouting?

“Pffff, just follow my lead, it’s easy. You can like, stand on my feet if you get nervous.”

“Oy’ll fuckin' stomp yer toes, priss,” she growled, “on purpose.”

“Don’t care!” And with that, I pulled her onto the bridge. She didn’t resist too much this time, and I began to take charge as best I could.

Mabyn wasn’t kidding. For all her agility and battle prowess, she had two left feet. The music was upbeat, swingy--though foreign--and I tried to do some simple moves, nothing that required a twirl or anything, just some two-step moves or box steps.

Needless to say, Mabyn had an intense look of concentration on her face, staring down at my feet. Veins began sticking out or her head as she tried to step as I did. She nearly tripped over her own feet.

“Here, try this,” I simplified the moves so that all I did was a box step. I tried to keep a calm smile on my face, but as she tried to mimic me, she actually tripped! When she did, I was about to laugh… but something caught my eye.

As she fell over, her mantle flicked up and covered her face. And now I knew why she always wore it. Where an arm should have been was… well, it was smooth, as if a butcher has simply cleaved it off and skin had reformed.

Before I could stare too long, Mabyn vaulted back up, her hair flying at wild angles as she fixed her mantle. Luckily, people hadn’t noticed the fall too much, but they noticed this. I caught myself staring at where her missing arm wasn’t, but quickly caught myself, turning to look at her face instead.

She was angry. Clearly, she’d noticed that I had been looking at her stump not a moment before, which I’m pretty sure is considered rude.

She seemed embarrassed, too, having fallen over in front of all these people. I should have known when I saw how serious she was about copying me that she’d take any failure badly. Shit.

Her face was red, flushed with both frustration and humiliation. That was when I knew the floodgates were opening.

“Oy hate this! Oy hate you! Ya made me look like a fool and… ya saw…” she stopped before she said anything more, took a deep breath and continued her tirade. “Oy nevah should ‘ave gone to this stoopid festival with ya!” With her one arm, she flipped a table into the river, disrupting nearby festival-goers who had stopped to watch Mabyn flip out.

Wow, girl, someone is going to have to pay for that.

I was afraid she was going to kill me, but instead, she stomped off.

And I just stood there. Like an idiot.

Some of the Octarians were staring at me and one of them, far back in the crowd said the most reasonable thing:

“Well, yer gunna go after her right?”

“Y-yeah,” I said, quickly, and I ran in the direction Mabyn had gone. It was easy. All I had to do was follow the split in the crowd. That girl had carved a path with her anger that had made it incredibly simple to follow her. Some Octarians even pointed where she went with stubby hands or tentacle points.

I eventually found her outside the city sitting on the edge of the stone bridge we entered by. It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what to say to her. But at this point, she’d noticed me. Too late for brainstorming.

Her face was still red, though she looked less menacing now, like the worst had passed. Now she just looked gloomy. After taking a quick leer at me, she turned back to stare at the river again. I sat down next to her, setting down the bag I’d been carrying.

And we sat in silence for a bit while I tried to come up with something to say. It felt like an eternity before something came to mind, but I never got to use it because Mabyn began, shakily, “Oy’m sorry.”

“What?”

“Oy’m sorry. Oy made us… Oy made us look stupid. In front of everyone. And Oy blew up. Oy ruin everything.”

“Whaa--”

“Oy can’t even dance. Oy’m not strong. Oy’m a failure--”

“Wait, wait, wait, where is this coming from?”

“No matter where Oy go, Innes, Oy fuck it all up. Oy’ll keep trying. But Oy’ll screw it up. Again. And again.” She let the self-deprecating crap roll from her mouth as naturally as any of her curses. And she didn’t stop. “Oy tried to use this escort. Use it as a way to prove to myself. Prove Oy could do something right.”

“But Oy fucked up again!” She picked up a stray brick and threw it into the river, angrily.

“Hey, hey calm down. You haven’t screwed up!” I assured, “I’m not dead right?”

“Ya will be sooner or later!” She grunted. She didn’t feel good about what she was saying, that was clear, because she wouldn’t look me in the eye. But damn, this was really eating at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Oy… Oy don’ wanna say.”

“Well… that’s cool but for what it’s worth,” I stopped and listed out in my head the things that she’d said before. “You didn’t make me look stupid! I look stupid without any help from anyone!”

No response.

“And I get that you’re angry, I made you do something you didn’t want to do. That’s not your fault.”

No response.

“It’s fine to not be able to dance. It’s not exactly a life skill. And you’re stronger than like, everyone I know! ...well, almost everyone.”

No response.

“Damnit, you know, I’m the one who screwed up! I just... wanted to see you smile for like, two seconds, jeez.”

She snorted.

“What? Is it that funny?”

“Why do you care?”

I thought over it, then calculated the risk. Then I hugged her. Surprisingly, I didn’t get punched in the face.

I got punched in the gut.

I fell over onto the bridge and sputtered for air--she wasn’t pulling any punches (pun totally intended). But I was determined to be the bigger person here. Holding my stomach, I pulled myself up after a minute and continued.

“I care,” I reasoned, coughing a bit as I went, “because you’re my saving grace and I can’t really pay you back with money or anything. But I can be a good friend, right? And don’t friends look out for each other?”

No response.

I hung my head down in defeat. “Okay, fine, maybe friends is a bit--”

“Stop,” Mabyn said. It was calm, but firm. “Stop… Look,” she sighed, “ya win.” I looked up to see her smiling gently. It wasn’t a big thing.  But even so… I found myself smiling too. “Ya said yer dumb thing even after Oy don’ deserve it. And… Oy’m a bit ‘appy about that.”

“Well,” I said, the tension finally passing, “I’m glad.”

For that moment, I think we both felt at peace.

We sat for some time, listening to the sounds of the wheel and the festival when Augusta came running as quickly as her small legs could take her to the bridge, screeching to a halt when she got near.

“Oy!” She began, quickly, “Oy wanted to thank ya!”

“Nah, you did all the hard work yourself,” I said. Mabyn nodded in agreement; she didn’t smile, but her eyes shone with pride at the little Octarian.

“My friends and Oy are gunna go and play some games but… Oy wanted to find and say that to ya!” She kicked the ground shyly.

“Don’t worry about it, Aug, now go and have fun. And get home before it gets too dark, okay!”

“‘Kay!” And with the same vim she dashed off to join her friends again.

Seeing her again made me think and I found myself asking, “Mabyn? What’s a squib?”

Mabyn looked at me, her face dark, “wha’s a squib?” She sneered, warmth draining from her face. “Me. Oy’m a squib.”

“Uh… so it’s--”

“A squib is a loner,” she began, every word she said, she spat. “In Octarian society, ya work together or ya die. Eat, live, breathe together. Because alone, yer toast down ‘ere. Squibs are bandits, vandals, scroungers, traitors all rolled into one. Squibs are ‘orrible. Where did’ja even hear that?”

“Uh, the little Octarian girl got called it by--”

“They should burn in ‘ell.” Wow. There are some very deep connections to her and this word. And did she mean squibs or...

“Well… for what it’s worth… I don’t think you’re a squib. I mean… we’re friends, right?”

She blinked, taken aback. “...yeah. I guess so.” And though we went back to sitting on the bridge, I felt like in that interaction, the warmth of before was lost.

Chapter Text

Today was the day of the school field trip. A trip to the picturesque, rolling hills that were the most direct path to the infamous Octo Valley.

The teacher seemed incredibly excited, however, the general mood of the children was what one might call “meh.” The moment the school bus rolled to a halt and the teenagers were given the lecture on limits on exploration, everyone scattered in every which direction.

Saffy, of course, had many inklings following her like ducklings as she tried to lose them in the woods. People always wanted to congregate around the “cool kid” but all she wanted was to dodge the fake pleasantries and find something cool to explore.

It took nearly half an hour of polite bobbing and weaving, passing through some nettles and things that discouraged certain students, and making a complex loop all the way back to the beginning, but Saffy finally managed to lose them.

Inwardly cheering, she scanned the area, looking for some place, some trail that would be interesting to explore. The area around the school bus was deserted, so she figured that it would be the perfect place to safely begin her scouting.

Well, deserted by all by one.

“Not hounded by cultlike followers now, huh?” the boy noted. The geek was sitting on top of the bus, reading some sort of textbook. “Fame and fortune get to you?”

She knew that was meant as a jab, but it was welcome. I’d been a long time since someone had talked smack to her face. “Yeah,” she shrugged, “it’s not easy living the high life.”

“I can imagine; adoring fans, popularity, social immunity, it can get tiring.” He didn’t look up from his book as he quipped so it was difficult to read his face. He sounded like he was being sarcastic, but it was hard to tell.

“Well… I don’t know if you know, but the answer is yes. Yes it does.”

“Eh, I was half-kidding,” he said, turning a page. “I’m always half-kidding. My existence literally consists of half-kidding.”

“You sure it’s not half-squidding? Ehh?”

“I’m not going to grace that with a response.”

“Bzzt, you just did!” It was… interesting talking with someone that didn’t want to be talked to. Saffy couldn’t help by enjoy as she kept trying to get his attention, but ego boosting, jokes, playful threats, even flirting didn’t seem to distract him from his book.

“Gods below!” She exclaimed, in half-frustration.

“Don’t jinx it.”

“Ughh, you’re insufferable,” the girl groaned. “I like that.”

“You have weird taste, then.”

It had been so long since someone had talked back. Since someone had been brutally honest, honestly funny and truly themselves around Saffy.

She was determined to make him her friend. A real friend.

“Hey, you wanna go somewhere?”

“No,” he said simply. “There is plenty to be explored in the depths of this book.”

“Omg, we’re here, it’s a beautiful day away from school and you’re gonna waste it doing what you could do literally anywhere else?”

“When you put it that way… yes.”

“Oh stfu, you chronic snarker; get the hell down here.”

At that point, his ironic shtick went even further, his tone taking on that of a little girl’s. “You’re not my mother! You can’t make me do anything! Nehhh.”

“You asked for it,” Saffy responded, grinning. With that, she climbed up to the top of the bus, grabbed the boy, who argued with a ‘heyy!’ and threw him off the vehicle. He landed with a satisfying thud.

“Jeez! What was that for?” The boy pulled himself up, brushing himself and his book off.

“Apparently now, I’m your mother,” Saffy smirked. “And I say to get off your ass and get dafaq into the woods with me.”

“You know, I could make a really funny sex joke right now--” Saffy came down, landing on the boy’s face.

Mostly by dragging him, she got him to come up one of the more wooded hills, straight in the direction of Octo Valley. After a little while her attendee spoke up. “You know, you’re walking straight into the direction of territory within which we are very unwelcome,” he shrugged. “Thought you might want to know.”

“Thanks for the reminder, nerd, but I already know where I’m going.”

“Wonderful, straight into a death trap.”

“But don’t you want to see it?”

“Deep holes made by bombing the shit out of some somewhat defenseless subrace? No. No, I frankly don’t care.”

“Oh come on,” the girl rolled her eyes, “you’ve gotta be at least a little curious.” He was quiet for a bit. In time, he got up and Saffy let go of his hand. “Decided to come along with me now, huh?”

“This is a prank isn’t it?”

Saffy honestly didn’t think about it. “Huh?”

“Oh don’t give me this bullshit,” he smirked, knowingly. “When we get to the chasm edge, you’ll have all your friends waiting to spook the shit out of me. Maybe you’ll even knock me close to my death. All in good fun, of course.”

“I, I would never!” Saffy’s face began to flush. She had done things similar to this, actually. Pulled people aside for a prank.

All in good fun of course.

“Well,” he glared back at her, “I don’t want to be part of your game.”

He turned away, and started to walk off when Saffy found herself shouting, “wait!”

He didn’t stop.

“Wait! Don’t go!” I shot up from my sleep, a cold sweat beading on my forehead. The discomfort wasn't helped by the stench of the sewer I'd fallen asleep in.

That… wasn’t how it went. It was just a bad dream.

Well… it was mostly a good dream. That was the day the two of us, Innes and I, had become friends. But that ending was eerie. ...Whatever. I don’t tend to put too much stock into the prophetic nature of dreams and I wasn’t going to start now.

I pulled myself out of my sleeping bag, the sound of flowing sewage to my side somehow relaxing away the surreal images that had flashed through my head. Because here, among the muck, I didn’t have to deal with people everywhere. The stench was a small price to pay.

I pulled my tentacle to the side, examining it. Perfect. My ink had shifted through the nap to a deep shade of indigo. Sometimes, it didn’t work in just one night and I was afraid I’d have to camp out here for another day. Now, I could really begin my search for Innes!

Fear not, my friend, your white knight is coming to the rescue! Hehe!

Ah but why indigo, you may ask? Well, see, it’s dark down here and a bright crimson isn’t exactly stealthy. It’s much easier to get by undetected when swimming and even easier when your ink doesn’t stick out in the dark like a noob with a Splattershot Jr.

It was a short walk to the exit of the sewer. Or well, one of the exits. There were a lot of places that these pipes led: floating islands, giant chasms, and even the bottom of the valley. Exploration really paid off, as I now knew the best route to get into Octo Valley.

If there’s any place that Innes would be, it’d be here. He wouldn’t get lost in those woods--he knew them stupidly well for someone who'd only been there three times. No. He must have fallen.

And this place was dangerous as all hell.

Carefully, I took out my Splattershot when I got to the lip of the large pipe. As I’d found before, the guards were still posted. They weren’t perfectly attentive, however, so that gave me a perfect opportunity.

With one quick burst, I made a quick, dark line of ink and jumped in, fully transformed. I heard muffled, confused conversation, and they went to check the pipe, but they weren’t quick about it. I had time before they found my ink trail.

Swimming to its edge, slowly to avoid detection, I slid out of the ink, changing form as quietly as they could. Glancing behind me, the two posted on guard were looking around the pipe and trading some banter. I’d gotten out safely.

git rekt scrubs, I thought. Silently. Not like I would have said that out loud.

As I got a good distance away, I couldn’t help but grin to myself and silently raspberry the dumb guards. But when I did, I noticed something weird. They… were still examining the pipe. And there was shouting. And pointing of weapons.

Was… was that an Inkling? It was hard to tell in the dark, but there was another person in the pipe.

Nope. Don’t know. Don’t care. I turned around. Whatever the issue was, it wasn’t leading to me. One more thing that would help me on the way to saving Innes. A perfect distraction! Yup! Gonna just turn around... and walk off.

I readied my Bamboozler. Yeah, there was no way in hell that I was going to let some Inkling die on my watch. Syncing up with the weapon took a moment and I used that time to observe my surroundings.

It was hard to tell, but there was an outpost manned right outside the pipe. The Octolings had been posted outside it, facing toward the pipes, but they weren’t vigilant enough. I’d noticed the day before that they talked, sometimes for hours at a time, which was the only reason I had the opportunity to get by in the first place.

I wasn't scared of the guards, though. What worried me was what might be inside. There was only one entrance, but the stone building was large enough to have at least four more baddies inside. There were no windows to be able to tell, and even if there were, it was too dark to be sure.

...no time to think about that. Best to deal with the problem at hand.

Now armed and ready, I fast-walked as stealthily as I could manage to the other side of the outpost, using the distraction the other Inkling was providing to get into position. Then, running through my head basic Bamboozler tactics, I peeked out from my hiding place and prepared the charge.

Ping; click!

Two shots and the Octoling bursts into dark ink. Easy.

His companion, clearly spooked, began panicking as he found himself covered in the ink of his fallen comrade.

“P-please!” I could hear him beg, “d-dont--”

I grinned. Two more shots. Too easy.

Getting into position behind the corner of the outpost, I camped the door. I waited a minute, and it paid off. An Octarian, a small one, waddled out.

He didn’t have a chance.

I prepared the two charge shot, but one was enough to splat him with a small squeak. He popped like a balloon.

When no one came out after about three more minutes, I quickly, quietly slid over to the open metal hatch in squid form. Transforming back into a kid, I pulled out my Tentatek. My assault weapon ready, I shouted, “anyone home!?”

Someone burst into tears and began panicking. That meant someone was there.

Weapon at the ready, I dashed in and began firing in the direction of the sound. As the pellets slowly encroached on another small Octarian, I could see its bawling face. I focused fire, bursting the thing like a pimple.

Though I’d taken out one, as a seasoned ink battler, I didn’t let my guard down. Swirling behind me, I looked into the other corner of the room.

It was the only lit part of the entire area and in the corner was an Octarian, a large tentacle-like monstrosity, panickedly speaking into a mic attached to some piece of radio equipment.

He squealed something about “help.” He begged for something along the lines of “back-up.” It didn’t take more than a few seconds of trained fire to end that.

Walking slowly up to the radio, I couldn’t help but let the adrenaline get to my head. Before I smashed the radio, I picked up the speaker and whispered, “all your base are belong to us.”

Cheesy one-liner, check.

I checked the perimeter again, insuring that there wouldn’t be any surprise attacks before I made my way to the pipe again. There, I found an Inkling, curled up in a ball covered in sewage. Gross.

“Hey, I don’t know how you got here, but you should really get back.” It took him a moment to respond. Or even do anything, so I reassured him in my gentlest voice, “hey, man, it’s over now.”

He peeked his head up. “S-saffy! I… you’re here.” And I found myself staring straight in the face of the biggest tool that I’ve had to deal with for years. Hector.

He’d followed me here. Through the sewers, rainbow shoes and all. ...I’m not going to be able to get rid of him, am I?

‘This couldn’t get any better!’ ...said no one ever.

Chapter Text

After the Festival of Plenty, Innes and I didn’t talk as much. He didn’t seem to be trying to force conversation so often. Before, I thought I’d enjoy it. Instead, I found myself missing the incessant attempts at banter.

It was probably my fault. That night, we’d managed to get a little closer. For a moment, I felt like I’d had a friend. But every time he pushed forward, I’d push back. Each night, we camped out and I took first watch. Each night, I couldn’t help but ask myself… why? Why didn’t I let him get close to me?

Why don’t I let anyone get close to me?

Logical reasons bubbled to mind. I’d been hurt a lot in the past. As soon as this journey is over, he’ll be gone. Even if he doesn’t mean to, he’ll hurt me by leaving. But only if I let him close.

I’ve learned from the past. Don’t let them close.

But… he’d said that we were friends. That he’d support me. What a laugh. No one would want to support me. Not if they knew me.

He doesn’t know I’m a thief. He doesn’t know how badly I failed my kin. How badly I failed my friends. I don’t deserve friends. I’m a squib.

Gods below, it’d been so long since I’d heard that slur. Hearing it from him brought back some nasty memories… but it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what it meant. He’d just heard it and wanted an explanation. He was trying to be understanding and I distanced myself. Again.

Now he won’t even talk to me.

As we marched through the featureless landscape, those thoughts raced through my head. Every once in awhile, when I’d scan the area for activity, I’d take the opportunity to sneak a glance at the Inkling’s bored face.

He always looked bored. His neutral face, which could flitter from emotion to emotion, always looked disinterested. His eyes, however, told another story.

Even though it was clear he tried to focus on one thing or another, he couldn’t help but take in everything around him. But what was he looking for? I was letting my gaze seek out threats. Him… well… all I know for sure is that he’s thinking. But what about?

...I could ask. That’s always an option. But somehow, that wrong.

The march went on and and so did my thoughts. What was he thinking? What was he ever thinking? It was clear when we were training that he was intensely focused on the task at hand, but when it came down to the everyday, what did he think about?

Why did he want to be my friend?

And yet, I couldn’t ask. Every time the thought bubbled up, something I recognized as pride or fear stamped it down. What would he think of me, if he knew I was thinking about him?

Best to keep the mission in mind. Keep a clear head.

But I couldn’t.

The thoughts swirled around until the evening-time when I announced, “’ll be at the closest sewer entrance on the ‘morrow.”

Just one more day. Then these thoughts wouldn’t plague me. And I was sure I’d regret it.

Stressed, I pulled out the last of the kelp loaf. It felt like an eternity since I stole this and it was turning stale and starting to mold. Picking off the moldy parts, I let myself devour the last of the bread.

Suddenly, Innes chimed in, asking, “so, I’ve seen you pull that out a few times. Any good?”

Mid swallow, all the ideas that had been circulating in my head attempted to escape all at once. The result was a choking sound, followed by coughing and more than a little sputtering. After which, I found Innes at my side with a worried look. I shook my head and grunted an affirmative.

Moments after, I chided myself repeatedly. Why did I do that? That was a good chance to talk. I botched it. For the rest of the march, my self-loathing was complemented by the embarrassment of passing up a perfectly good chance.

I’m so stupid.

When it came time to make camp, I’d just about had enough. Finding a decent place to sit, I tried to drown everything with the repetitive action of maintaining my gun. As usual, I found Innes glancing at my work.

The vortex of thought stole away my ability to complete even this minute task. With a distracted movement, I dropped one of the essential pieces of my beautiful Eight-Legs on the ground. Swearing to myself, I hardened my resolve. These thoughts were too distracting. This couldn’t go on.

I looked up to Innes, then said:

“hey, uh…” / “hey, uh…”

I thought I’d heard an echo so I paused. But no… we’d spoken at the same time. Another awkward silence.

“So um,” / “so, uh,” we both continued after a moment, “I wanted to--” / “Oy wanted ta--”

We both paused. Trying to be humble, I started, “ya firs--”

“I’m going to skip this trope,” Innes smirked, “and say that typically, I go first. So how about this: you get dibs for once.”

I stared blankly for a while. This was what I wanted, right? A chance to say what I was feeling? But… now on the spot… what did I want to say? Something about how I was glad he said we were friends? Did I want to tell him I was sorry for overreacting about the squib deal?

...he’s looking at me. I know he’s judging me, waiting for some sort of response. But nothing’s coming out. My jaw hung open limply, prepped to let words come out. But nothing came.

“Hey,” Innes said, breaking me out of my stupor “you okay? Judd got your tongue?”

“Wha’?” I replied, blankly. “Oy… no?”

“Oh right, you wouldn’t know who Judd is, huh?”

“Nah…” I couldn’t gather my thoughts. I was being dragged into his pace again, and that irritated me. I could feel the annoyance welling up and… I needed to say something quickly. End this conversation.

“Oy jus’ wanted ta say that ya kept up well today.” The greasy lie slid off my tongue easier than any hard truth. The aftertaste was bitter, though.

Why couldn’t I just tell him that I was glad to have him as a friend? It’s so goddamned simple...

“Ah, okay,” he shrugged. “Well, it’s good to know that I’m keeping up decently. But! I wanted to let you know, since you said we’ll be there soon, that I’m really glad to have your company.”

The words stung. I’d wanted to say them myself. How did things like these just roll off for him, like they were the most natural thing?

“I would have really been lost and stressed down here,” he continued, “and without you… I might have done some dumb things. Like. You know. Murder people? So yeah. Thanks for stopping me that one time.”

It wasn’t fair. I wanted to be the one to be thanking him.

“So… yeah. I felt like we might not get the opportunity to do this again later, so I just wanted to say thanks. I really owe you--”

“Yea don’t mention it whatever,” I snorted, quickly. I picked up the fallen piece of Eight-Legs and put the weapon back together properly.

I’d wanted that conversation to end, but instead it was like salt in the wounds. Why had Innes been thinking the same things? How come he was able to speak of gratitude so plainly?

The questions that cycled through my head continuously just made me angrier.

I just wanted to express myself. Was that too much to ask! Well, apparently, because I’m never able to do it! Is this why I don’t have any friends? Huh!?

“Hey,” someone said, in the middle of my mental interrogation. It was Innes, of course. “Are you okay Mabyn?”

“Fine,” I seethed.

“Are you sure?” he asked, kindly. “You can always talk with me if you need something, you know.”

“Nawt always,” I snipped. “And ya know tha’.”

“I… okay. I’ll leave you be. G’night.” He didn’t seem angry. Just… disappointed.

Well… he wasn’t alone there.

I spent the whole night keeping watch. I didn’t really want to sleep, so it wasn’t that hard to just stay up.

What was wrong with me? Normal people didn’t worry about these kinds of things. Why didn’t I get to be normal? I’d never wanted--no, needed friends before. Why now?

I helped an Inkling. An enemy. Now he’s willing to accept me as a friend, but I can’t even do that right. I can’t betray correctly. I can’t befriend correctly. I can’t do anything right.

The thoughts continued to revolve through my head. I may as well get used to them. There won’t be another opportunity to say them. I botched it.

I sat, crouched on top of the slight hillock Innes and I had found to camp on, looking over the land but not really paying much attention. I could feel fatigue set in, which was never a good sign. I was trained to work in low-rest environments, but all this stress was getting to me.

There was no outlet and the frustration just continued to mount.

“Hey.” I jumped, startled by the sudden voice.

“D-dont!” I exclaimed, the frustration and the sudden surprise slithering into my voice, “don’t you bamboozle me!”

“Ah, sorry,” Innes apologized, “I didn’t mean to scare you. ...And bamboozle?”

“What!? Gonna rag on my speech now?”

“Uh, no, I just… nevermind,” he shrugged. “I was just worried because you didn’t wake me up for my watch. And now the sun’s out.”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it.”

“You… you sure--”

“Oy said, ‘don’ worry!’” my commanding tone mixed with my anger and frustration. It was enough to get Innes to back off.

“Let’s… let’s get going,” he said meekly.

The march was slow-going today, but this time, it wasn’t because of Innes. Normally, he’d try his hardest to keep up with me, but I felt slow today. The weight of the packs just felt heavier. My movements were more sluggish.

Gods below, Innes was keeping up with me.

“Mabyn--”

“Wha’ now?” I mumbled.

“Like… do you need help carrying the--”

“No!”

“... … ...okay.” Well, if he didn’t feel like being your friend before, he certainly didn’t now. Nice one, Mabyn.

The march was slow and so it took longer to get to the sewers than I’d estimated. Maybe for the best, because what we saw there was something really shocking. Ten, maybe twenty Octoling special forces stood in formation, guarding the sewer’s entrance and Innes’ exit.

Quickly, I pulled Innes down into one of the bomb-made inclines to make sure we weren’t seen. Luckily, it looked as if we’d avoided detection.

Normally, the sewers are a low-security area. No Inkling seemed willing to take the “dirty routes” before to invade the Valley. And honestly, no one expected them to feel the need to beat our races down more.

So what was with the picked up security?

Normally, there were a few outpost guards--two, maybe three--with a radio attendant. Once in a while, their compatriots would come by with rations and play a few rounds of cards before moving to the next outpost.

Now, there were more people here than I cared to count. Great.

“So,” came a frustrated voice from beside me, “how do you intend to get past, you know,” he pointed, flippantly, “that?”

I batted down his hand. “...they weren’t supposed to be there.”

“Well,” Innes seethed, “they’re there. What now?”

“...Oy dunno,” I admitted.

“Well…” He hates you. And probably doesn’t trust-- “well, thanks for trying anyway,” Innes smiled, ruefully. Something about that… really made me feel bad. The frustration from before cooled over and I just felt shitty.

But somewhere in there, a little seed of determination returned. I promised I’d get this snarky bastard back home. And I didn’t intend to break a promise again.

“Oy don’ know what to do. But, Oy’m gonna get some more information,” I announced, quietly.

“Um, aren’t you wanted by the military? By which I mean, unwanted? Like, they’d kill you?”

“Gods below, Innes, worry ‘bout yerself! Get yerself somewhat far from ‘ere. If ya ‘ear any kind o’ commotion, don’ be a ‘ero. Look fer the way up ta the Floatin’ Islands.”

“No,” he said, firmly. “You’re coming back to me.”

“Hah,” I smiled, bitterly. “Is that an order, ‘ickle lordling?”

“Well, yes, kinda. But it’s a little smarter than that,” he motioned for his bag. After he rummaged in it for a bit, he pulled out his sleeping bag… then, from in his sleeping bag, he pulled out something amazing:

A respawn stone.

These were a luxury that were reserved for the army’s use on fields of battle and for high ranking officials. Seeing one here was… it was impossible.

“Where did’ja get that,” I gasped. I couldn’t hide the awe in my voice.

“Inklings have kept the Primary Stone from you Octarians, so I figure you don’t have too many lying around,” Innes explained, “but we’re all given one chunk at birth. Sync yourself to it--I’ll carry the stone somewhere decently far away and if you’re not back in an hour, I’ll spawn you again.”

“...but won’t ya desync from it? If anyone finds ya while Oy’m gone well… ye’ll be in some serious shit.”

“Hey, I look like a law-abiding Octoling here!” he pointed to his mask--he’d done a surprisingly good job with the make-up I’d given him.

“...well, if they do find out--”

“Well,” he shrugged, “if we don’t stick our necks out once in awhile for each other, then what’re friends good for?” He shrugged. “The way I figure it, you’ve been risking your hide for me this whole time. How about I do the same for you?”

That sinking feeling returned mixed with a kind of comfort. He had my back.

“Yeah,” I said, simply, “friends.”

I almost grinned. Almost.

He handed the stone to me and I felt a shiver run through my body as I synced. It was a stronger kind of synchronization than with my gun, the electric tingle ran straight up and down my spine.

It was a good feeling. It felt like becoming whole.

“Damn,” Innes said, “that... was weird.” ...what I’d gained, he’d lost, it seemed. My emotions were mixed; it felt right to be safe, to be protected from death; it felt wrong to deny that to my friend.

“What’re you looking at?” he said when he noticed me staring. “Go on, get!” he continued playfully. I handed the stone back to him and did my usual checks: Eight-Legs was on her holster, my mantle still in place.

I put on my mask and turned to Innes, “‘ow do Oy look?”

“Like a fucking cyborg,” he quipped.

“Whatever,” I snorted, sarcastically peeved. With that, I left cover and took off for the sewer entrance.

I darted from pillar to pillar, using natural and unnatural formations for cover. If there was one thing I got very good at when part of the forces, it was hiding, and that served me well then as well as now.

As I got closer, my movements got slower, more planned. I always made sure to have an escape, though some part of me wanted to get caught simply to understand what pseudo-immortality was like.

But I cleared those thoughts away. There was a mission ahead of me.

One side of the communications shack was windowless and while the guards had a wonderful defensive formation around the sewer, they’d left a gap in their line of sight--though small. This was the perfect opportunity; creeping into their blind spot, I put my ear to the hut, waiting for something.

There was no sound for a few minutes, but it was only a matter of time before… a ringing. Someone was calling the outpost. The click of picking up the receiver was audible, though dulled through the wall.

“Entry Point 1, ‘vailable!” an Octarian said. “...Yea, we’ve completed the investigation an’ improved security, as ordered! ...No, results are inconclusive. ...Ink traces are still being verified in the lab. Probably Inkling, though.”

So an Inkling came through here? But why? Was this connected to Innes?

...was there something he wasn’t telling me?

No. No… he wouldn’t give me something so precious without trusting me. If he knew something, he’d tell me. ...but I should see what he thinks.

The rest of the conversation between the operator and the officer on the other end was mostly routine checkup. Unimportant. So, slowly, I crept back--

“Hey!” a voice shouted. I stopped in my tracks. I hadn’t been seen, had I? I looked around feverishly, still attempting to make no sound.

“Soldier,” the voice said, after what felt like an eternity. I let out a sigh of relief. I’m no soldier anymore. I’m a squib, and never before had I been glad to admit that.

With that knowledge in tow, I snuck back to Innes’ hiding spot. About now was when I realized the revolving thoughts had stopped.

...had I been that worried about Innes leaving?

Chapter Text

So, as it turns out, the Octarians have discovered the wonders of near-instantaneous travel before we Inklings have. And the answer appears to be biological. Who knew.

Basically, count me down as jelly of the Kettle system. Super. Frickin’. Jelly.

Just to be sure, I began to ask Mabyn, “so, you’re saying that--”

“Fer the seven thousandth fuckin’ time, Innes,” she cut me off, “yes, the Kettles transfer us in some kinda fuzzy mist from a Kettle to a reconstruction pad. Ya can stop reconfirmin’ wif me; i’s nawt exactly some newfangled thingamabob!”

“I know what you said I just… I can’t believe it’s true!”

“Maybe ya Inklings ‘re more behind than ya thought,” Mabyn quipped. Or maybe it was more of a snarl. I’m not entirely sure with her.

“Yeah,” I said, earnestly. “Yeah, maybe we are. But I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The plan, or rather, the new plan, was to backtrack to Jetty number… five? Was it five--why do they number their cities? Anyway, we gotta get back there and take a Kettle up to Port One, which was supposedly the first floating island.

Basically, Mabyn told me that when they set up the Kettle System and started making the floating islands, all the major colonies were linked to one Port--which is what they call those hovering chunks that’d been making some of the valley plunged in darkness.

The idea made sense. Basically, connect the first Port to all other Ports. Makes for an easy hub to get to anywhere you’d want! Simple, right? Well… like most traffic systems, things go wrong.

Port One isn’t connected to every Port. It just got connected to the next ‘layer.’ As it turns out, while the Ports are big, they can’t hold nearly all that traffic. Due to the way that transfers work, some, uh, interesting entanglement happened.

Octarians ended up mixing together. Apparently, it wasn’t life-threatening but it was weird and inconvenient.

So, Kettles ended up being interspersed among different Ports interlaced in a complex series making it difficult to find the ‘top layer.’

And Mabyn doesn’t have a map. Goody.

All said, I’m still really skeptical. Don’t get me wrong, I’m inclined to believe Mabyn--if only because I don’t think she has the imagination to make all this up--but… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just an Inkling supremacist without knowing it?

It’s just hard to believe that the Octolings, literally living at the bottom of a hole, have advanced so far as to outpace Inkling technology. Even in this shitty situation, their biotech surpasses our own and if they have figured out the secret of teleportation, for all its kinks, they’ve really outdone themselves. Especially considering their less-than-optimal situation.

Speaking of less-than-optimal situations, Mabyn doesn’t really know where we’re going to go. Like, she knows we’re heading for Jetty Five (I think it’s five?) to get to a Kettle to Port One, but honestly? Once we get there, we’re lost.

That said, she doesn’t seem to be too displeased with the notion. Which is saying something, because just yesterday, she was irritable as fuck and distracted with something. Now, she seemed laser focused and… comfortable?

I haven’t known her all that long, so I can’t say, but I think even if she doesn’t admit it, she’s pretty lonely. The thought of being stuck down here, wandering the Jetties, forever on the job hunt just did not strike me as a fun way to pass the time. Neither did getting kicked out of town after town.

But hey, maybe I just don’t know what Fun™ is.

“Hey. Mabyn?” I huffed. The march was as hard as usual though I was getting better at ignoring the pain. It was only when I spoke that my lack of breath became apparent.

“Yea?”

“Just wondering. Like how. Did you. End up. In the army?” I knew she wouldn’t talk about getting kicked out anymore. Hopefully this would be a more open topic.

Her long tentacles shifting a little were the only indication that she shrugged. “Nowhere else to go.”

“Yeah. But like. Before that?”

She paused, but continued. “Was livin’ on the streets.”

“But like. Someone had. To take care of you. Before--”

“Nope. Was on the streets as long as I can remember.” That was totally a lie. Deadfaced, obvious lie. No amount of deadpan would mask her cutting me off. She clearly didn’t want to talk about this.

“I see.” I said, simply. But I wanted to know what was on her mind. So maybe something else? “So what about. That other Inkling?”

“S’not confirmed,” she snapped. Eeek! Looks like she’s still sore about the last topic. Maybe I should shut up for a-- “But do ya ‘ave any thoughts?” She said, suddenly. “On who it migh’ be! ...that is.”

“You? Asking a question? Unheard of,” I teased.

“Shut up an’ answer it, priss.” I imagined her blushing. I didn’t see her face, but I imagined it so hard there.

I stopped and thought. Honestly, I couldn’t imagine the Inkling race breaking the pact they had with the Octolings just for some stupid kid. No, there was only one brash, brazen person I could think of that would do this: Saffy.

But how did she know about the sewer connections? I certainly didn’t. I doubt it’s common knowledge.

No, no… Saffy being here was only a suspicion. She’s brash, but she’s not stupid--she wouldn’t know how to get into the valley except through the gaping edge. And she wouldn’t jump down here, that’s suicide.

Though... we’d considered it on that field trip, hadn’t we?

Whatever. The chances that it were her were slim. More likely, this was some government operation. Perhaps they’d heard about the Octarian technology and were trying to get in on it. I mean, their biotech was amazing; who could blame them for wanting to steal some blueprints?

...I should probably keep Saffy thoughts to myself.

“My best guess?” I said. “Probably. The government. I’ve seen. Some pretty great things. Down here. I wouldn’t be surprised. If they hit hard. In secret. To make a power grab. At some tech.”

“Heh!” Mabyn chortled, surprisingly. “So that ‘group fer the people’ ain’t so entirely useless, eh?”

“Yeah. I suppose.” Still, I couldn’t help but worry that Saffy was the one being pursued as we spoke.

A long time ago, when we met and I was more of a snarky ass than I am now--yeah, surprising huh?--I was approached by the resident idol. Long story short, we became friends during a field trip to Octo Valley.

If I were to fall in now, honestly, I’d prefer it were with you, snarklord, she’d said that day.

Those were probably just words to her. Honestly, everyone was her friend, probably because she knew how to make people feel good about themselves (or very bad). She probably didn’t think much about those words. Just said them to get on my good side. She probably didn’t mean it.

But it meant a lot to me.

Maybe she was here.

Maybe.

...I hope she’s safe.

The walk was quiet, leaving only me and my thoughts. I was getting more comfortable with that, honestly. It’d been a long time since it was just us, my thoughts and I. It didn’t felt good per se, but I knew what I felt about things more clearly than before when I’d been so distracted.

For instance, the fact that Mabyn is insecure about talking about herself. I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I like to believe I’m decent at picking up on social intricacies. And Mabyn, let’s be honest, doesn’t have much experience hiding her thoughts and feelings.

...it’s cute in a way.

But yeah. I’m worried for her. Honestly, before we left, I was hoping that I’d be able to get her to open up, be a little more honest about how she’s feeling. Maybe help her make some friends. Though that’s probably being a little too hopeful.

I suppose at least I have a little more time to figure things out.

Speaking of figuring things out, I couldn’t help but notice my thoughts were on Mabyn just a little more than usual. I mean, granted, she was the most interesting constant in my life right now, no doubt. But I can’t remember the last time my thoughts, my life, were focused like this.

Wake up, check rations--need to pick up more, by the way--march, let mind wander to Mabyn. Sometimes, I saw the ‘Saffy’ in her and honestly, I couldn’t help but wonder if letting my mind wander this way was okay. Was I replacing Saffy with Mabyn? Or the other way around?

Was this infatuation? ...no, that’s definitely wrong.

I’d attempt to focus on other things, like the history of the place--but that was too painful--or the scientific advancements of the Octarians--which was boring without something to experiment on.

So my mind would flit between Saffy, Mabyn and the the world around me. And I can’t lie, I’ve been thinking about Mabyn a bit more than anything else.

You know what, if it’s infatuation, it’s no big deal. I’ve always entertained such feelings, but I’d always stop myself before I got too serious. Best not to think about it too much. I’m a friend, and now isn’t the time to worry about a relationship.

Just a friend. And I can keep it that way.

I am in control.

The day progressed, hopping from thought to thought as usual, until finally, we stopped for a break. In the distance, I could see the bright lights that indicated the Jetty was close.

“So,” Mabyn noted, “ta quickly run over the plan again, we need ta ask fer the town Kettle and next to find out how ta get to… well... we can’t quite say the ‘surface.’ But somewhere closer to your home.”

“I believe this is where you said something to the effect of, ‘we’ll figure things out from there.’”

“Oy guess tha’s the best plan of action we got fer now,” she shrugged. “Ah, an’ rations, we need to pick up some more while we’re at the Jetty…”

After she listed off a checklist of things she knew we’d need--food, more cream to cover up my mask, a map of the Kettles if we can get it--she prepared to go through her camping motions.

As she took apart her weapon and cleaned it as usual, I finally worked up the nerve to ask, once and for all, “do you mind if you show me how to do that too? This beat up gun isn’t going to shoot well if it’s jammed.”

She didn’t say anything, opting to simply grunt an affirmative. Together, we cleaned the weapons.

Surprisingly, she was a very patient teacher. I may know a lot and it certainly helped when I told her I knew where the compression piston was and how to remove the main nozzle, but ultimately, she showed me more than I ever could have learned just by basic weapon knowledge and observation alone.

And honestly, I’d mostly just expected her to tell me to ‘shove off,’ so this was definitely progress!

Not only that, but I got a close-up on her expression. Mabyn always has a somewhat disgruntled face on--no better word for it, sadly--but as she cleaned her weapon she seemed to have a calmer look to her. Like… she didn’t have a bunch of weight on her shoulders or something? I dunno, it was hard to describe.

She just seemed, well, happier.

Once we put our weapons back together, we got up and prepared for the final push to Jetty Five. Things were going well, the walk was its normal breakneck pace and nothing seemed amiss.

But as the golden lights got closer, I started to get a little worried… they had seemed brighter before. I thought it was just me, but I caught up to ask Mabyn about it and her face looked more distraught than I felt.

We picked up the pace.

Mabyn arrived first, and she kept checking a few places over and over. “There… there were suppose ta be guards here.”

“...there were guards here?”

“Hidden,” was all that Mabyn said before she led the charge into the town. The streets were dead. The lights were flickering. There didn’t seem to be signs of life anywhere.

What happened here?

Chapter Text

Arowana Mall is always bustling after school, what with ‘fresh’ being the most important thing in most everyone’s life. So, too, does Saffy find herself at the mall after school, dragged here by all her ‘friends.’

People always have something to say about the latest piece of gear from Firefin, how classy the new Splash Mob vest looks or how tempting it is to buy the newest set of headphones.

I want to fit in.

I want to stand out.

I’m drowning in their insecurity.

I’m choking in my insecurity.

I suffer quietly, with a smile.

The girls all giggle at jokes that aren’t funny. The guys are all looking to impress them with false bravado. I could feel the world fade to gray along with all the pointless day to day suffering.

What was the point of it all?

“What is the point of it all?” a voice echoed. “First world problems, amirite?”

Time had stopped. The whole mall had faded to gray. Everything except one calm inking who stood out from the crowd, playing with a long, blue fish-braid.

Staring straight at Saffy was Innes. Outside the frozen group of posers, he stood alone. Saffy tried to say something to him, but found that she didn’t have a voice.

“Just going with the flow and not thinking about those big questions... well, it’s a lot simpler, right?” he went on. “Just do what you’re told. Just do what everyone else does and you should be fine, right?”

He was right. He was always right. It wasn’t that Saffy led the group. The group led Saffy. No matter what anyone said or thought.

People had always told her what to do.

Looking down, Saffy saw that her hands were turning gray and she, too, was freezing. The binding was encroaching and absolute, starting at her arms.

She made movements to Innes, but he just smiled knowingly as Saffy’s legs began to solidify. He shook his head. “Saffy, Saffy, Saffy. It’s too late now. I can’t be one of them.”

I can change.

I can be like you.

The petrification rose, making it harder and harder to breathe.

Help me. She thought, finally.

“Don’t worry, Saffy,” Innes said, softly. The words echoed gently, all through the mall.

* * *

“Don’t worry, babe,” Hector cooed, sickly sweet, “don’t worry, it’s just a dream.”

It took me a moment to shake the sleep paralysis, but when I figured out what was going on, Hector was holding me, gently. I did not condone. Quickly, I shot up making sure to push him away.

“Who told you you could do that!” My voice echoed through the hills of rubbish the Octarians called home. “I certainly didn’t!”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down, take a chill pill--”

“Chill pill!?” I shrieked, “do you know how difficult you’ve made returning to the surface?”

“Uhh…”

“Of course you don’t, you no-brained ‘white knight.’” I scowled. He was the last person I wanted to see. An incarnation of everything I detest. “I have not gone a moment down here where I didn’t regret coming back to save you.”

“But I’m glad you did, sweety--”

“I am not your sweety!” But unfortunately, it is my obligation to get his rainbow-shoed butt out of this dark incarnation of the Deep itself. So add that to my growing list of shit on my plate.

I need to find out what happened to Innes and I need to save this loser from himself. Not only that, I need to find the right kettle path back up, and that shit is a maze.

“Well, I’ll happily be yours,” Hector purred.

“Will you. Stop. Hitting on me. For like. Eight seconds?”

“...okay,” he said, downtrodden. “I just wanted to brighten the mood.”

“Well, you’re not gonna do it by awkwardly being like ‘be my gurl lol!1!’”

“You’re right,” he said, simply.

“I’m always right. Come on, let’s march.” I hate this place. The terrain makes no sense and it’s so easy to be ambushed here. Out of any of these smoking caters, some bogey could suddenly come at me with a knife.

Worse, I have to watch this idiot. Probably can’t even defend himself.

“So why are you down here? Can’t be for the delightful scenery,” Hector blurted.

“Hey, I have an idea,” I retorted. “How about you tell me, why you’re here. Huh!?”

“I was worried about you and followed you,” he said with pride.

“Your worry is sorely misplaced,” I said, spitefully.

He shrugged, “I was also curious why you were letting yourself get sucked into the sewer.”

“Whatever.”

“Your turn,” he said, smugly. “I went, now you.”

“I’m looking for my friend.”

“‘Indigo, with the braid?”

“Yeah, how’d you know that?”

“He’s the only person I see with you consistently.” Alright. Now he’s a creepy stalker. Wonderful. “It’s sweet that you’re willing to go all the way here for a friend, babe.”

I turned around quickly pulling my Tentatek out. When I’d fully whipped around, my gun was already in his face. “I am not your babe!”

“Hehe, I know, I know.” His voice was way too calm. “I just like to tease.”

“Well cut it the fuck out,” I growled. Was this guy intimidated by anything? Every day, week after week, month after month, he hits on me. What did I do to deserve this?!

What did I do to deserve this waste of space?

“For now, m’lady.”

I growled.

He smirked.

We continued.

In all honesty, I had no clue where we were going except that it had to be away from here. I packed enough food for me for about four days, if I rationed strictly. Going at this pace, we’d be out of food in one, two days tops.

Well, okay, putting it like that, it’s obvious that we need to find some sort of settlement and get more food. But the way we’re going, this is entirely based on luck.

...maybe I should have left one of the troopers alive to point me in the direction of some sort of settlement. At least they would have been better company than Hector.

Speaking of which… “Okay, let me get some things out in the open,” I began. “I have no idea where we’re going. But we need to find some kind of settlement, capiche!”

“A brilliant plan, my sweet!”

“I’m not... a fucking… candy.”

“Then how can I describe my undying devotion to--”

“--anyway!” I interjected, peeved. “We also need to ration our food out. I only brought enough for me for a few days. Now, if we want to make this last, we’ll need to eat the bare minimum.”

“Anything you said, darling.”

I decided to ignore the pet name. If I correct him every fucking time, it’s going to be impossible to get anything done. Besides, why waste my breath? There’s nothing left to say. All that was left to do was to pick a direction and march.

And march we did. We continued going off away from the sewer exit, getting more and more lost as we went. The clay hills and the floating rocks in the sky all looked the same to me.

And that’s not to mention the darkness! The entire place was coated in a never-ending dusk. Shadows permeated everywhere, even if light managed to filter down in patches.

The whole place was dreary. No wonder the Octarians are so depraved.

Through it all, I kind of expected Hector to fall behind, but hour after hour, he kept up with my stride.

...Honestly, I don’t know all that much about the dude. All I know is that he has shit for fashion sense, follows me around like a stalker and professes his love for me every other sentence. It’s annoying.

But I can’t deny that I’m impressed with him. Not many people can keep up a march for seven hours without a break. Not only that, when we stopped for the day, he refused to eat more than a quarter of a granola bar.

I can’t rag his dedication.

…

The second day was much the same, though I have to admit, even though we were doing well on rations, a day of malnutrition is nothing to sneeze at. Not that it wasn’t anything I hadn’t handled before, but it wasn’t something I enjoyed, that was for certain.

The march was noticeably tougher. We kept the same pace and made good time, but to where? It was disheartening.

I kind of wished that Hector hadn’t taken the hint and was still trying his dumb banter so that I could get frustrated at something concrete. But, for maybe the one time he could have served a purpose with his retarded schtick, he’d stayed quiet.

Ughh…

Three days in and we still had some rations. Hector was still going strong--or at least appeared to--even though he was eating less than me per day... but he wasn't complaining.

"You're, uh, surprisingly resilient," I noted during the third day's march.

"I can do anything with you by my side--"

"I take it back." But he really was surprising me. What was it Innes said? 'Most people aren't worth knowing, but the worst part is that the ones worth knowing are hidden between all the rabble.' Something like that. Maybe I should give Hector more of a chance.

It was on the fourth day that we saw the light. Even though he was going strong, it was clear that my not-entirely-a-waste-of-space companion was excited to see civilization of some sort.

As we made our way toward the glowing beacon, I started to go over the impromptu plan. "Alright, dude, you have convinced me that, besides being an entirely lovesick dog, you are also not entirely useless."

"I live for your pleasure m'lady--"

"So," I interrupted, "I want you to find someplace outside the settlement when we get there so we can camp. It's important that this place be hidden enough that scouts or anything that might be looking for us can't find us... easily. Close enough to the settlement that we can reach there within an hour. Preferably someplace we can run from at a moment's notice."

"If it please you, I shall walk through this dust bowl ten to twenty times to discover the optimal--"

"Good. I'm going to be infiltrating the settlement itself and retrieving food," I reached into my bag--normally used for my various athletic activities--and pulled out a stopwatch. "I'm good with time, but I don't know about you. I'll be in and out of the city in five hours. I want you to meet me about thirty minutes out from whatever the entry point is. We'll determine that more exactly when we get there."

Instead of spouting some tl;dr love note, Hector simply nodded this time.

Once we were about half a mile one from the glowing lights, we carved a discrete pattern into the ground. Hector began the stopwatch and bid me adieu as I began the dash to the city.

Now the real question... how am I going to get into the city, get food, and get out undetected? The jog, however, was excruciating and made it difficult to come up with a cohesive plan. I'm athletic, but a few days of almost nonstop movement and even I'll be tuckered out.

One thing was for certain, I'm an inkling... possibly wiht a bounty now, considering the ruckus I caused back at the sewer entrance. They'll be on guard.

When I got to the city proper, I decided on the best course of action. Scouting things out, I found that the city had two entrances; one almost directly lined up with the direction I had come from and one opposite that.

A quick glance at the gateways that opened up into the city told me that they were guarded by Octarian soldiers... not only that, they were concealed. There wouldn't be an effective way to splat them without having perfect aim with my Bamboozler. I'm good, but even I can't really shoot through a eye-slit.

So, I figured the best course of action would be to cause a distraction at one of the gateways and use that to sneak in on the other. Simple.

I just hoped it would work.

So, calculating for ink exhaustion, I grabbed my bamboozler and began to make a scene. I fired my attention-grabbing, red ink all over, plastering the bridge that they used for an entrance at an angle that the guards--vision narrowed by the eye-slits--couldn't see.

It certainly got their attention.

I could see the slits go dark and that was when I knew to run. I started firing off random shots in an attempt to confound them as to the direction I was travelling, then took off for the other entrance.

I looked back only once to see the confused Octarians who looked to be talking into radios. Hopefully that would lower the security on the other gate.

Sure enough, when I got there, the slits were dark... no one was there to watch as I snuck in. I'd probably have a short window of opportunity to get in, get food and information, then get out.

Focus. The objectives are there. I just need to have a plan for once:

Get in.

Get food.

Get info.

Get out.

Don't git rekt.

Should be simple enough. I strolled into the settlement quickly sneaking down an unlit alley. I’d feared I’d have to be stealthy but, it seems that this side of the town was abandoned... they probably didn't get much excitement around here.

What can I say? I'm quality fucking entertainment.

So, first, I had to find someone that I could "kindly ask" about where the grocery store or wherever these scumbags store food. Finding an informant turned out to be surprisingly hard, however, considering I did an incredibly good job distracting.

Relaxing my guard, I found myself wandering closer and closer to the heart of the city and the whoosh of the river which ran through it. Maybe it was fate or maybe it was luck, but whatever it was, roaming to the city center led me to a bundle of stalls on a bridge. Better yet, no one seemed to be manning them. Perfect.

I quickly found a stall selling clothes so I dug out a travel cloak, complete with moe hood, to hide my bag, weapons and hair--can't have people freaking out because they saw an inkling, after all. Then, I quickly dashed to various stalls, taking many different foods and shoving some into my mouth and others into my bag.

The perfect crime.

My bag was full of food and I now had a way to disguise myself. The guards didn't look like they were going to stop me from entering or exiting as long as they didn't have an immediate reason to question me. Like this, I'd at least pass for an Octoling... but I should probably get something to cover up my mask.

I'd completed the mission. And yet, I couldn't help but consider doing more. After all, there was still plenty of time before I was supposed to meet up with Hector. And if I let my OP distraction, which won’t be effective a second time around, go to waste... I might never have the same opportunity again.

After all... what if security was down around whatever authority headed the place? I can sneak around incredibly easy right now without attracting too much attention. All I'd need to do is sneak into wherever said authority was, beat the tar out of them, and then ask them for answer... namely, if another Inkling had shown up in the Valley and where the nearest kettle was.

Then, I could just leave having gathered both the information I needed and the food for the journey. Okay, so I was missing a few vital details inbetween, but those things work themselves out?

But… where would they be?

Wracking my brain, I let myself wander to the side of the town, where I’d caused the distraction. When I started seeing weird, tentacle Octarians, that's when I knew I was going too far in.

But then, an idea hit me. Pulling my hood further over my eyes, I plunged deeper into what would surely be a higher density of people.

Sure enough, as I got closer to the entrance, I began to hit crowds of people all mumbling about red ink and the Crimson Devil. Was that what they were calling me now?

I like it.

But now's not the time to go wild. Instead, I pick out some kid who clearly can't get into the crowd. It was small, so likely more naive, and had a chirpy voice, running on stumpy legs, trying to get into the crowd that was now, basically, an iron wall.

"Hey, kid, what's goin' on up there?"

"Oy'm nawt sure," it squeaked, turning to face me before meeping. "Oh you're back!"

"What? Wait... have you seen someone like me?"

"Yeh!" Innes... was alive. And he'd been here. This was already great news... but bad because it's possible that this little brat might give away my secret.

"Ah well..." I began, trying to think of some way to lure her away from here, quickly, "well, I need to ask you some things because I'm new to these parts, but it's kind of loud here. Do you mind taking me somewhere more quiet?"

"Ah, sure! Oy gitcha! I used'ta need ta find places ta be alone all the time but now, Oy've got tons a' frien--" I tuned it out, as it led me down an alley that led to a chink in the wall. It was... a serious breach in defenses, but it got us outside the city. As we squeezed out the hole, the Octarian gasped, "why din't Oy think a' comin' out 'ere ta' see the mark a' the Crimsom Debil,"

"Crimson Devil," I mutter... the name's cool after all and this kid shouldn't get it wrong. "Ah, I mean... what's that?"

"Ya never 'eard 'a the Crimson Devil?" It gasped. At least it said the name right this time.

"Enlighten me."

"Well! Nawt ta brag, but Oy'm considerin' meself kind of an expert on the topic!" Not braggy at all. "Ya see, nearly a year ago... our armies were taken down by a single Inklin'... capturin' our DJ and leavin' the Jetties all on their lonesome. But after that... it vanished. Spooky right?"

"Yeah, spooky," I mimed. "So... I need to ask, who runs things around here?"

"Ah, tha'd be Lord Yaine! She's tha sweetest bestest leader anyone could ask fer! Though me mum tells me that she'd prefer another person. Oh! Don't tell anyone she said tha' though."

"My lips are sealed," I say, exasperated. It’s great that it’s spilling info, but I could do without the random commentary.

“Oy knew ya would!” it went on, “Oy bet all o’ ya are this nice! What are ya, by the way?”

“Not from around here.” I was getting peeved. I didn’t have time for this. “Say, think you could show me where Lord Yaine lives? I have an important message for her.”

“O’ course!” Thank god it’s good for something. It began to lead me through the gap in the hole, chattering away as we made our way to wherever this Lord resided. Prepare to get ganked, octobitch.

Wait. Gotta lay out the plan: collect any information about Innes, figure out where the nearest kettle is, take out an Octarian leader. I couldn’t miss out on a chance like this, after all.

The cobbled streets all looked about the same, but nevertheless, I tried to keep a mental map of where we were and how to get back. I would need it. Otherwise, while we walked, I snacked on random finger-foods that I’d stolen, finally sating my hunger after those long days trekking.

When we stopped moving, I asked, “are we here?” The building we’d stopped at was a whole three story building with annexes to either side. It was a modest settlement in comparison to any Inkling apartment, however, in comparison to all the single story buildings made of mud and brick, this was basically a castle.

“Yea this is--”

“Thanks.” I pulled out my splattershot and shot the blabbermouth down before it could keep talking. After a quick pop I exhaled. Finally some peace and quiet. I walked to the entrance of the building, leaving a sizable red puddle behind me.

Important people prefer higher places, right? So, I quickly shot a path up the brick building. It wasn’t exactly covert, but I didn’t expect to be here long. Changing to my squid form, I swam up the wall to the third story window, promptly transforming and smashing through it.

Inside, there was an important-looking Octarian on the phone. The stumpy tako-being sat in a very tall chair wearing an important looking suit. Not exactly, business-attire, with how torn and tattered and old it was, but it still gave of a sense of importance.

Perfect boss material. But then again, everybody splats.

Yaine did not look impressed or intimidated. It deserved a little praise from me for that, considering it seemed unarmed.

“So,” the small thing said, “you’re the one who made that huge mess out there?”

“Darn-tootin’.”

“I will take that as a yes.”

I paused. Too stiff for me. Ugh. “Now you may be wondering why I haven’t just straight up splatted you right now.”

“Yes, I was wondering that.”

“Well,” I cooed, “I just want to know an eensy-teensy little-bittle piece of information.”

“I see. And what makes you think I’ll give anything up.”

“Because I know I could do something that will make you.”

“I doubt it. My life is hardly in the balance,” it said, slowly. “What could you possibly do to me?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged, “maybe pop everyone in the city?”

That got her attention. “You… you truly are a devil.”

“Yeah, see, I’m really starting to like that nickname.” As I spoke, I brandished my weapon, sauntering closer to the tako-being’s desk. Slamming my free fist down, I grunted, through gritted teeth, “has a nice ring to it.”

Yaine glared at me, still not perturbed. “And you really think you could do that? Take out an entire armed force of an entire city?”

“Done it before. Don’t doubt I can do it again.”

“Monster,” it spat. Literally. It spat ink in my eyes. The rage that bubbled up was so great, it was all I could do to contain it.

“You’re the monsters here. Not me,” I snarled. “Now tell me! Did another Inkling come through here?”

“Interesting, so there’s two of you. I’ll inform the DJ as soon as possible.” I grit my teeth. It knew nothing.

“And the closest kettle?”

“It’s a big city. Better start searching.” Before I could move, Yaine jumped out of its chair. I began to shoot my weapon, but as I did, it quickly pushed a button.

The city erupted into blaring sirens.

In-between the light of the room, which was now thoroughly red, and splatting that insufferable Octarian politician, the room was now practically bleeding. The guards would soon know I was here, as Yaine itself popped the alarm.

I was about to exit the way I came, ready to hop out the window when, over the wailing, I heard… clapping.

“Well tha’ was amusin’,” the male voice carried surprisingly well considering the ambient sound. I turned back to see a single Octoling. A guy, for once. But just like the girls I’d fought, he was ripped.

Its outfit spoke of being a vagabond, a pack on its back, a gun at its hip, and the most tattered tunic and pants I’d seen in ages. I prepared my weapon as it did the same.

“Ya Inklin’s are a huge source a’ trouble,” I was going to shoot but something about its tone stopped me. “Ya causin’ more trouble than the last one.”

I didn’t deter my aim, but couldn’t help but ask, “the last one?”

“Oh yea,” it said. “Last ‘un lost me m’gun. Last time Oy trust a squibby partner like that.” It motioned to its brandished weapon--a new one from the looks of it. “But I got a consolation prize later, when Oy ‘eard a nearby signal. What was it? ‘Awl yer base’ ‘er somethin’? Ballsy fer an ickle girl like yerself.”

“Where did you meet him,” I snarled, not deterred.

“Anyway,” it went on, ignoring me. “Oy grabbed this ‘ere gun from the scene a tha crime. Been trackin ya ever since. Meant ta report ya and make some cash that way.”

“Where…” I repeated, “is my friend?”

“Oh, Oy could tell ya,” he grinned. “Oy could. But Oy’d like something in return.”

“What could your shriveled hearts desire that I, the Crimson Devil, could grant?”

“Oy want outta this pit,” it smiled. “Gimme tha’, and Oy’ll slaughter every Octarian in this depraved Jetty for ya with me bare hands.”

It was probably my only lead. I’ll happily take it. “Deal.”

“Deal,” It agreed.

But only a fool makes a deal with a devil.

...

An hour later, I met with Hector at the designated spot. He eyed the Octoling I’d met warily, but I held up a hand to silence him. I motioned for him to follow us.

“What about camp?” he asked, earnestly.

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” I replied, simply.

When we got to the city, Hector eyed the streets warily. Splotches of red and black ink still freshened the streets where Octarian scum had once been. There wasn’t a soul to be seen.

“What… happened here?” Hector asked, warily.

I turned to look at him, then said, “I did.”

Chapter Text

“Private Mabyn, returnin’ from duty, ma’am!”

“At ease Mabyn,” she replied. “Did ya find anything awry scoutin’ the cloister?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Oy see,” she mused. “Well, keep point runnin’. If we’re onto the devil’s pattern, then she should hit here soon enough.”

“Ye, ma’am.”

“And remember,” the officer repeated, “remind everyone to stick to plan.”

“Ye’m”

“Ma’am.”

“Ye, ma’am."

The plan. I had been assigned to inform everyone: don’t try to kill the Crimson Devil. Not because she wasn’t a threat… no, because she was the only threat. Even though, on occasion, they caught her off guard and managed to splat her, her support already had prepared various respawn pads for her to continue her onslaught.

Killing her was nigh impossible.

And even if they did, she would simply recover elsewhere. She’d leave and lick her wounds, then return.

It’s not that we didn’t want to kill her. It’s that we couldn’t.

No instead, the plan was this: subdue the Devil. Our job would be to capture her.

Now, I have a hunch that even though she is skilled in ranged combat--as Turf Wars are a common tradition in both Octoling and Inkling societies--she was just that: a ranged fighter.

There were too many signs that pointed to her not being a part of the Inkling army.

She was skilled, but she was alone. The army wouldn’t send a single agent out to destroy the Octolings, no matter how talented said agent might be.

Her fighting style was refined for solo battle; this usually doesn’t develop in soldiers who are trained in an army as they are taught teamwork early on… it’s one of the most basic tactics to never be outnumbered. However, this demon thrives in a one versus many environment.

Finally, she seemed to have connections to Captain Cuttlefish; the armor she wore, the weapon she wielded, the fact that she always seemed in contact with someone… that all pointed at connections to the famously ostracized “war hero.”

She was, more or less, alone. If we captured her, the nuisance would be over.

And yet, I couldn’t help but admire her. With all this knowledge, I could see… this was one woman… no, one child against an army of thousands. That took guts.

This plan resonated with me in so many ways. We would eliminate our problem and I might get the chance to meet her. Maybe talk to her. Learn why she fought against us. Learn what kind of person was so strong that, alone, she could strike fear into the heart of an army.

I’d always wanted strength. Strength was what I learned ruled the world. I had to be strong to survive on my own. My strength was why I was recruited into the army. Strength was why I could stay. Strength was why I belonged.

I could never be soft. Weakness would mean disclusion. And I’m tired of being alone.

Maybe it was naive of me, but I really wanted to learn how the Crimson Devil got to be so strong. Maybe, if I learned that, I would be so powerful, that I’d never be alone again. The thought was tempting. And childish.

There’s no shortcut to power. I of all people should know that.

My disability, my single arm, has held me back for years in so many ways. Children wouldn’t play with me, because I was weird. Adults avoided me, thinking I was bad luck. Even my mother couldn’t find someone to train me in combat; no teacher wanted to be associated with me.

I’d always had a hard road to walk. I had to teach myself to fight--an integral, communal part of our society. Alone, I spied on the other kids learning to use weapons and tried to emulate them, changing the style to match my single arm.

Besides weapons, I practiced martial arts, learning the techniques by sneaking into the military base nearby. I practiced obsessively and my mother was proud of me for it. Even helped me where she could, even though she was not adept.

She said I reminded her my father.

When mother died and I was alone, my strength, my hard work, paid off. There was no one to help me. So I took what I needed. I stole and survived. I took, and took, and took. And no one could stop me.

Until I learned another valuable lesson in power. There is strength in numbers.

Turned out that my Jetty had decided enough was enough and hired the soldiers nearby to subdue me. I beat down one or two of them, but they wore me down and captured me… all part of their plan.

When I was captured, I thought that was it. But instead of being punished… I was rewarded. They asked me to join them. They told me that my strength had a purpose: to serve the nation.

I wasn’t placed in any squad, of course… I knew nothing of how to work in a team. But for once I had been recognized. Strength gathered together under one cause. And in that strength, we could be one. We could be bonded. For me, there was nothing beyond that. And I would learn whatever I could to grow to be stronger, to fit in more.

I returned to my duty. I ran from waypoint to waypoint, reminding each squad: capture the Devil. Starting my round from the closest group to the entry point, I rehashed the plan, receiving a dismissive grunt.

I could see a few of them staring at my bare shoulder where there should have been an arm. They were new recruits. They’d learn not to stare. I’d teach them. One day, everyone would know and respect me.

I ran from group to group, receiving varying levels of affirmation. Some were clearly taking this role more seriously and the closer I got to the rear guard, the more I realized the pattern. The newer recruits were being thrown at the Devil earlier to weaken her. A clever use of power.

By the time she reached the back lines, she would be worn down and up against the best of the best.

And here I am, just a scout, barely assigned to this mission. Even though I’d proven myself exemplary in combat, they refused to promote me. This frustrated me to no end… did I not work hard enough to earn the title I deserved?

Secretly, when I got this mission, I had hoped that I would be the one to capture the Devil. In doing so, my superiors would have to notice my talent and move me up. I would work harder, grow stronger, be more cunning than those around me. I would be the best.

It doesn’t matter if I started off with a gimp, I would beat everyone else. I would be the one on top in the end. Like the Devil, my name would be on everyone’s tongue, my thought in every mind.

I would do it. I would gain that power. I’d never be alone again.

As I finished the second round with the squads, I checked my time. Still ten minutes before the next run. I was to remind each squad of the plan and check each individual’s combat fitness. I made sure they weren’t going to soil themselves, made sure they were vigilant, made sure their weapons were synched and in good repair--I could do much of that at a glance.

So, I took the time to make sure I was ready as well. I checked my weapon and fatigues and armor, making sure everything was in top order. I tested my ink grenades and fired some fuschia pellets to warm up. Somewhere in my heart, I knew that I wanted to face off against the Crimson Devil. I wanted to show that I could beat her with my own hands.

The fantasies were vivid. Sometimes, I imagined that she stood in a lake of her oozing ink... all that was left of my fallen comrades. There, I stood to face off against her, one on one. Other times, I would be in a squad of my own and battle it out. She’d hold her own, but I or we would always win in the end.

I could not imagine a scenario where she would win. To do so would mean losing the battle before it began. It was time for the third round. I could tell the newbies were getting tired of these constant check-ups. A few of them shot me some bitter glares. One of them even blew a raspberry when they thought I wasn’t looking.

I made sure they knew I knew. A fist to the face does that.

The senior squads, on the other hand, were getting apprehensive. I could tell from the way they were all fiddling with their weapons and the awkward silence between them that they were either nervous or mentally preparing themselves for what might be their last fight.

We’d all heard the stories, after all. At first, the attacked areas were only in weak, undefended sectors. The military leaders were certain that if security was increased, the vigilante would stop.

But it only got worse.

No matter how prepared the troops were, no matter how much time they spent planning formations, the bogey, the Crimson Devil, continued to plow through. Sure, they splatted her once or twice, but she was always back with a vengeance.

Many lives were lost. Even though the military holds nearly all the respawn stones in Octo Valley, they still had to firmly ration those precious resources for those who they truly could not afford to lose.

Of these squads, I estimated maybe one out of every twenty had a stone. And even then, they would come back with scars or more. Legs, arms, their eyes, their mind… war is hell. And only the strong and skilled survive. It was on the fourth round that she struck.

I was on my way back to the beginning that the alarm rang, informing us that the slaughter had begun. My orders, when such an event were to happen, were to fall back. I had no squad to back me up, no team to protect me, no respawn stone should I die. I was to return to base.

I refused.

Instead, I went to do my next round, with a new purpose. I wanted to see the Devil with my own eyes. An important part of power is information. As long as the Devil never knew I was there, she would never try to attack me. There was power in that. And as long as I could observe her, I could learn her style and patterns as I had as a child.

I arrived in time to watch her decimate the cocky bastard I’d punched in the face. My cohort had only a moment to attempt an attack. The Crimson Devil merely had to fire a few pellets to pop her. With horrifying grace, she danced around pellets of ink barraged from the late-octoling’s squad.

The three seemed serious now, jokes and laughter gone from their expressions. Vengeance consumed them and the Devil’s taunt blinded their reason. Instead of aiming straight for the squad, the Devil aimed to cover the ground around them. Even though, as a group, they should have had the tactical advantage of turf, the Devil, with nimble movements, managed to trap them in her ink.

It was too late by the time the three realized they’d been outplayed. She splatted them one by one, taking no time to savor any fear they three might have experienced.

Cold. Efficient. Powerful. The Devil lived up to her name.

I snuck away, avoiding any possibility of detection. Taking the route I knew to be quickest, I prepared to watch the next fight.

As expected, the next squad was slightly more experienced. When the Devil arrived, they got into a more complex formation, avoiding the rookie mistake of bunching up together. They didn’t, however, have the turf advantage… something they should have had from the beginning with such forewarning.

Quickly gauging the situation, Crimson found the most out-of-position squad member and splatted them in one rapid-fire burst. The other three, instead of instantly shooting at Crimson, used the time to establish turf dominance. A basic tactic. But the Devil didn’t hesitate, didn’t give them time to finish what they started.

The next Octoling squad member didn’t stand a chance. The Devil was too quick in using her superior weapon to establish a flanking position, swimming up into the Octoling’s blind spot. My comrade was down in an instant.

When the others tried to come to her aid, it was already too late. In their rage, they failed to notice they had walked into a bomb the Devil had dropped in the fray. The expected result… they both popped.

The pattern repeated, each squad doing slightly better than the last. Whether it be because of the Devil tiring or the groups improving, I couldn’t tell. But I did learn.

She moved with certainty, but she always tried to read a situation before walking into it. Therein must lay weakness--she must have a blind spot. The most successful squads were the ones that tried to take her down with turf advantage and the element of surprise. In those situations, her reaction time was much worse than those who attacked head-on.

However, that wasn’t to say that Crimson had bad reaction time or instincts. She was skilled through and through, that was sure. Her form and reaction speed were peerless. Each squad that faced her, one after the other, failed.

When the Devil reached the seventh squad, that was when I noticed something. Each leader had a red rope handy. Each elite squad spent most of the battle buying time so the leader could get in position to attempt… something with the cord. But they didn’t even manage to get close. Crimson’s defenses were too solid… amazingly solid for one on four.

But seeing the cords’ presence made me realize… those soldiers in the front lines weren’t even expected to have a chance at capturing this demon. They’d been sacrificed simply to make the battle easier for these elites. The newbies certainly hadn’t had the ropes on them… and honestly, how did they expect to catch the Devil?

No, these ropes had something to do with the real capture of the Devil. The fact that the military leaders were willing to sacrifice so much simply to capture this one girl… they truly considered her a threat.

I wanted that level of power. To make a nation tremble at my name.

In a moment of clarity, after the Devil took out another elite squad, I waited until I was sure that she had left. Then, I went to where the leader had fallen and looted that rope. If they were carrying it around in this battle, then it must be something important. After that, I made my way to where the next conflict would surely occur.

The genocide continued as Crimson continued to pop every single trooper that came after her. It didn’t matter whether they had amazing communication, or precise movements, or the turf advantage… somehow the Devil always got the upper hand.

She was starting to take on and trump the best of the best. Some Octolings I’d even bothered to remember the names of: Cato, Porcia, Quintina. Each of them put up a good fight, especially with their respective squads backing them up, but the Devil’s onslaught was unstoppable.

So, I knew that the only way I could win was to play dirty.

She’d almost reached the bait. The Zapfish. The lure. I needed the turf advantage if I was going to win this, for certain, but I wasn’t setting up for a fair fight. Quickly, I gained control of the turf, however, I also made sure to pick up pieces of rubble lying around. Rocks and debris of all kinds, not to mention stashing the rope.

I had one shot. The Crimson Devil’s only blind spot was a space behind her, a bit to her right. That was where I had the best chances of hitting her. So, I positioned between where she would be and the Zapfish. It wasn’t a perfect hiding spot, but I was betting on her being too focused on the bait to react.

And there she came. I could see her, hidden and vulnerable from within my patch of ink. She began to snatch up the turf I’d collected, but that was okay. That was only another distraction. I maneuvered to a miniscule patch of fuscia, making sure I could survive. Once she felt saw no threats, she came up to the zapfish and began to break the shield.

That was when I reacted. Shifting from squid to humanoid, I dashed over to the meager pile of debris that I’d made, hopping from tiny patch to tiny patch. It was positioned perfectly behind her so that when she turned to react to the sound I’d made…

Pop.

It had happened in an instant.

In the moment that she’d turned around, I’d thrown a rock at where I knew she’d position her gun hand. Ink pellets hit hard, but they glue weaponry and armor to the body, regardless of color. A rock though…

Her oddly-shaped weapon flew from her grip and a look of shock flashed over her face as she tried, futilely, to grasp her weapon out of midair. But it was in vain. I couldn’t help but feel pleased with myself, having manipulated the situation with one swift movement. But now wasn’t the time to gloat.

I could save that for after I won.

Not wasting any time, I closed the distance between the Devil and me. Was that a look of terror in her eyes? Shock? Horror? Whatever it was, I didn’t get to see it long, because in another moment, I had slammed her to the ground with a full-body tackle.

As I felt her struggle under me, I knew that my guess in the beginning had been right. She was no soldier. This Devil knew nothing of hand to hand combat. Crimson was screaming in pain as I pinned her to the ground, her face grinding against the sharp red and deep purple ink unevenly speckling the ground.

Were she trained in hand to hand, she would have known to transform to escape my grapple. But she was either in shock or in too much pain to consider that. That’s when intuition hit me… that’s what the cord was for! Leaving only a small opening, I loosened my grip on her, but only so I could get the leverage to quickly kick her face back into the ground.

Now that she was disoriented, I ran to the pile where I’d stashed the cord. Insight flared and I realized, I’d never seen those holding the rope turn into tako-form, even though it would have improved the surprise factor. Now I knew why. I tried, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t shift. A shiver ran down my back at the subtle power this tool held.

When I ran back to the Devil, she was still disoriented, though she’d gotten enough sense to start crawling for her weapon. It was hard to believe that this easy prey had been the demon that had struck fear into everyone’s hearts. Watching those battles between her and my squadmates seemed almost surreal now, her weakness so glaring in hindsight. I kicked her to the ground again, just for the fun of it. She hadn’t even made it a few feet to hear salvation.

Then came the tricky part. Tying a rope with one arm is a real miracle, especially a tight knot. Takes a little bit of the mouth, a lot of struggle, a few kicks to the face, and plenty of willpower. But, the Devil was beaten, the fight she put up mostly for show. Now tied up, I tore the receiver from her ear and smashed it on the ground beside her. I could only imagine how she felt.

But me? I felt good.

She bitched at me as I slung her, helpless, over my shoulder and began to march back to the cloister’s main base, but between my carrying her and her binding, her struggle meant nothing. Eventually, even she came to understand that and stopped trying.

Though, knocking her out may have helped.

Before I knew it, I was before my superior with as neutral a mug as I could muster.

“So they made you their pack mule?” my CO noted.

“No ma’am,” I responded. “They’re all dead, ma’am.”

Her gaze sharpened. “So then, I suppose you captured the Devil all on your own.” It was more a biting comment than a question.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And where did you get that red cord?”

“From one of the fallen, ma’am.”

“What were your orders, Private?”

“Ta inform the other groups of the plan, ma’am.”

“And after that?”

“Ta fall back immediately and inform the later sqauds of the Devil’s immediate approach.”

“And did you do that?”

I started to feel red in the cheeks, “no ma’am.”

“Then, what,” she remarked, “are you doing with the Devil yourself?”

“The others had fallen and Oy figgured that--”

“You ‘figgured?’” she mocked. “Your information could have meant life for your fellows where instead, they had to die! Can ya imagine how many lives were lost in that battle? And how many might have been saved, had you simply followed orders? Only twelve of our best troops had stones and…” she trailed off. “I… apologize. I was simply… trawled by anger.”

I’d… never seen her apologize before. Honestly, my pride was beginning to turn on itself… what had I done wrong? “Even though it was against a direct order… I must commend that ya brought in the Devil. Come. You’ll be in charge of guardin’ the transport as we make our way to Jetty 3. “Unfortunately,” my CO continued, “we’ll need to make a long detour through Octo Valley.”

“Why ma’am?”

“So as to publically shame our most feared enemy before her execution.”

“Oy see.”

“And Mabyn?”

“Ye?”

“...you forgot the ma’am.”

“Ye, ma’am?”

“... I understand ya grew up alone.”

“Ye, ma’am.”

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the deaths of your fellows.”

“...Ye, ma’am,” I admitted. Death was a common thing. They were just too weak to survive.

“Their lives were the toll of this,” my CO went on. “Remember them. Remember that they gave everything for this. Your glory is their glory.”

“Ye, ma’am.”

“You are free to go, Private.”

“Aye, ma’am.” And with that, I turned and left.

Ink for ink. I’d never thought of it like that. They had given everything so I could learn. A spending of power. And the purchase was being taken to her cell as a result. Sometimes, you must lose much to gain much. I will remember that.

“Ya filthy squib!” someone shouted. The revolution from the crowd around me was thick, even if I wasn’t the target. A rotten piece of food flew through the air, splatting clear in the face of the girl I’d captured.

What a waste of perfectly good food, I noted instinctively.

It had been nearly a week of parading and it was getting a little tiring; everywhere I went, I was technically the hero, but the more I thought about my CO’s words, the more I felt the dark feeling from this crowds, the more sinister my actions seemed.

I was used to death. On the streets of Jetty 26, people died all the time. Death by starvation, death by mugging, death for looking at someone wrong at a bar. I thought I’d been desensitized to it all by now. And yet…

Something that my CO had said revealed something to me. Those people, those soldiers, they all gave their lives for a cause. They let go of their power for something greater. All in their own ways, they gave their lives for something they felt was worth it.

Compared to that, was I really a hero?

And this evil intent from the crowd. I had a feeling that any one of these people would be willing to come up here and kill the devil themselves even if it meant freeing her--really that was what I was here to prevent. They all wanted a piece of her. They wanted to rip her apart.

I looked back to the Inkling I’d sentenced to death. In the moment I’d beaten her, I’d felt pride. Satisfaction. But now… there was nothing. There was no honor in what I did. No glory. I hadn’t bested her. I had cleverly found a way to attack a weak point and took her down when she had no way to defend herself.

What did that make me?

Weak.

I’d let all my fellows die. I’d always dreamed of being the one to bring peace by defeating the demon. And yet… I looked around me at all these angry faces. All these people, in one way or another, had lost something to this Inkling. This “devil.” In killing her do we eliminate their hate? Another fruit hit her body, sullying her now tattered garb.

The yelling, the hatred, the pain that I could sense all around. It was unbearable. I’d come to hate this parading. To hate the ‘glory’ that I’d earned. To hate myself for having been happy in my success.

After all, hadn’t I done this all to find a place for myself? But I hadn’t given a damn as my comrades fell before me. I hadn’t listened to orders. Maybe I could have saved them. If I’d just… but maybe...

What place did I have here, in this chain of command?

I was weak. Just a weak little squib trying to fit in with a group that I would never be enough for.

It took hours, but finally, the parading stopped at the edge of the Jetty. The caravan was to continue, but the moving prison was automatic. It was just me there, to guard it from the wastes and the vagabonds who might take a potshot at the Devil.

And the ride was long. The next Jetty, at this pace, would be five hours. Normally, I’d just sleep, but the thoughts of guilt, at the loss of my comrades, at my complete desensitization, at my doing nothing for them, at the loss of this whole country… it continued to gnaw at me.

So I simply sat in the rolling prison, leaning against the bars. Behind me was the Devil, her hands tied with the stifling cord, her legs and torso uncomfortably shackled to the wall. She hadn’t said anything during this last week, as I walked into her prison to feed her or relieve her. She said nothing as people mocked, ridiculed, dumped feces and rotten food on her, sullied her in whatever way they could think of without getting close.

Her pride was powerful. Her presence was powerful. Even now, she was so strong and I wanted to be like her. So strong and yet…

“What’s going to happen to me?” a weak voice murmured. The softness, the meekness of it caught me off guard. The Inkling didn’t repeat herself as I stood up and turned to look in her eyes. Right. She had been unconscious when I’d brought her in and I’d been told the plan: parade her to her ultimate demise. All as a show of power.

All of it boiled down to power, didn’t it?

“Ye’ll be brought to yer death.”

“I see.” She said, simply.

The silence was piercing. We shouldn’t be talking. Both of us knew that, surely.

And yet…

“Why did’ja do it?” I found myself asking.

No response.

“Why did’ja kill so much?”

“Felt right,” she said, simply.

Some small flame of anger welled up in me, something that had been accumulating in my gut since I had to live with this guilt. I could feel it worming its way out, looking for someone to blame. I found myself gripping the bars stronger. “felt righ’?” I repeated. I scoffed.

I was going to say more, bite her with words… lash out. But she said, “I… thought--no, still think I did the right thing. There’s only so many Zapfish to go around. Cuttlefish made that plainly clear. So, it was civilization or monsters. Me… or you.” Even through her binds, she could make a gesture approximating a shrug. “The choice was obvious.”

Her words were like oil. It just fueled the flames of my rising anger. Now I understood the feelings of the people, their rage boiled up inside me in the form of grief, threatening to murder this girl in front of me. It didn’t matter to this demon what happened to others as long as she survived. As long as what she cared about survived.

And yet what she said was like water. Sobering, showing that she wasn’t entirely a monster. She had things she cared about out there in her world above. It was how she justified her actions.

In that way, she felt like me as a child. Ultimately, we did the same thing. Killing. Hurting. Stealing. Whatever it took to protect what was important. At the very least, she stood for her people.

Me? ...just my own life, I guess.

I’m no hero.

The talk ended there. There wasn’t anything else to say. After that, I simply let myself slide to the floor. There I sat for five more sleepless hours.

Another city, another parade, another repeat of events. Even in the face of her impending death, even though she now knew that she would die, she held herself high. Was this, too, strength? Even in your weakest moments, to retain your pride?

Between this Jetty and the next, I was the one to start conversation. If you would call it that. “Why da ya try ta be so strong?”

“Huh?” she responded, in a half-daze. Both of us had sleepless nights, I was sure. The world was a waking dream and a sudden voice to break the sameness must have come as quite a surprise.

“Ye’re holdin’ yerself up even as they get angry.”

“It’s not any different from the rest of my life.”

My silence must have revealed my curiosity, because she went on. “Monsters… everyone’s a monster. They don’t care how you feel, only how they feel.”

I… didn’t expect this. “Everyone,” she continued, spitting. “That’s why I’ve got to be strong. To show them they don’t affect me. That they don’t. They don’t affect me,” she was growling now. “...I’m stronger than them.”

She was scared. But not just of this situation. Of everything. Of everyone.

That was… heart wrenching. But wasn’t I the same? I was lonely, isolated, because of how others felt about me. And so, I made myself strong. To prove myself. To show I could grow above their mocking. Above their feelings.

But it hurt. They hurt me.

She was hurt. So she grew.

Was that was strength was? A reaction to being hurt?

If so, then this girl before me was probably the most tortured. Scared of everything, others, her own people, us. We were all monsters to her. But she probably wanted to fit in as well. That must be why she fights. To protect what she cares about in the only way an individual, constantly afraid, can.

What did it matter if our people were given the butt end? In taking what we wanted, saying it’s something we needed… weren’t we just being bullies flaunting power?

Wouldn’t that make this Inkling the tragic hero?

But then, what of all the soldiers who’d lost their lives to her? What kind of hero goes around committing murder left and right? Inciting a war that could have been easily ignored. Inkopolis had plenty of power. Plenty to go around! What did they need of so much when we had so little!?

Anger and frustration boiled within me, cycling through pity and hurt and suffering and loneliness. I could understand this tied up girl behind these bars, but at the same time… if I felt pity for her, then what was I doing to the memory of my comrades? Did they die just so that she could live on and kill more?

What was right? What was wrong?

I had no one to ask. No one to turn to. I was alone. Alone with her.

So I sat for another four sleepless hours.

Another town. Another tortured show. Another mass of rage.

One person even attempted to come up and shoot the Crimson Devil, anger flashing through the Octoling’s eyes, but I stopped him… forcibly.

The Devil only smirked at my actions.

“Do you enjoy being the hero,” she spat, between towns.

“Not anymore,” I groaned, tired.

The Inkling sighed. “Heroism is tiring. Your princess is always in another castle.”

“Wha’?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she responded, followed by a coughing fit. It was a dry cough, one that was brought about from a parched throat. I got up, realizing then that she hadn’t been fed or watered in nearly twenty hours... but neither had I.

As I got the food ready, she asked, “how do you see us?”

“Huh?”

“Us Inklings?”

“Oy couldn’ care less.”

“Really?”

“I’s all history. Oy wasn’ aroun’ fer it.”

“Then why did you join the army? Did they forcibly enlist you?” “Oy joined because Oy wanted a place to belong. Tha’s all.”

I spooned gruel into her mouth for the next hour and all we didn’t talk. It didn’t look like she wanted to say anything else, anyway. Soon after, I fed myself. It was a long three hours ahead of us.

We continued this way over the course of the trip. We’d trade a few words, then leave things in silence. After three talks, we both agreed that a nap was in order. After five talks, we both dryly chuckled over some gallows humor. After seven talks, we knew a bit about each other’s daily duties. And somewhere in there, my respect turned to something more perverted. Perhaps… friendship?

I could tell. When she saw my kin, she saw evil. When she talked about other Octarians, she would, instinctively, belittle them. Turn them into beasts. Monsters. She did, in fact, believe herself to be the hero. I was scared to unchain her. And yet, she didn’t seem to treat me the same.

This was wrong. I had respected her. I had intended to destroy her and learn how to be powerful through that. I hadn’t meant for this. When we reached our destination, I almost smiled at her as they walked her off to her end. Certain death.

Or so I thought.

As it turned out, all that time over the two weeks, she’d done something to the ropes. I was in an alley when I next caught a glimpse of her. I was hiding. Somehow, she’d broken out before she could be caught. Somehow, she’d gotten ahold of an Octoshot.

All that guilt panged in my chest. If my feeling of kinship with the demon wasn’t enough, then the fact that my comrades had all died for nothing weighed heavy on me.

I fled. I was afraid. I was guilty. I was crying.

I thought that the Jetty’s guard had a chance to stop her. Jetty 3, after all, was one of the largest and most prestigious of all. One by one, however, they fell. And I wasn’t even there. I had such faith in them.

But they fell.

No… maybe it wasn’t faith. I just didn’t want to face her. Would my ‘friend’ strike me down? We… we weren’t friends. She saw us all as monsters. She was the hero. And she’d kill us all.

And worse, now, she was in the heart of the city. Everyone was gathered for her execution. Little did they know that it was not the Inkling who would be murdered tonight. No, tonight’s execution was to be the decimation of a race. It was the execution of the Jetty.

Instead of simply escaping, she destroyed everyone she saw. Man, woman, or child. She spared no one. They were, after all, just monsters to her. Evil to be culled.

The destruction arced in an obvious path. going through and around the city. Thoroughly, she searched buildings one after another, popping anybody who tried to hide. No matter how they begged or pleaded. Nothing mattered. She killed them all.

And I watched.

I followed her as I had all those nights ago.

I watched as she killed over and over. But these were no soldiers. These were helpless kids. Defenseless citizens. People who had just wanted to go about living their lives. And here I cowered. Transfixed with the killing I knew I let loose. Too afraid to stand in its path.

It was barren after a few hours. The only survivors were those who had evacuated the Jetty entirely. I was the only one left… just as before. She began to walk, slowly, methodically, pridefully, seeking an exit. I slinked, following in her wake, using all I’d learned to keep myself invisible to her awe-inspiring presence.

What was I doing? Why was I hiding? I knew her weaknesses. Why could I not fight her again? Not restrain her. Not kill her myself? In my hands was an ink-knife--another tool I’d scrounged while I had skulked about.

I could end her with this. If I could slash her in the right places, even when she respawned, she would never fight again. All I needed to do was to disarm her again and then let loose. To stand up to this towering demon and stop hiding. To stand up to this girl, so similar to me, and fight. But this time, I’d do it with honor.

I knew the way to the exit, I’d been here before a number of times and memorized the walkways. So, I simply took a few shortcuts and waited. There was only one way out. She was bound to be here eventually.

I didn’t bother to control turf. This time, she had an Octoshot, not her high-tech weapon. I knew the specs. I knew her weak points. With her skill and my knowledge, we’d be on a level playing field.

I holstered the knife in my belt, synched my gun and took off my shoes. I would fight her on equal grounds. I would be as strong as she was. That was all that was left for me now. I’d lost my chance at camaraderie or dying with my fellows when I’d taken my opportunistic strike. I’d lost the people’s trust, surely, if they’d even paid attention to me during the parade. So now, all I had, again, was my own life.

Maybe I was about to waste that too.

I stood at that gate for nearly an hour, sitting in the entrance, watching. Waiting. The devil would not attack from the side-alleys; she was fair. She fought with pure skill. Even without her incredibly powerful weapon, it was clear now that she was peerless among my kind. She had confident, so she would attack from the front.

All I did was sit and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait… until she arrived.

Her prideful stance hadn’t changed. I could see each bone in her gaunt body, fed only on gruel meant to barely keep her alive, she stood straight and tall, her crimson tentacles barely bobbed with the efficient steps she took. I wanted to be her. I wanted to surpass her. I readied my weapon.

“Get out of my way,” she commanded. A mercy she hadn’t granted to anyone else laced in her cold words. “Oy’m… Oy’m not movin’.” I trembled. Whether in anticipation or in fear, I couldn’t tell. I wanted to avenge my squadmates. My COs words rang in me even now, when surely I’d lost all the military’s trust.

I had to stand fast for them, to honor them where I’d done nothing before.

She stopped and looked me over. I’d seen her scanning my comrades like this. I would only have half a second before she calculated a plan of attack. To subdue me. To pop me.

I couldn’t waste that half a second.

I made a dash to the right, inking the barren street, marking it purple. She reacted in turn, dashing to my left, preparing a zone for herself that would contest my own. She didn’t make cocky moves like she had before, which was the proper reaction to her weapon shift.

We danced and, by the time we’d finished, the stage was set: my side and hers. Both of us dived in, to conserve our ink for the important part of the fight. Now was the time to manipulate what I knew.

With a limp main tentacle, I couldn’t swim through the ink as fast as others of my kind. But I could switch weapons as easily as anyone else. Slowly swimming to the rim of our fields, I willed the small combat knife to hand.

She resurfaced first, her weapon loaded and ready. Using that advantage, she began to cover my ink. Through the barrage, I made quiet movements, slowly closing the distance. It was difficult, though, as she prioritized sections close to her and I didn’t care to count the number of pellets that flew above me, threatening to reveal my position. But, staying in the Octoshot’s blind spots, I approached, slowly but surely.

Now was the time for my true strength. I knew martial combat where she did not.

I was about seven feet away when I leapt from the smallest patch of ink I could hide in. The demon was approaching the perfect distance and I would only have one chance at this.

Her reaction time was amazing. She aimed for me in midair, but I used my knife to deflect enough shots to avoid death. Carefully stepping over her ruby ink, I used what I’d learned all those years ago to survive the fight on her turf: I released ink from my pores.

My feet, as they danced over her red ink, released small footprints of fuscia, allowing me to run normally. I was betting on her not anticipating my mobility… and she didn’t. She underestimated her shots, aiming where she expected me to be, but I was already closing the distance.

But the trick wouldn’t work twice: I had to take advantage of this while I could.

I quickly closed the few feet between us, twisting around her close-range shots. Before she could swim away, I kicked her in the gut, knocking her down. In her moment of weakness, I slashed at her arm… but the blade didn’t meet its mark.

I had expected her to block on instinct. I had intended to disarm her. Instead, she took the painful wound to the torso. My blade stuck. Pulling it out would waste precious seconds. I had to let go.

When she respawned, that knife would leave a nasty scar. But right now, it wasn’t doing much of anything. All she’d need to do is turn her gun and shoot me down. I grit my teeth, options flashing through my head.

Switching weapons would cost too much time. Running would get me into her Octoshot’s optimal range. Attacking with a bomb would splat her away. Attacking physically would leave me at point blank.

A simple punch seemed to be the best option. Preparing the lunge, I braced for my end. Instead, I heard a heavy ‘thunk.’ It took a moment for the pain to register before I finally blacked out.

The last thing I remember was a voice saying something like “gee gee,” and gentle hands carrying me somewhere.

...

When I woke up, I was in incredible pain, on someone else’s bed in the now abandoned Jetty 3. I had failed. I had failed just as all my comrades had. I had taken on the devil fair and square. I had fought one on one, with my pride as my weapon.

I had expected to die.

And yet, I lived on.

Chapter Text

Rumors. It’s kind of interesting to think about how they started. I mean, seriously, have you ever wondered why people come up with a dumb story about a spirit in the boy’s bathroom between fourth and third period? And how it will eat your essence or something? You know, dumb stuff like that?

I mean, all of it has to have an origin. People don’t just make up stuff without something sparking the idea. Even if they just went ‘hurr durr wouldn’t that be cool’ while walking by the bathroom.

But for spooky rumors, usually something is a catalyst. You don’t just say someone’s soul is gonna be sucked out just because you had a serious case of the runs… well actually, someone might if it’s a really serious shit.

But, uh, not normally.

Well, at least, that’s what I believe.

We all want to explain the things around us, even if the answer doesn’t make any sense. And so many of us are willing to just eat up whatever stupid idea joe shmoe or jane plain spews out because we don’t have the time, courage, creativity or stupidity to come with a better idea. And besides, the stories are usually pretty fun!

But honestly… I like to see if I can find out what’s behind the Octo Valley rumor. It’s not because, at this moment, I totally just got rigged into drawing the short straw of a bet. Nope. It’s pure, honest curiosity.

I’m a scientist after all. Gotta look at things objectively.

“Well, Indie, looks like you’re gonna be the one!” A friend teased.

“You’ll remembered as a hero,” Kyle laughed. His grin wasn’t a kind one. It was derisive. All these smiles were. They enjoyed this.

All of them except Saffy.

“Guys!” She chided. “Come on, this is more stupid than the time that we had Kyle snort hot sauce.” Kyle noticeably winced. Though Saffy’s tone was playful, behind the tone was a seriousness that caught everyone’s attention. This was her group and her words were law. But…

“Nah, Saf,” I shrugged as if this were no big deal, “don’t worry about it. It’s like, what, a few hours out? What’s the harm? I’ll go in, get some fresh air, roll in some daffodils, stare into a soul-crushing void, then come back perfectly fine.” I grinned.

I’d been practicing that reassuring grin. In school, smiles like that were the only thing between me and further derision. Well, that and my ‘charming’ personality.

And Saffy, whether she knew it or not, was protected by her gung-ho attitude. If she stopped showing herself as the strong-headed, bull-willed, only-direction-is-forward sort of gal she is, then she’d be attacked by those around her too.

Dog eat dog world right? That’s what Judd says anyway.

Whatever the case, I couldn’t be the reason for my friend’s high school fall from grace. What kind of friend would I be then? Not a very good one, thank you very much!

So, I’ll go and do this dumb hike thing that I totally intended to do and wasn’t forced into doing at all. I’ll do it in the name of science and Saffy and that will be that.

Saffy though, was adamant. “Then, at least let me come! Innes, let’s be honest here, you’re a wimp!” That’s why she was my one real friend. Because she cared. And because she wasn’t afraid to call me the wimp I am. Honesty is a virtue, kids.

“Awww, Saf, are you worried about me?”

“Isn’t it kind of obvious?” She hissed.

“I’m sorry. I’m too thickheaded a wimp to pick up on the subtleties of women.”

The crowd around us were hooting and howling and enjoying the show. This was all just entertainment to them, of course. A passtime. An important passtime where they distract themselves from being themselves, from maybe showing that they might be a little different from the crowd around them.

Clearly, it was pissing Saffy off. I could see the veins in her head starting to bulge and before she could say anything dumb I jumped in. “Thank you, thank you! We’ll be back right after this commercial break; hang tight ladies and gentle-dweebs!”

With that, I pulled Saffy out of the room. All I had to do was pull her away from the crowd until last period began, then they could stop throwing fuel on the fire and all would be well. I’d get this dare over with and that would be that.

As we walked out, I put a finger to my lips, as if to say “shut the fuck up for like, thirty seconds Saf, can you do that?” Her eyes were saying no, but she kept to herself.

Sure enough, thirty seconds passed and I’d managed to change the location of ground zero to outside in the courtyard.

“What is wrong with you!” She exploded. “You don’t want to do it! Why go through with it? These unranked scrubs have nothing on you. Why do you bother?”

For you. “Because I have to be ‘the hips’ or something. Like, that’s what all the young folks say nowadays, right?”

“Innes, don’t worm your way out of this one.” She was serious.

“Look, it’s easier if you just give them what they want,” I sighed. “You’re right. What do they have on me? What does it matter if I go on a silly dare? Hell, peer pressure just let me skip school and go on a relaxing hike to go mano a mano with mother nature. Heaven knows I’m due for a visit.”

“You hate the outdoors.”

“Details.”

This time, it was her turn to sigh. “Don’t hurt yourself for me. I know you’re scared of what they’ll do to you. I always am. But you can’t let them control you.”

“But Saf, bleep bloop, I’m a robot--”

“Innes.”

“Yes?”

“Please...” Just a little more. She wouldn’t hassle me much longer.

“Whoa, look at the time! Did you know it’s almost class?” Her look was pleading and angry and helpless and determined at the same time. It was a pretty compelling look. She’s scared of them. But as she subverts it by controlling them, I subvert it by pretending along.

If I changed things now, they might make fun of her for having a friend, no, a lackey like me. I couldn’t let her down like that, even if she felt like shit for it.

She had no reason to worry. I’m fine. It’s always been this way.

...but it’s nice for someone to notice.

She interrupted my self-indulgent thoughts with a very, very strong hug. “Just… be safe, okay?”

“That’s my middle name, Inn’it?”

“That was a horrible pun.”

“Full of ‘em.”

“You’re full of something,” she retorted, a rueful grin gracing her face.

Class was uninteresting. People made kissy faces at me when I walked back into the room--some thought we were dating for some reason. Honestly, people, can a guy just have a friend that’s a girl that isn’t a girlfriend?

...actually the name of that always struck me as odd. ‘Girl-friend?’ Like, why is a girl that is your friend someone who you have to be in a relationship with. God, gender is such a weird thing.

Just as weird as these people’s fixation on following each other. Honestly, before Saffy rolled along, I thought I was some kind of freak. Like my pretending was unique. I’d avoid the groups, but I’d just sort of agree with them if I brushed up against them. I thought everyone was the same and I was different.

But then, here the leader of our class year is, basically trying to avoid them all. Calling them a bunch of fakers. That got me thinking… what if we’re all like that? We’re all scared of everyone else making fun of us, so we join the group. Shun differences. Shun individuality. Anything different from us, we label as evil and call it a day.

And then my fear of them became… well, pity. I still try not to make waves, but honestly, if everyone’s hurt here, then why don’t we just drop the act and be what we are?

Whatever. It’s just the way of things.

After school, Saffy walked me to the train station, continuing to offer to join me on my journey tomorrow. I, like the proper gentleman I am, flicked her nose and told her she was worrying too much, then got off the train a stop before her.

I walked down the street down a nice neighborhood where everyone has their own picket fence, green lawn, and cute cookie-cutter house. After a few blocks, I find my place, differentiated only by its address, and walk in.

This is where you expect a certain scene, so let me enact that for you. Ahem:

“Welcome home Inny-poo! How was school???”

“Ugh moooooom,” I’d begrudgingly say, as she kisses my forehead. I’d overdramatically stress the word ‘mom’ because I’m a teen with emotions running rampant that hates the authority that honestly just wants the best for me.

“Now son,” my dad would scold, “is that any way to treat your mother?” But it would be because he legitimately cares about my growing up to be a respectful Inkling and because he’s worried about the treatment of my female parental unit.

“Oh, don’t worry yourself, it’s just a phase,” she’d say.

“But he needs to learn proper manners and blah blah--” you get the idea.

But nah. My parents are both workaholics. My dad will be home at around one in the morning, go straight to bed, then wake up at seven to do it all over again. My mom will come home a little earlier, but when she gets home at around eleven, she’s too tired to do anything, so she just eats the meal I leave for her in the fridge and beats my dad to bed.

Where my parents found the time to court one another, or even to copulate, I’ll never know.

But my whole life, I’ve been babysat until I was old enough to handle myself. Now, I cook and clean--not that much clutter happens around here--and generally deal with all the house stuff before studying.

So, I do just that. I throw the first stuff for the evening meal into the slow cooker so I can get my study on mostly uninterrupted. I don’t bookworm too long, though. Just an hour or two--a little every day goes a long way--which allows me to focus on what I really want to do...

Now before I go on, my parental units leave me a bit of money in the morning, by which I mean a lot of money, so I guess that’s a benefit of being me. I don’t spend much of it, honestly, because I like to save up for, well…

I pop into my room, where I’ve got my rad set up. My computer’s got the fastest specs I could find, with double monitors so I can make full use of its obnoxious processing power. When I’m not running a game in fullscreen and checking out a web article simultaneously, I’m working on mixing some beats and searching new samples to hack together.

I’ve got some pretty sweet cans too, with some serious sound quality. Maybe not the best--I just picked up the hobby--but I figured if I was gonna get into this, I was gonna go all the way.

I pull up my tracker and start throwing together some beats. Right now, I was trying to remake by ear my favorite chiptune battle music: Super Blooper Gal’s Final Boss. Man, good old shit. It doesn’t help that I have no training as far as music goes, but… it’s a fun way to pass the time.

I just barely noticed when the timer I’d set for the slow cooker went off. I added in some extra ingredients and went back to what I was doing.

I have to wonder sometimes what other people do with their lives. Saffy said that a lot of them go to movies or something or play games or, like, party and shit. I dunno. Why waste more time faking, I say.

What really interests me is what people do behind closed doors. And I’m not talking about lewd stuff, I mean like… who is a huge anime dork behind it all? Who’s secretly the hacker who knows how to get into the SBI’s mainframe? Who here knows each star in the sky by name and constellation? Has read every book in a novel series and is just dying to share it?

...people don’t really talk about that stuff. Kinda wish they did, honestly.

And here I am, a kid dabbling in chiptune. Did anyone know? Well, Saf did. But if I died tomorrow, if my soul really was sucked out by the abyss, what would everyone think of me?
Indie: that nerd that was a friend of Saffy’s.

Hah. The thought of it was pretty funny. Why pick now to start worrying about those things?

Somehow, it ruined the mood though, and I didn’t feel like working on the song anymore. There was still a minute to go in the reproduction but it was slow and laborious work that didn’t feel worth it now.

I didn’t want to play any games either, so instead, I just sat on my bed, staring at my rough, uncut respawn stone.

I felt that way, sometimes. Rough. Uncut. Even if everyone was faking, they always seemed to have a place to belong. Like, they fit in. I never felt that. Staring at my stone, I grinned a bit. Maybe that was why I did all these subtle things, trying to get everyone to notice that deep down, I’m troubled.

My uncut stone. My attitude that pushes people away. Never talking about my troubles. All I want is someone who would push past all that and see what I really want. Someone who I fit in with.

Saffy bubbled to mind and my sad grin melted into a softer one. I guess I do have her, huh?

Again, my train of thought was interrupted by the alarm. The simple meal was done and ready and I spooned myself a bowl of soft meat and potatoes. The onion sauce gave it a bit of flavor and I’d added a little parmesan to round things off. But just like every meal there was something missing.

I looked around the table, big enough for three. I got back to eating.

I spent the night packing things I thought I’d need plus my respawn stone for rumor confirmation, then got a good night’s rest for the hike the next day. When I woke up, there was Saffy at my door.

“Saf,” I greeted her, smiling, “why aren’t’cha at school?”

Quickly she pecked my cheek, catching me totally off guard. “I just wanted to wish you a good hike.”

“Well, uh, I, well,” I stuttered. She was pretty touchy feely, but never with the lips and the touching on the face and the um. “Yeah.” I finished.

“Just, well,” was… she blushing? “Come back safe okay? I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt.”

“Are you… are you the Saffy I know?”

Her expression soured. “And why would you ask that?”

“No memes? A peck on the cheek? Seriously.”

She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t like those are a big deal.”

“Pfff and this dare is no big deal either.”

She smiled, warming up to the banter, as usual. “Yeah, that’s the plan, right? There and back?”

“There and back, Saf. Nothing to worry about.”

Of course, the rest progressed as you’ve seen. Things are not ‘nothing to worry about.’ But they’re not all bad either.

Honestly, I was pissed when I’d fallen. Things were not going my way. I wanted things to stay the same, keep how they were, with my quirky high school drama and my lonely fortress at home. I’d continue that chiptune song, eat my dinner alone and forget I’d ever been dared to look into the abyss.

But I fell. And I’d been, well, not happy. But… fulfilled? Something about waking up with someone (an attractive someone, I might add) watching your back, walking a bajillion miles a day, then slowly getting to know that partner, well, it was… relaxing.

I mean, I might be biased. We got lucky; nothing happened after that first bandit raid. Sure we got our path blocked from getting home but, well… honestly, I was a little glad. Some little voice in the back of my head sighed with relief knowing I’d get to keep travelling with Mabyn.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to go home. But, I don’t know… I feel like I’m getting to know this place a bit better. Like, before, this was literally the depths. I’d stare in and I’d lose my soul. But instead, I feel like I’d gained something.

I’d never tell that to Mabyn of course. She doesn’t need to know that I’m weaker than I already am. That when I was in my perfect, utopian society, I felt I was missing something. She’s so strong and streetsmart… and pretty. And when you got her going, she could actually hold a pretty interesting conversation. I don’t want her to think less of me.

Is this why people conform and shit? But like, what do I conform to? I’m just my own dorky self.

Whatever. The point is… something about seeing this town in disarray really felt off. Before it had been a bastion of technology and blooming hope. Now it seemed dead.

And as selfish as it was, I had a nagging feeling that this was where my happy journey ended. And I don’t want that.

Chapter Text

This empty feeling. As I looked around the broken city, its once-proud lights flickering, I felt a familiar, dark feeling bubble up. I held my Octoshot in a trembling hand, the fear washing over me as freshly as a year ago when I had failed Jetty 3.

“Are you okay, Maybn?” Innes asked, quietly, putting a hand on my shoulder. Instantly, I whipped around, brandishing my weapon.

Realizing what I had done, I turned away. “Oy’m fine.”

“Are you sure? If you want, we could just find another city and--”

“No,” I cut in, automatically. Not this time. I wasn’t going to run away. If she was here, I would face her. Innes, picking up on my intensity, simply nodded as we proceeded further into the city.

The night of the festival was so different, with this town’s brilliant lights and stuffy crowds. Then, I’d found them stifling. But now, with only the sound of a distant water wheel, I missed the bustle. The lingering dead aura was too familiar.

The silence made each step into the city a gunshot, ripping through the thin, muted veil lacing the ghost town. My steps never felt slower as I walked, shivering.

I glanced to my weapon hand. I was still shaking. Was it fear of the Devil? That was absurd. I was assuming her presence with nothing but a feeling. There was no way of knowing it was her for sure. But then, who else could--

“--we should look for someone,” Innes suggested. I just nodded. His interjection was more than welcome. I needed something to take my mind off this.

We began to look inside the small homes. Innes began by knocking on the doors, a hollow sound echoing from within. After no response, we’d walk right in. Nobody had locks here.

They were too trusting.

The first house we checked was rather plain. A collection of clay furnishings with signs of life scattered about. A plate with a half-eaten meal on it. A few crude toy lying on a hand-woven rug. On the only table in the middle of the house was a photograph of a happy family… must have cost a fortune.

I set the picture face-down.

After affirming there was no one there, we moved to the next house. Here, it looked like there was a struggle. A few chairs were knocked to the ground, shattered in whatever mayhem must have taken place. Storage units of all kinds, a shelf, a bookcase, a cupboard, they were all broken in.

I didn’t want to think about what happened here. We left soon after. There was no one there.

The third home was the same. And the fourth. And the fifth. One after the other, each house was lifeless, in disarray or both. Everywhere, there were signs of people leaving or fighting. And what was left? Empty shells of homes where people used to live.

We kept looking and looking and even Innes seemed to lose hope.

“Mabyn,” he said, with finality. “Where did everyone go?”

“...Oy certainly ‘ope Oy don’t know.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. If she knew something about what was going on, then I wish she’d just spill it. Like, seriously. This was spooky as hell.

As we picked through empty hut number fifty-seven or something, I spotted a photograph. These people must love their polaroids, because each house has one in the center or something. They’re always of family or some shiz. Kind of adorable, honestly.

This one was just a lone Octarian. Seemed kind of small; a lot like that little Octarian gal--Augusta, I think was her name--we led around the night of the festival. I hope she’s okay. Whatever might have happened here was spooking Mabyn and I’d hate for something to happen to the little tentacle-girl.

After a bit of combing the home, picking through another thousand shards of pottery-furniture, Mabyn finally spoke up. “Oy don’ wanna talk abou’ it.” Well, that was rare. Normally she’s just ignore me. Maybe that means… I’ll coax just a touch more.

“Well, I understand… but if there’s something I should be prepared for, I’d like to have the opportunity to, you know, uh, prepare for it. Whatever it is.” Execution as smooth as silk.

This time I got ignored. Okay, back to the expected. Makes sense. I decided to drop the issue, so, after leaving the home for the next, we walked down the street. Then, again, she spoke up out of the blue. “The Crimson Devil,” she whispered.

“Come again?”

“The Crimson Devil,” she said, more resolute. As she looked me in the eyes, I could see something there that I’d never seen before. She looked shaken.

Now see, I don’t see Maybn as a person who spooks easily. I don’t like to think of myself as someone who spooks easily. But picking through a million empty houses with this really confident gal… well… Let’s just say her mood was infectious. She was scared. I was getting scared.

Just gotta dispel it. Yeah. “So… who dat?” I asked, flippantly, attempting to brush off the chill that ran down my spine.

“It… she,” she corrected herself. “She was a terror of the battlefield akin ta myth.”

“So, if she’s a myth then--”

“She ain’t. A year ago, she’s an inkling what took out a third of our army by ‘erself.”

“Hoo boy that sounds… uh, hairy,” was all I could say.

“She began ta be known by ‘er choice of ink, a deep crimson, which left the battlefield drenched in red--”

“Wait, wait hold up,” I interrupted. “Go back, go back. One girl--alone--took out a third of a highly trained army. By herself? Again, just her?”

“She ‘ad an experimental weapon on ‘er that made her better but…” she looked away before saying the next part, “she was also just incredibly skilled.”

“But what does this have to do with... this?” I motioned all around at the empty city.

...Please don’t let this mean what I think it means. Please.

“A year ago, the Crimson Devil disappeared, but not before takin’ out one of our major cities. Anyone that stuck aroun’ was slaughtered.”

All except for me.

The memory of waking up alone, in pain but alive, still haunted me to this day. For some reason, the Crimson Devil had chosen to spare me and only me. I woke up in a house I’d never seen before, in the abandoned husk that was once Jetty 3.

I’d considered living there in the lonely town. There were ample supplies and it was one of the few that produced its own food. But something about being a vulture struck me as distasteful.

Somehow, I had to live for something now. Before this, I’d never really considered why I lived. Strength ruled everything. If I was strong, I could live. If not, I would die. But for once, seeing this whole Jetty die pointlessly while I still lived… I had to wonder why.

Why was I alive?

The only answer that I could abide was atonement. Anything else just felt disgusting. I’d always lived for myself but now, if I was to live where thousands were to die… what was the point? I’m not worth a city… I’m not...

“Maybn? You okay?” Innes’ voice pulled me back.

“Yea,” I responded. “Oy’m fine.”

“You just spaced out in the middle of the tragic tale™.”

“...Trademark?”

“Don’t worry about it. What happened to that Jetty?”

“Well…” I thought for a bit, trying to pull together what information I’d heard around. “A few months later, people began ta come back to the Jetty. Many o’ the survivors came back to their ‘omes and others took up residence in what other places were left.”

“Huh. Economical,” Innes commented. “But isn’t it, you know, a little disrespectful to just… you know… live in someone else's house after… you know… like… a massacre?”

“We ain’ got much choice.” I shrugged. “Jetty 3 is big for a reason.”

“And that is?”

“If ya’d stop interrupting me,” I growled. “Oy’d get to it.”

“Heh, okay.” Something about his self-important tone irritated me. But in a comfortable way.

“As Oy was sayin’, Jetty 3 is a farming city. They make most of the food around ‘ere, being that they have some of the only farmable land.”

“Huh,” was all Innes said. We continued looking for survivors, but I didn’t feel so empty now. As long as I had a friend… things would be fine.

I glanced at him. It was weird seeing Innes without his braid--he was keeping it under the cap I’d gotten for him. Without it, somehow, the sharp features of his gaunt face were more pronounced. His skin, a deep olive, seemed somehow made him seem suited to the Valley.

...I really wanted him to stay.

We kept on checking homes, one by one, not wanting to give up on the possibility of a survivor. This Jetty was one of the larger ones… she couldn’t have killed everyone.

She couldn’t have.

“Hey Mabyn, do you think that maybe--”

“Don’ say it!” I snapped.

“...say what?” He returned, oblivious to my thoughts. He looked worried. Fuck.

“None a’ yers,” I muttered.

“There’s one I haven’t heard in awhile,” he grinned.

I didn’t say anything back.

“Well,” he continued, “I was going to suggest we look for the kettle-thingy-doodad. Seeing if it’s still around and active, seems like a pretty decent break from all this… you know. Searching.”

I grunted. He seemed to take that as approval, because he asked, “so where is the thingy?”

“Would be in the plaza. Remember the bridge? Aroun’ there.”

“Kay kay!” He beamed, his eyes scanning my reactions. He always seemed to know when I was feeling bad. It was revealing and comforting and yet scary all at the same time.

Thinking that, something slipped out of my mouth that I’d never intended. “Are ya worried?” It came out as more of a question, a passing thought given words. I didn’t know if I regretted saying them or not but…

“Of course I’m worried about you!” I exclaimed. Le duh! “You’ve seemed hot and bothered about this place since we got here and seeing you, one of the toughest peeps I know... worried? Well, why wouldn’t I be too!”

She seemed kind of miffed that I would feel this way. You know? Worried? For her emotional state of being? For our safety? I think she’s so used to worrying about me and making sure we don’t die out in the middle of rock-bottom nowhere that she forgot that I’m not entirely dead weight.

I want to be useful for her. She’s been here for me since day one and here she is, zonked over something.

“If it’s scary, even to you, and you don’t want to leave then I want to be useful somehow,” I noted, finally. “I mean, after all, you’re doing this entirely out of courtesy. You’ve had this weird vibe all through this exploration and I’m not sure how to read it.”

“Yea.” Some tension managed to lift from her features. She stood a little straighter, if anything. Well, it’s a start.

I can’t help but wonder what happened to her. I mean, it’s obvious times a million that she was kicked out of the military. Then, here we are, with a sudden James Frond coming out of nowhere, murdering a major city.

So, seeing her reaction now, she probably had something to do with this Crimson Devil and the incident with the other ghost town. Not to mention, only a few nights ago, in this very city, she’d confessed her insecurities to me. That she was worried about not screwing up.

So, the million dollar question is: what did Frond to do her that made her so wary?

Quietly, we made our way to the center of the city, the place she said the kettle would be. I tried a few times to make conversation, but the only response was the distant murmur of the river bubbling through the city. The clack of our shoes on the paved roadway seemed the only indicator that we were still moving.

Everywhere I looked, I still half-expected someone to come from around the corner and greet us. At the festival, you couldn’t walk three steps without running into some Octarian go-go kart or bumping into a tiny octo-thing.

This was just horrible. All these people, dead or displaced. At first, when I entered here, I felt a mild discomfort. Like entering an empty home but on a city-wide thing. Then, as Mabyn explained everything to me, as I saw the destruction one person can harness that discomfort slowly melted into disgust. Like… I think I might actually puke. I mean, I can’t do that with Mabyn around but maybe if I could slip away for a bit...

Unfortunately, it wasn’t too long before we found the place. It wasn’t exactly obvious--Mabyn had to point it out to me--but I’d compare it to a subway. The hub was just a covered shelter for a set of wide stairs that led down into an even deeper cavern.

Mabyn leading the way, we delved into the depths.

As soon as we got to the bottom of the stairs, I led Innes, putting my goggles on.

Normally, the water wheels would provide enough power to light the transport hub, but right now, they obviously didn’t. Though I had vision, Innes was just going to have to go blind. For his sake, I walked slowly to the nearest kettle.

“What now?” he asked.

“On the floor will be the kettles,” I answered. “Be careful where ya step and stop when Oy stop; Oy don’ wanna damage ‘em.”

Even at a shambling pace, it didn’t take long to get to the first one in the circular room. Supposedly, it led to cloyster 47, not that their destination really mattered. Kneeling down, I felt the cold metal grate pull me in with the gentle force all kettles exude. “Feels undamaged. Should work.”

“So, uh, that’s it?” he asked. “You just, feel it?” Instead of answering him, I grabbed his hand. Guiding him, I let him feel the grate himself. “Ahh, I see. ...I don’t see, what am I feeling here? It’s like I just put my hand on another person’s sucker and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.”

“This is a kettle,” I sighed, ignoring his note. “It’ll pull ya in if ya turn into ink form,” I explained. “Tha’s what the pull is.”

“I… see?”

“It’ll make more sense when we go through--”

I cut my explanation short because in front of me was something I never thought I’d find: A survivor. Shuddering against the curved wall of the room was a Tako, one of the smallest Octarians. Maybe it was because of his size or because he had chosen to hide early on… but he appeared to have avoided the tragedy.

“What’s up Mabyn?”

“Someone’s in ‘ere with us.”

“Wait, really!?” Innes immediately perked up. “Hey, uh!” he shouted in the wrong direction, “hey we’re here to help! Are you okay?”

He called out a few more times, but no matter what Innes said, the Tako didn’t respond. He just kept shivering.

I led Innes to him so I could get a closer look. “Oi,” I prodded, gently. “Are ya alright?” There was no response.

Pulling out the valuable trinkets I’d collected over the years and shoving them into my breastplate, I slid off my mantle for the first time in ages and draped it over the Tako. Finally, he responded. “Is this death?”

“Uhhh, nope dude,” Innes joked. “Still alive.”

“Is there… anyone else?” the survivor asked, hopelessly.

“Shh,” I comforted, patting him reassuringly though my mantle. “Don’ worry ‘bout that right now.”

“If it isn’t too much to ask,” Innes went on, “could you tell us what happened here?” As he spoke, we began to walk toward the exit. It was a slow trek, though, because the Tako made such small movements. It didn’t help that his shivering hadn’t stopped and was making each step he took excruciatingly slow.

“It… she… the Devil…” ...that confirmed it.

“You don’ need to go on, if ya don’ wanna--”

But he did. “She came, wif an Oathbreaker…” he said the word with awe and with fear. “She… it... went into each house. It jus’ went in and…” he trailed off, as if remembering things he didn’t want to.

“I’s okay now,” I reassure him. “I’s fine.”

Innes seemed to get the hint and didn’t prod him for anything else. Instead, we continued the slow shuffle to the exit.

As we did, the little Octarian began muttering “my baby… my poor baby” and sniffling. The slow walk to the stairs, paired with his plead for his child, made each moment excruciating.

“My poor baby, Augusta…”

“Wait... wait who?” Innes suddenly snapped. Augusta… that name… why does it sound…

“She was my precious daughter. She meant the world ta me. Oy wen’ lookin’ fer her after she got lost in a crowd… an’ when Oy foun’ ‘er, she was wif… it.”

This couldn’t end well. “Oy was too afraid ta approach. Oy was a coward. Oy…”

...just hid. My mind instantly filled in the gaps. The fear. The pain. It flooded back as the Tako told the story.

Memories of my dogging the Devil through the streets raced through my head. Just sitting back and watching tragedy after tragedy happen. And I did…

“...did nothing! I didn’!!” He sniffed hard. The shivering, which I’d thought had been bad before, was now violent. “Oy watched ‘er casually pop me daughter! Oy’m the worst! Oy...! Oy deserve to die. But Oy hid. Oy jus’...”

“Shh…” I went, again, half to him, half to my own flood of memories. As if a simple ‘shush’ could seal away the guilt, fear, anguish and negativity. We were now at the stairs. “Shh… it’s over now.” But no amount of words could take back the regret. No consolation could bring back what was lost. I knew that better than anyone.

“Where did they go?” I asked, suddenly. I was the last person I expected to spit out these words, words that obviously meant I wanted to chase after a myth, a demon that would murder my face off and then shit on my remains. And yet... “You were hiding in here, right? Which kettle did they take?”

“Ya don’ mean ta… fight ‘er do ya?” the Octarian asked, fearfully.

“Of course not!” I exclaimed. Excuse… excuse… excuse... “I just wanted to know where she’d gone so we could avoid her, you know?”

Solid. Well, not really. Mabyn was giving me a weird look. But whatever. This was important.

“She took Kettle 45. Oy urge ya not ta throw yer lives away. Take any path but tha’!”

“Will do,” I lied. Even now I was only beginning to finally understand. That sick feeling was gone. Instead, I was just burning in my gut. I’d never, not once in my life, felt a hatred this deep. I’d never felt that someone should just go fuck themselves, land in a pit of spikes, rend out their insides and die.

But if there was ever someone who deserved this, well, I’ve found it. A genocidal maniac. But I had a bad feeling. Something in the back of my mind that nagged me. I needed to clear that up.

I might have an idea of who James Frond was. And I didn’t like the secret identity. I hoped and prayed that I wasn’t on to something.

After Innes’ question, there were only a few steps to go to exit the underground transportation system. But as we got out into the flickering light of the town, I heard a shocked gasp. A gasp of outrage. Something about it caught my attention. The Tako was looking at me. ...no he was looking at my stump.

But it wasn’t the usual disgust. This was something else entirely. Quickly, he cast off my mantle, whether more in rage or in fear, I didn’t know.

“You!” he said, unfiltered anger flashing through his voice. “You! Traitor! What are ya doin’ showin’ yer face aroun’... oh oy git it!” Quickly, the Tako ripped free from our grasps. “Yer in league with the Devil! Jus’ like before!”

“No!” I shouted, unable to stay calm. All the emotion from before cascaded over me. I wanted to run away. I wanted to stand my ground. I didn’t know what I wanted. “Oy only…!”

“Stuff it!” The angry Octarian exclaimed. “Ye were trouble from the start! Git away! Leave me be!” As he spoke, he backed away, emotion raging through him. ...he was still trembling.

But instead of standing his ground, he ran. More memories flooded. Walking away. So many times. As people died. I did nothing. I didn’t want to count the number of pops I head. The scared screams. The times I looked away, trying to ignore what was happening.

Even now I looked away, instinctively, I turning to Innes.

It took a while, but I realized what I wanted was for him to tell me what to do. He always seemed to know what to do, at least with emotions and stupid shit like that. I’d only ever seen him flip once, and that was when he fell.

I needed a direction. What was I supposed to do now? I’d asked myself so many times. But never anyone else.

He’d given me something to do with myself. Maybe I could make this work. Maybe I’d redeem myself, if only in my own eyes. Then maybe, I’d have some of that mental strength he seems to carry with him.

A million wants running through my mind, I bored holes into Innes’ skull, waiting for some response. And yet he stood still in contemplation, his face stony, as he asked “what’s an Oathbreaker?”

I needed to know. I needed to know for sure. I knew the rumors, and I think I’ve connected the dots. The color of ink. The incredible skill. If this weapon were what I thought it was then I couldn’t ignore that the target of my hate might just be...

There’s no way… my social butterfly of a friend…. The sweet girl who’d kissed me goodbye and wished me good luck… the idea that she could murder hundreds or thousands of people and still maintain her facade…

No. No it couldn’t be her.

Or maybe I just didn’t want to funnel all this sudden fire into my best friend.

“An Oathbreaker is what mos’ say won the war for the Inklings,” Mabyn began. “ At a conference where they ‘ad supposedly surrendered to the Octarians and their bioweapons, they sent a lone emissary ta decide on ‘ow land would be split.

“This emissary ain’t what he seemed though,” she went on. “Though ‘e appeared to have a simple cane on him, it turned out ta’ be a deadly weapon. Where we ‘ad built weapons a’ mass destruction… they ‘ad built an Octarian killing machine.”

...the Bamboozler.

“It was small, light-weight, long-range and ‘ad enough power ta destroy most Octarians in a third of a second. After this, there weren’t a single battle they weren’t found in. But before, it weren’t known as anythin.

“So when the deal ‘ad supposedly closed, an’ everyone was leavin’ the dreaded emissary, now known as Captain Cuttlefish, gunned down each major leader in turn. The matter was over in only a few seconds.

“The only one to survive the onslaught, the only one ta react fast enough were the DJ; ‘e was one o’ the few Octoling leaders at tha meeting, so ‘e could take more than one shot an’ wasn’t a giant target. But it was all ‘e could do ta escape…”

Something in me wanted to say wow, Mabyn, never seen you talk so much all in one go. But I held my tongue. Too many important things going down.

The only red-inked Inkling that was stupidly good and fucked around with a Bamboozler … no… I don’t want to believe it.

There was still a chance that this was some highly skilled agent. Anyone could use red ink. Anyone could use an Octarian-killing weapon against Octarians. Made sense, even.

This hate needed an outlet. But on the remote chance that this was Saffy, or that some government ploy was using me as an excuse to murder all these innocent people all over again, well...

“Innes?”

...one way or another… this tragedy…

He didn’t respond. He seemed lost in thought. Was he… considering what the Tako had said? What did he think of it? Did he think I was a traitor?

For some reason, that was worse than being hated by everyone else.

And the worst part was that they--and Innes--would be perfectly justified in hating me.

I did nothing. I failed to notice the Devil loosening her binds. I failed to protect Jetty 3. I failed at my last stand. I even failed at dying for the cause.

I was a failure and this…

...was my responsibility and I would make things right.

...was my fault and I would own up to my mistakes.

Chapter Text

Desolation.

That was the only word that came to mind as I walked through the hollow remains city. And all I could feel was a radical disconnect. Presumably, this had been a bustling city for the Octarians not more than three hours ago, when Saffy had sent me to look for a safe place to camp. That’s what the size implied anyway. And now all that was left were stone houses with smudges of red and black.

I looked over to the black-inked Octarian. Did he just betray his own kin? The thought was stomach-turning in and of itself, if the carpet of black ink was at all indicative of his participation.

And why?

I wanted to give Saffy pardon though. She couldn’t know that the Octarians didn’t have respawn stones? There was no way. The only reason I bear any such knowledge lies in my family’s history of controlling stone distribution. Despite our tentative truce with the lesser race, not a single stone journeys down here.

All these thoughts and more ran through my head as the gruff man grunted, “not gonna ‘ave much time--gotta collect supplies and git. Soldiers are gonna mobilize to ‘ere. Slowly, mind, ‘cause they’re still busy with little internal issues. But they’ll be ‘ere within a few days. Oy wanna be plenty gone by then.”

“Days!?” I let out, exasperated, “A city is brought to complete and utter annihilation and it’ll take days, even with the benefits of instant transportation, to respond to such a crisis?”

“Ye.” He said, grinning. I could tell from his self-satisfied look that there was more, but that he wasn’t going to reveal any further. In fact, he was probably having fun with this. I scanned him up and down, but his empty smile and saunter filled with bravado told me nothing more.

This man was practiced in hiding his thoughts. That, in conjunction with his sociopathic nature was perturbing. I didn’t want anything to do with this man.

Unfortunately, Saffy didn’t seem to share such worries. “We’re going to collect provisions,” she began. The Octarian tossed me a rather hefty rucksack. “Gotta be prepared. Something something dangerous to go alone.”

I wanted to object, but words failed me. I was too busy taking in all of the destruction to formulate my thoughts on it. Instead of questioning the black spatter on the road, I simply avoided it. I didn’t pay any attention to the red oozing off the walls. I was too busy thinking to worry about the loaves of bread and odd beans they had me collecting.

The disconnect was there. Something was wrong here. It was obvious. But for some reason, I couldn’t totally put it together.

I know this is mass murder. I know that I’m travelling with a homicidal maniac with no problem culling his own kind. I know I am on the run from an army. I know that there’s something obvious I’m missing. And I know it’s something I don’t want to accept.

Should I press it? I don’t want to believe this is happening. But why?

“Ya ‘kay rainbow booties?” The interjection drew me from my thoughts. It was the Octarian--an Octoling, now that I realize. Right. We were on the bridge. We were collecting food from the abandoned stalls.

I looked from him to my half-filled sack, my thoughts still permeating my reality more than anything physical. So, almost automatically, I responded, “yeah. I’m fine.”

“Well yer not lookin’ it,” he replied, his eyebrow quirked. Something about this man irked me. Perhaps it was the constant grin on his oddly perfect face. Maybe it was the constant casual air about him. Maybe it was all this with the fact that his body language screamed ‘relaxed’ paired with the gun in his hand. A killer’s gun.

I nodded in return, an uneasy gesture. He seemed to pick up that I was uncomfortable and his grin widened. But he didn’t say anything more.

We picked through the refuse for quite a while longer. I was in charge of collecting food while Saffy and the Octoling looked for various supplies. As the bridge was littered with various foodstuffs, I was largely rooted here, filling a number of sacks with fruits and vegetables and beans I didn’t recognize while they went off to inspect some other area the Octoling suggested.

I almost wished they hadn’t left me alone, because then, my only compatriot was my own thoughts. It was hard work to keep my mind from the inferno of questions raging through my subconscious. The effort was driving me mad.

Though it all one face kept coming to mind. Saffy’s. And try as I might hold it back, the question came back: “why did she do it?”

I didn’t want to think about it. I knew that once the question was formed. I didn’t want to know the answer. I just wanted to go back to our merry journey. It was difficult, sure but...

I had to make a deal with myself to keep sane. I must relieve some of this tension and ask Saffy her prerogative. But alone. That Octoling made me wary and I hate people that make me wary.

Most people are easy to read, once you spend years watching them. Their body indicates their thoughts. Their words can belie their mood. Nonverbals so often can’t help but exclaim truth.

This Octoling, however, was lacking in the latter component. I couldn’t read his body language. Whatever person feels the need to hide their thoughts so keenly is not the kind I wish to be associated with, even for good reason.

I picked up a stale loaf of bread--it’d been left out in the air too long, losing its fresh quality. The situation was much like the bread, I suppose. The calm journey had been nice while it lasted, but it was getting harder and staler each moment. What a time to wax poetic.

Before, I had been happy, almost ecstatic at the chance to be around my love, my hero. Each step of our journey, grueling as it was, brought us closer together. But having seen the crimson splatterings of ink evaporating into the chasm air, I felt the gap between us widen even greater.

As I let my body act out its part, automatically collecting what looked like nonperishable food items, I found myself stumbling into a decomposing puddle of red ink. The discomfort shot up my leg almost instantly, tensing my muscles as the color threatened to infect my body. As quickly as I could manage, I tore myself out of the oozing corpse.

I couldn’t help but think who this person had been. What life did they lead here? Were the happy? Were they successful? Did they have a family? A wife? A child?

...No, best not to ruminate. The thoughts were a flame boiling a sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach, making me light-headed. I had to control myself. Under this influence, I would act irrationally.

While I worked to stifle everything unwanted flooding my mind, the most burning question sprung to mind again, clearer now: why did she do this? I could not justify this level of violence, no matter how I tried.

That isn’t to say I can’t understand when violence is used, of course; after all, I understood when she came to my aide; I feel like the force was unnecessary and I could have handled myself, had the situation gotten unsavory, but she did was she had to. Here… perhaps it is not my place to judge. I wasn’t there after all.

I can only hope that something Saffy says to me brings my mind to ease.

Time passed in such an unusual manner such that there was no way for me to gauge when the two returned. I dazedly remember them showing me a number of useful tools. A map, a flashlight, some sort of currency in excess--there were more things, but I didn’t really process them.

“Hey dude, you okay?” Saffy asked. Her genuine concern only lightly brushed my consciousness.

“Yes, baby, I’m fine.”

“...if you can still joke like that, I suppose so.” She still seemed worried. My inner thoughts told me that I shouldn’t be worrying her. I’m here to help her, not to hinder.

But what am I helping her do? Came thoughts, unbidden. Find her friend? Or…

I was walking, I realized. We were headed somewhere and, after applying a little more focus, I realized that the Octoling was explaining something.

“...headed to an abandoned Cloister. They likely expect ya ta try to head up considerin’ they’ve blocked off yer easier escape route. So le’s ‘ead down, bide our time an’ gather some more info on yer friend.”

“But won’t that give them more time to prepare, I dunno, a defensive position around any escape route?” Saffy retorted.

“Ya don’ understand the effects ya ‘ad on these people,” the man chuckled. “Wifout their leader, the ‘military’ ‘re bunch’a groups squabblin’ over power. None’a ‘em will devote much effort ta’ stoppin’ ya. ‘Ell! They’ll try ta make use a’ ya, mos’ likely.”

Saffy seemed to find this idea unsavory. “I’d love to see them try,” she rebuked, bitterly.

“Ye; wif me on yer side, it’ll be ‘arder, fer certain, but Oy’m talkin abou’ directin’ yer fury. Tryin’ ta lead ya in one direction ‘er another.” He shrugged. “Ya know. Deflect the problem to yer enemies?”

Saffy just rolled her eyes. “So where did you think was a good idea to bunker down?”

“Well,” he began, his grin widening, “Oy think that the best place ta ‘ide would be an old amusement park--”

“Stupid; choose another place.”

“Nah, nah, nah, ‘ear me out!” The Octoling pleaded, his eyes twinkling. “These’re a people who ‘aven’t ‘ad power in years. And what’s the first thing ‘ta go when ya lose ‘lectricity?”

“Uh…” Saffy went, racking her brain.

But it was clear: Nonessentials.

“Get used ta usin’ yer brain more, girly!” The man chuckled. “I’s the things people don’ need. Entertainment is near the tippy top on tha’ list.”

“Ah. Makes sense,” Saffy agreed, nodding.

Though his logic was sound, assuming he wasn’t lying about the nature of the state. That is, in turmoil. But what really got me was what he said about Saffy. Like she was some sort of weapon. Just what did he mean?

Saffy was a skilled battler, that was for certain, but I have a hard time believing that she’d be strong enough to scare any large body of power… even if she did have some sort of history with the Octarians.

I mean, she’s amazing and all, but she isn’t a huge threat… not one on the level of something you need to direct at your enemies as a weapon. ...Right?

“Before we continue,” Saffy went on, “you said you knew something about my friend?”

“Yea,” the Octoling said, shrugging. “Oy got some ideas.”

“Ideas, huh. Okay, info or gtfo…”

The Octoling shot a glance to me. After a moment, I caught his meaning and added, “gtfo means ‘get the fuck out.’”

“Ah, Oy see.” The Octoling grinned wider… again. His teeth were showing this time, revealing a vile set, sharp and gleaming. “Well, see, when ‘e showed up ere, Oy saw ‘im fall from the wall. Now like the saint Oy am, Oy showed up to ‘elp ‘im out, Oy did. But another gal had found ‘im first.”

“And?” Saffy coaxed.

“Well, ‘e was at gunpoint so me partner and Oy were gonna ‘elp ‘im out. But tha’ was our mistake. Turns out tha’ ‘e was bein’ ‘eld prisoner by the Traitor.”

“Who?”

“One-armed Octoling, ya may remember ‘er as yer jailkeeper.”

“...how’s she doing?”

“Well enough ta beat the livin’ daylights outta me!” The Octoling chuckled. “‘Ad me knocked down in a matter of seconds. ‘N’ Oy’m pretty sure that yer friend ‘ad the wrong idea, ‘cause ‘e scared off me partner.”

“Okay but how is this useful?”

“Well! After this fun encounter, Oy wen’ to my employer fer reasons--fired me for unrelated reasons, mind!--‘n’ the Traitor popped outta nowhere and threatened ‘im for a map! Boy was Oy shocked! But me employer ‘ad it even worse. Shat himself! Hah!”

Saffy’s glare told both me and him that she didn’t care.

“Alright, alright, fine! Fine, don’ want any embellishment? Borin’. A’ight, basically, the Traitor ‘as been ‘oppin’ from town to town, from place ta place until she’s recognized. She’s a fugitive, but can’t rightfully get out of Octo Valley fer various reasons. So she’s doin’ the quick fix of hunkerin’ down in places that she’s not recognized. As long as she ‘ides her missin’ arm, she’s rarely even noticed.

“So,” pulling out their own map, the Octoling began to trace a path, “seein’ tha’ she skipped town after our little incident, Oy’d say… she took this path or this path… or this path. After all, she’s already hit ‘ere, ‘ere and ‘ere.” With quick movements, the man deftly pointed from one dot to another, cutting off certain routes with quick and clean information.

“Since she can’t go ta any o’ these, the first few roads Oy showed is most likely, prolly hittin’ a few landmarks along the way so as not ta’ get too lost. That said, she coulda taken another route, but it’d be more risky ‘n’ if Oy’m bein’ honest, Oy ain’ got a clue where she’s ‘eaded, just ways o’ least resistance.”

“So how does that help us?”Saffy tutted. “I thought we were trying to find, you know, my friend???”

“If yer friend is smart--‘e is smart right?”

“Yes!” Saffy huffed, exasperated.

“Then ‘e prolly is ‘avin’ her as a guide. But whether she’s actually leadin’ ‘im home is… well, Oy dunno. She is the Traitor after all.” Something about the gleam in his eye as he said that last bit made me wary. He was trying to paint a picture. But why?

“So then what do you wanna do? We have a lead, but no way to pursue it. Kind of useless.”

“I prefer to say ‘a start,’” the Octoling looked Saffy in the eye, obviously pretending to be hurt. “But my idea would be ‘ta get more info. This gives us the right questions. Now we jus’ gotta coax the right tongues to give us a bit more.”

“Tl;dr, that’s why we’re headed to a dead circus?”

“Basically. So! Is it a deal?” He held out his hand, one of the few parts of his body not covered in the skintight, long-sleeved battle-wear he donned. It was scarred, almost amazingly so, contrasting poorly with his pristine face.

Saffy, for the first time, looked to me. My gut told me not to trust him or any candy-coated conundrum rolling off his silver tongue. But this was her battle and I had other things to worry about. So I just shrugged.

Taking that as agreement, Saffy turned back to him, and returned his handshake. “You have a deal…”

“Longinus. Call me Longinus. And Oy trust ye’ll ‘old up yer end o’ the bargain?”

“Yeah. I’ll get you the hell out of this pit.”

Chapter Text

The Octarian, after running, had cast off my mantle, so I went and picked it back up. I don’t take it off often, and the chill got to me pretty quickly. It was hard to shimmy on the garment with my mementos in hand, but eventually I got it to lay back in place.

I set the trinkets back one by one, familiarizing myself with them again. I still don’t like them. But as always, they reminded me that I’m alive. Right now, I think I needed that.

The ripped photo brought a fresh wave of disgust. I didn’t need to look at my sire to remember the loss of my mother and how it was partially his fault. The rest of the blame lay on me. I set the photo down in the inner pocket.

The fork reminded me of my mom and how she supported me. It meant comfort and a promise of something better. So I set it down quickly. No time for that. Dreams never solved problems.

Finally, I played with the pin. It’s been rolled up since I’ve used it last, and I’ve since lost its pair. But it reminded me of the army I was once a part of and a cause I never cared about until after it was too late.

I let myself play with the hairclip as Innes spoke. “Where does Kettle 45 go?” he asked, a distant voice, separated by my thoughts.

“Abandoned carnival,” I responded, automatically. “Nawt a good plan ta follow.”

“Why?”

“...it’s a slum filled wif’ scum o’ all kind. Again, nawt a good plan.”

This time, there was no response. Instead, he began marching down the kettle steps. Ignoring my own warning, I followed.

I rolled the clip around in my hand, uncoiling it and letting it coil again. As we descended, I let memories flow through my head, almost as if from the clip itself.

Basic training was interesting. They quickly found I didn’t work with groups, but excelled in combat beyond any other recruit. Despite my malformation, I was stronger than anyone else. I was a freak and felt it. But at least people respected me.

I wanted to be the best and prove to them once and for all I was strong enough to be one of them. Like somehow, if I was powerful enough, I’d be able to finally fit in. I should have known better. A freak is a freak and no amount of respect can close that gap.

The climb down was silent, except for the clack of our shoes against the hardened clay steps. But it wasn’t long before Innes asked another question.

“Where is the military?”

Silence. I had nothing I wanted to say.

He seemed to take my silence as confusion, so he went on. “You know? The police? Armed guard? Or are the people expected to protect themselves?”

I shrugged, opening my mouth to say something. If anything came out it would be about how this was my fault. How, because I had failed to retain the Crimson Devil, she went on to take out our DJ. How, without our military and political leader, our nation had split into three sects. How, because of that, most of their military forces were guarding against each other in a power struggle.

Instead, all that I did was shrugged.

“Worrying,” Innes uttered. “I don’t want to stick around or come back in case someone shows up to investigate. Are there any ways to get out of the Cloister once we enter, besides coming back here?”

I had less trouble answering this question. “Probably. Not many cloisters ‘ave only one kettle leadin’ in an’ out. An’ this one’s a carnival so prolly ‘as a lot of exits.”

But I don’t think he listened after ‘probably.’ His pace, marching into the dark, was steady and confident.

If only I were that strong.

For all of my strength, I had never been confident. I always wanted more consolation. If I just could beat everyone in physical fitness. If I could just outmatch everyone in dueling exercises... if I could just learn one more combat technique... if I could just capture the Devil… if I kill the Devil; truly destroy her this time…

“Mabyn.” Innes interjected, interrupting my train of thought. “I can’t see in the dark. Can you lead us to the right kettle?”

I grunted, putting on my goggles and grabbing his hand. It was unusually sweaty. It was as if in just that time between now and talking with the Octarian he’d caught a fever.

...the Octarian. What did Innes think of me now? Did he hate me? Did he stay with me only to get home? And… could I redeem myself to him too by catching her?

It was a short walk to the kettle and I let him hop on first. “So,” he began, “I just turn into a squid and this’ll take me to that carnival place?”

I nodded before realizing he couldn’t see me, so I grunted to confirm.

“Got it,” he said. And without hesitation, I could hear the telltale signs of boiling, a quick hiss and a pop. That was my queue to join him, so I got on and melted in.

The travel is different for everyone, though the sensation of melting is at the same time liberating and disturbing. It feels good, to me, to break apart and then reform somewhere else. But for others…

When I got to the other end, Innes was clutching his head, groaning in pain. It appeared so fierce that I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to travel by kettle anymore and would need to actually find the tunnels out.

“Innes are ya--”

“Fine. Fine. Just a quick headache. It’ll pass.”

Watching him on the floor though, clearly in pain, my mind shot to another time and another place with another Inkling, another person I considered a friend, in pain. Just imagining the time I captured the Crimson Devil brought back a small bit of the excitement, followed by a huge wave of guilt. The circumstances were so different, but so similar… would Innes become my enemy one day too?

No. There was no way. Why would I even compare the Devil to Innes?

When did I begin thinking of the Devil as my friend? I need to defeat her to regain my honor. Then I can begin my life again.

If I can only beat her, then…

Innes got up after a few more seconds, pulling himself up. I began to move toward him to help him up, but he waved me off as he struggled.

“I’m fine,” he groaned, continuing to grasp his head, “we need to get moving.” I wanted to worry about him. But he didn’t want that. And we didn’t have time.

It was shocking though, to see this place now. I’d heard it had fallen apart, but I hadn’t actually seen a uncharged cloister. As time goes on and the underground facility loses power, the platforms it sustains begin to sink until finally they hit the ground.

Normally this becomes an issue with the monitors littering the floor that they may destroy, but this cloister is a bit different in that it doesn’t have any monitors. The world here was forever basked in an evening glow, intended to be the perfect time to attend a carnival.

But now, the lamps were out and it was simply dark.

Some light filtered from an odd source at the top of the cloister, so dark shapes were outlined. But it was a good thing that there was some light because otherwise, Innes, who had marched off after pulling himself up, would have walked straight off of the platform the kettle was situated.

Instead we both walked to the pillar’s edge, looking out at the massive stalactites jutting up from the ground around us, towering over the pillars and former rides scattered in their embrace. Weaved in a gigantic mess through the jutting stone columns was the massive roller coaster that extended throughout the whole cloister.

It was going to be ‘great.’ But it was never finished.

I always thought this was an incredible waste of time, but seeing it in ruins, half completed, I couldn’t help but wish it was. After all, it’s only in ruins because I let the devil go. All my fault.

After the Crimson Devil got away, she came back with a passion. She destroyed the cloisters and the isles that she visited, crushing the troops there, ripping through them one by one. It was all they could do to hide the kettles that would lead to more populated areas, to contain the damage.

They contained the damage all the way until she actually took our leader.

No one knows what happened to DJ Octavio. Some actually hope that, somehow, he survived. But I don’t hold out for him coming back.

“Where should we start looking?” Innes asked.

Without thought, a plan bubbled to mind and rolled off the tongue. “There’re people who live ‘ere. We find ‘em, figure the price they want fer cooperation, pay it, or force it, then get one step ahead.”

“Got it,” Innes said.

While he searched the pillar for a way down, I flipped the rolled-up pin in my hand again, twirling it mechanically through my fingers as I let myself relive some glory.

And there was quite a bit of glory to relive. Squads never liked me, but my superiors quickly recognized my abilities. I was competent, fit, obedient--mostly. Even though I never received any official promotions, they granted me the pins of an elite as an informal gift.

I still remember receiving them and the pride shining through me. I tried to relive some of that right now as Innes returned, groaning. “It’s a steep drop,” he began. “No really easy way down.”

I took a look around. Immediately, my eyes locked on a dot floating nearby. Walking up to it, I touched it, then liquified my hand just enough to feed it a dab of ink. The surface soaked up the liquid like a sponge, then, soon after, a purple, inky path down was formed.

“‘S an ink rail,” I explained quickly. “They’re great fer mobility ‘n gettin’ around. Jus feed it yer ink after abou’ two minutes ta make sure Oy’ve reached the end.”

He nodded as I hopped into the rail.

Travelling down the tube of ink was always an odd experience for me. As usual, my malformed form created an odd situation for me as I slowly swam, trying not to let my strong side push too much harder.

Normally, a rail of this size would only take someone a few seconds to go through, but I’d told Innes about two minutes because that was the time that it would take me to finish the course.

The rails were always an embarrassing part of training. Where I excelled in almost all physical tasks, as long as I could use my larger body, anything involving exercising my smaller form was an embarrassment.

One of the most important parts of our training was to use the mobility technology that granted us a keen advantage over the Inklings. Though I worked hard to try to use these tools, many times, my weaker half made many of the maneuvers impossible.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t try. In fact, our DA had to force me to stop trying, when she saw I was almost killing myself trying to do the same jumps as the other recruits. Some of the more petty octolings--those embarrassed to be beaten by me--used this as an excuse to belittle me.

It never really got to me.

But then, the embarrassment still stuck.

It took me about a minute and a half to make it all the way to ground level, and Innes followed soon after. I expected him to ask why I’d taken so long, but he did nothing of the sort. He just asked, “where do we start?”

I took a look around. Down on bedrock, the gigantic pillars that once floated high in the cloyster now made many huge towers, blocking out the tiny light source that managed to make the underground amusement park just barely navigable.

Glad to have my goggles, I spotted a few ruts in a number of the pillars. All of the floating platforms had engine rooms so that their floatation devices could be fixed instead of scrapping a perfectly good construct. Now that the place was abandoned, it was highly likely that people made use of their convenient alcoves for safe camps.

Where there were camps, there were traces. Where there were traces, there were trails. Where there were trails, there were people. But these were likely not the kind of people that either Innes nor I would like to meet.

“Do ya ‘ave yer Octoshot ready?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, pulling it out. A beeping synch added to his confirmation.

“Then we search the alcoves. Can ya see ‘em?”

“Barely.”

“Then Oy’ll go in first, as Oy ‘ave vision. Assume a ‘ostile in each one. Got it?”

“Aye aye, captain.”

“...wait,” I asked. “One second, before we go on.” We both should be armed before going on. But I realized that the kelp pin still in my hand. Instead of putting it back, however, I completely uncoiled it, then, in a quick knot tied my long tentacles back.

It felt odd without them brushing the sides of my cheeks, and it didn’t grant me much more vision, as the goggles were already somewhat limiting… but it felt right. One last mission.

I synched Eight-Legs and began our search.

Chapter Text

I’m pretty sure Mabyn had been playing with that pin for the past ten minutes. Some latent curiosity in the back of my head said “dude, you should ask her about that,” but I pushed it down in favor of the nagging voice that asked me “who is the Crimson Devil?” and “is she your responsibility?”

So when my Octoling compatriot tied up her hair, I choked the considerate question down. I had to find out what my relationship with the Devil was. Was it just a coincidence that she was rampaging now? Was I being used politically?

...was it Saffy?

With that pressing matter at the forefront of my mind, I held back the latent thoughts surfacing, like how bad a job Mabyn’d done tying her hair up or how cute the attempt was. From what little I could see in the dim light, her face was serious as I wanted to feel.

It was an odd feeling. For the first time in my life, I could feel a kindling hatred for something. I’m a mellow guy--I think that’s obvious--but occasionally I’ll have these strong waves of anger that rush up and capture my attention. However, all it takes is a few words and I’m back to normal.

I’m scared of that me; the me I can be when I’m angry.

But right now, I’m not that. This is a cold hatred. For once, my anger felt so justified. It surpassed that hot, passionate pang of emotion that consumed. It surpassed it all the way into something that raged coldly, as a nagging thought in my head that fed the chilling flames.

Maybe this was what purpose felt like?

I’ve always felt kind of directionless. Mom and pop never really inspired me. Nah, they kind of nonchalantly, ubiquitously ‘supported’ whatever I went after. I was kinda good at stuff, like music and science and… well everything, but it’s not like I ever focused too hard on it. Didn’t really feel the urge.

But if I could stop a mass murderer, well, maybe I’d stop feeling so aloof.

I dunno. Won’t know until I try.

I suppose now it’s pretty obvious I’m wavering inside. On the outside, though, I knew that I held a flawless facade of focus. I’d been practicing putting on masks my whole life. Looking focused is hardly hard. But if I keep up this acting long enough, eventually I’ll get into the role and really feel it. That’s how it’s always been, anyway.

Maybe, this time, it’ll stick.

“Where to?” I asked, playing my part.

“The ‘ovels,” Mabyn said, simply. “We need ta’ check those fer people. In enclosed places like this, word gets ‘round fast. ‘F the Crimson is ‘ere, most people’ll know.”

“Got it,” I said, simply.

A pang of fear ran through me. I know I’m no leader or vigilante. I can play the part, but on the inside, I know I’m acting. But if I play the role. If I just fill the shoes…

We began to check each pillar. After Mabyn found the concealed doors and opened them up, I couldn’t make out much detail--there was so little light to begin with, within, it was completely black. So, acting as my eyes, Mabyn would simply mutter “clear” and we’d move on.

There was one, though, that appeared to be hovering, if only a little. I was taken aback a moment before it finally clicked--these all used to float in the air like the “islands” or whatever Mabyn had talked about.

And I was in for another surprise! When we opened up this hovel’s door, the place lit up. What I saw inside was intriguing to say the least. But to go into more detail, inside the cramped space were numerous pipes and a monitor and rudimentary keyboard. So this must be some sort of maintenance room for the inner workings of the machine! Curious.

I let my mind wander to how the floating land was crafted and why it required an onboard computer. What kind of diagnostics did they run on this? What needed to be checked up? Did the professionals know where all these pipes went? After all, all the islands were differently shaped and...

I caught Mabyn staring at me. It must have been nearly three minutes and I vaguely remember her saying ‘clear’ a few times. Maybe she was worried. I should assure her things are alright, a part of me whispered, softly. I should ask her if she’s okay. I should--

“Let’s go,” I found myself saying. Control yourself. Play the part.

We didn’t encounter more lit machines as we went around checking them. Barely any of them were hovering like that last one and, if they were all supposed to be like that, Mabyn was right… this place was run down.

The machinist part of me wanted to know how these worked. It was clear they needed some power source--probably a zapfish--but the fact that they transferred energy wirelessly and efficiently enough to--

No. Stop. Stop thinking that.

Echoing outside my thoughts I heard another ‘clear,’ and I followed the dark outline of my ally as we checked through these alcoves for anyone. Anything. Any sign of a lead.

But we kept going, finding nothing.

How we went about ‘finding nothing,’ however, was efficient. I was grateful to Mabyn for the past week of grueling exercise because, though I hadn’t had time to build up the necessary endurance, I had clearly learned how to bust my ass and push on even when I’m exhausted.

I’m exhausted. But there’s no time. We will only have this lead for so long.

Dude, you’re pushing yourself too hard , I thought, unbidden. You should rest, came to mind. You aren’t gonna be useful when you do find her if you’re-- stop. Mind over matter. You can always push yourself harder. I read that somewhere once: what you can and can’t do is determined by what you think. You have physical limits, but if you can convince your mind, you can do things that you might have thought impossible.

I will find the Devil. I must.

Whenever I feel myself falling back into my normal habits of distancing and aloofness, I reminded myself of the little tentacle girl, Augusta. She’d been young, just a little girl, and this person… whoever she was… just killed her.

Who could do something like that? How could they justify it to themselves?

I could understand, I know. I’ve been walking miles in others’ shoes for years. But right now… no. I killed the natural questions that arose, forcing myself to remain callous. I must hate this person.

Speaking of hating, Mabyn seemed really driven right now. I mean, she’s always seemed too serious but now, she’s on a totally different level. She didn’t say so, but it was pretty obvious that whatever she screwed up that got her kicked out must have been related to the Crimson Devil.

You’d have to be sociopathic to not pick up on the cues. She seemed mortified when the little guy we found claimed she was ‘in league with the devil’ or something. I find that hard to believe though, getting to know her, so something must have made the public image link her and the homicidal maniac. At that time, she looked to me for something. But what was I going to say?

...I can’t help with that. I can’t help with anybody. Or maybe I’m just afraid to ask? I dunno.

Right now, all I know is I’ve gotta find the Crimson Devil.

It’s nice to focus. I don’t have to worry about these other hovering problems. I can just… let them build up. Ignore them. They’ll go away. Focus. This is the biggest issue. It seems what we’re doing will help Mabyn anyway. Things will solve themselves.

But it looks like the leadless searching, no matter how efficient, didn’t really bear any fruit today. We spent the whole day looking through the cloister and didn’t find anything. No one. Nothing.

“...we’ll bunk ‘ere tonight,” Mabyn said, suddenly. It was a sudden break from the ‘clears’ I’d gotten used to hearing, and it was jarring.

“We can search a bit more,” I found myself saying. Somewhere in me was… something that wanted a lead. No rest until we find one. It burned cold.

“Nah,” Mabyn said, simply dismissing my notion. “We need to rest. Oy’ll take first watch.”

“No, I will,” I said, glaring at her. I’m doing this for her , a part of me thought. What you’re doing makes no sense, the other part argued. And yet, I continued glaring.

As it turns out, Mabyn can glare. She can glare daggers through your skull. It was a two minute standoff, at least, and eventually I gave up. The moment I let myself lay down I could tell she made the right call. Even though I was laying on metal piping… I basically zonked out immediately.

Innes woke in his bed. His room. His life. It was nice and calm. But he kept feeling like he was forgetting something.

But that’s normal after waking up, so he didn’t worry about it all that much. Instead, he got up, got on his computer--something told him there was no school--and… well it didn’t start up.

Shrugging, Innes instead decided to head to the kitchen to get some breakfast. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in ages. He scoured the cupboards, but there didn’t seem to be anything. No cereal or granola bars. There weren’t eggs or milk in the fridge. Odd.

Closing the door, Innes saw Mabyn.

“Oh hey, how’s it goin’?”

No response.

“Aww, don’t gimme the silent treatment!”

No response. Something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Innes responded, echoing the resounding thought.

Something was wrong.

“Mabyn?”

At that moment, the figure of Mabyn fell over, red ink spilling all over the linoleum flooring, a gaping hole cut all the way through her armor, exposing innards that were already melting into an oozing red puddle. Her whole body followed.

Innes hurled and he saw red. Something red was coming out of his mouth. Ink.

Turning around, his fear was confirmed. The Crimson Devil. Its eyes shone like rubies, its writhing tentacles were slowly filling up the small kitchen. Its beak opened slowly, to reveal a rough, writhing tongue. Its breath was wretched, the definition of putrid. It was everything he felt, everything he imagined of horror.  

“No,” Innes said, words somehow resounding without escaping his mouth. “No, this can’t be right. No!”

As the horror closed in around him, he backed away, looking around the kitchen for something, anything to defend himself--the kitchen. His home? No. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t…

Something wasn’t right. He was home.

No. He was dreaming.

I woke up. Normally I’d be pretty excited about almost lucid dreaming, but I think I’ll make an exception for eldritch horror-esque Crimson Devil monsters slithering their slimy tentacles all over my head, chest, and lower body.

So, now, after what I’m sure was about three hours of bad rest, I’m here, lying half-asleep on the ground. What to I do? Well, I can’t just sit around.

Well, okay, I did do that for a good while. You know that time between waking and kind of still being asleep? Well, I was there. Time was passed as I let myself feel frantic emotions run through my body. At the same time, thoughts seeped into my head stemmed from those emotions.

Is that what I’m fighting?

No no… she’s an Inkling

Can’t be

I’m scared

...I’m scared

Yeah. I guess I am scared. I don’t want to be doing this but… even now I can feel that hate. For this… monster. This… thing. This genocidal maniac that would be willing to kill people. To kill children.

...I can’t sleep. I can’t just sit around. I…

“Maybn?” I call out, sleepily.

She clearly jumps. I don’t think she expected me to wake up. Heck, since we were travelling together, she only makes me keep watch once every blue moon. How she marches around on no sleep is… well, I’ll find out soon enough.

After all, it’s time for me to repay the favor.

“Y’gave me a jump,” she muttered. “What’d’ja need?”

“I’m gonna keep watch for the rest of the night.” She looked me up and down, weighing my words, before finally saying, “‘kay.”

She made sure I synched with my weapon and then had me sit where she had been. The metal rim of the entryway was still warm where she had been keeping guard. Was it really okay to be sitting? She had been. But if… what if someone…

I found myself standing. Easier to react that way.

I held out for the rest of the night, listening to Mabyn’s snoring from within the little cubby we called home for the night.

The next day was just as fruitful as the last. That is, of course, to say, not very. Even though we were travelling from column to column, spiralling out from the platform we'd come from while keeping it in sight, the work felt grueling in its fruitlessness.

But I tended my flame. Today, it was easier... I just needed to think about that dream.

Deep down I knew that the Crimson Devil was an Inkling, but I think I realized that that imagery, that is what I think of a genocidal monster. There isn't anything that can get her off the hook.

A fleeting thought from yesterday--which seemed so long ago--flitted through my mind. What if this is Saffy? But I quickly dismissed it. Saffy was a good person. Heck, all she knew how to do was the right thing. She could never justify killing.

Never.

No. This was some agent. Some skillful maniac on a vendetta against Octarians. I don't know what I can do, but I've gotta do something.

See? The fire is super easy to fan. Just gotta know what kindling to use.

When night fell, Mabyn let me take first watch. I decided that I wouldn't just watch though; I'd train. As soon as I heard my travel companion snoring, I prepared my synched weapon.

How had they trained? I'd watch numerous videos to see how professional ink battlers practiced. At the time, I'd just been interested in the weapons they used but now I found that I had a stupidly good memory for mundane details.

Shoot. Return to cover. Shoot. Return to cover. Dive; remember to manage ink. Alternate targets. Concentrate bursts on them one at a time. Try to aim for 0.5 seconds of sustained fire.

Slowly, all the little pieces congealed into a whole that became a rough training regimen. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Turns out that ‘wasn't much’ took about the time that Mabyn's spry body needed rest, because she woke up to find me scrimming against the columns. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem to disagree with what I was doing. In fact--though she didn’t smile--she seemed to have a bit of a twinkle in her eye.

Gently, she walked up to me and gave me a few tips; I was holding the gun wrong and should use my other arm to stabilize the shots; I should aim a little higher because of the arc of the pellets; I should make zones to move around in for more mobility. It was all common sense stuff, but all things I’d been lacking.

Heh. What did I think I was going to do against the Devil? I didn’t even know the basics.

Mabyn, though, was surprisingly on my side about my practice. Somehow, in my head, I’d thought she’d be against me learning for some reason, but I guess not.

Heck, now that I think about it, I should have asked for her help sooner. She clearly wanted to teach me to defend myself in that cave when she showed me how to fight a bit in the dark.

But that was just learning how to move around. Learning that and how to actually fight was totally different. I tried to recall the bandit attack back when I first fell down into Octo Valley and it was a blur. I remembered the adrenaline and the fear and the anger. And somehow I just performed. Things I’d seen just came to my fingers as I shot and moved.

I had to call up that skill at will. Somewhere in me was a decent ink battler and I needed to hone those abilities. Mabyn helped me for another few hours before we called it quits, took a rest and went to go look for the Crimson Devil again.

We didn’t have much luck finding anyone, but at least this time, Mabyn tried to teach me things. She showed me what she was looking for and it wasn’t just ‘signs of life.’ Well, it was --she was looking for traces of food and defecation--but the specifics of it were interesting.

She explained how to quickly ascertain whether someone was there or not… and what struck me wasn’t really want she taught, but how she taught it. She could teach. Quickly, she explained ideas and concepts before linking it into an anecdote that made the idea stick, then finally moving onto another logical idea.

The find was shocking and made the day go by faster, but in the end, I was still disappointed that we’d made essentially no headway.

Mabyn made me sleep that night, as I’d completely skipped out the night before. My dreams were as troubling as they were the last time, involving a Deep One fondling my whole body, threatening to absorb me and essence whole.

...my rest wasn’t that restful.

After Mabyn woke me up, I spent my watch practicing, determined to absorb what she had taught me. I worked on my grip. I aimed a little higher. I moved a lot more. Even if it was all superficial now, I was sure I’d get it.

It was hard to tell time in this dark cloister, but I could tell hours had passed when I stopped my training. I wiped my sweaty face and could see the Octoling makeup smear. ...I’d need to get Mabyn to reapply it later. Hell, not gonna lie, I’m not used to wearing makeup, but I’m pretty sure the stuff isn’t supposed to last for days on end.

...right?

That ‘morning’ Mabyn looked me up and down and told me to rest. I firmly disagreed. Our search continued.

Mabyn may have had her doubts, but if you continue searching, you’re bound to find something. Lo and behold, we did; finally, after spiraling out pretty damn far from the kettle we’d come from, we found someone.

He was a scrawny Octoling. Old by the looks of it, but even from the darkness we were squinting at him from, it was clear that he had a glint to his eyes.

“What’d’ya want, totin’ around weapons fer all ta see?” he asked, before we had a chance to ask anything. “What’d’ya want from a tired ol’ man?”

“‘Ave ya seen the Crimson Devil?” Mabyn asked, without missing a beat. Her tone was stern, but not rude. Demanding, but not overbearing. It was the voice of a true commander.

“...Might’ve,” the man responded, showing no sign of moving from his spot. He was laying back in the alcove, and though he was cloaked in shade, it was clear the dude was scrawny. His flesh was starting to sag off his bones, which was much more pronounced with the way the shadows danced. I bet if he sat in that alcove any longer, he’d sink right into the bars.

“Speak,” I commanded, in a tone that was… ruder than I expected. I was holding the gun, but I was shaking. Not from fear or excitement but from exhaustion. Maybn was right. I should have rested. I shouldn’t have spoke either. Remember when I said Mabyn could glare? Well, if looks could kill...

The man just laughed. “Oy know somethin’ ya want. Why would’ja kill me if Oy didn’t speak?” He had a point. “And on that… why would Oy speak if ya don’ got somefin’ to sweeten the deal?”

Mabyn simply turned around, nodding to the man and began to walk away.

After I thought we were out of earshot I angrily whispered, “...why’re we letting him go!? He’s our first lead,” I hissed. “We can always find another person!”

“We ain’t got much to bribe ‘im with. They want food--it’s a premium here. Oy was a fool ta not have collected any before coming ‘ere. Our own reserves are runnin’ low. Even ya would agree, we can’t be searchin’ forever without rations.”

...that was my fault, of course. I’d wanted to rush in here guns blazing. I need to think before I act! Wasn’t that my strength? Stupid… stupid… stupid…

“Then let’s go back,” I said, simply. Hopefully my embarrassment wasn’t too obvious. Gods below… what was I thinking? Like we could beat the information out of them? I turned to look at the hobo with his a defeated slump and dumb grin. If we beat it out of him, he’d just say whatever he wanted. How would we know the truth from a lie?

The same applies to bribes but at least we’d have something to promise him. My mind was already thinking of ways to circumvent this system--if he told the truth, we’d pay him before for the info and later for it being useful.

Yeah that’d be good…

Maybn seemed concerned, but she followed me. I decided that taking a straight shoot back to the entrance was probably the best way to go, but when we got there I ran into a different, fun, fun, fun issue.

“How the hell do we get back up?” I grunted, annoyed.

“Prolly another rail,” Mabyn shrugged.

“Well where the hell is it--”

“Innes, you should rest,” Mabyn ordered.

“No!” I growled. Not long after, I was promptly clocked in the face. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor, processing what’d just happened.

Mabyn… hit me. It’d been awhile since she’d done that and most of the time they hadn’t hurt. Well, not too much. This one though…

“Mabyn why’d--”

“Rest. Or Oy’ll do it again.”

I rested. I closed my eyes and tried to let myself sleep. It wasn’t like night or day was a thing down here. In the Valley, there’d been at least some sunlight to give an idea of passing time, but here, underground, there wasn’t jack diddly.

Point is, it shouldn’t have been hard to sleep. And yet I couldn’t. Thoughts kept flying through my head about my failure, the devil, Mabyn punching me… everything was rushing in random order and I couldn’t keep things straight.

Failure

Gotta keep looking.

Why did she

Too much

hurts

I… Mabyn’s right. I need to rest.

After a good thirty minutes of “rest,” by which I mean time to actually feel in control of my thoughts for a bit, I let myself think. Yes. Mabyn is right. We need something to bribe these people when we find them. Further, we need more rations. I should have thought ahead. Next time will be better.

If I want to do this avenging thing, I’ve gotta do it right.

I took a deep breath, finishing my rest by getting up. Mabyn, noticing my action, looked straight into my eyes. “Ready?” she asked.

“Uh… more than before.”

She seemed reassured by my answer and said, “the rail is near us, ya were jus’ too panicked ta notice.”

“Ah,” I let out, simply. She had me shoot the dot and, in turn, we ascended, then jumped into the kettle that led back to town.

Before we exited the subway, Mabyn stopped me. Motioning me to shut the hell up, she peeked out of the shade slowly to check for… I dunno. An army? I don’t know, what do they send in when--heck I should just say that aloud.

“Mab--” she put a hand to my mouth and checked for a little bit longer. Then, drawing back into the shade of the subway stairs, she quietly responded.

“What?”

“Mabyn,” I began again, softer this time, “what the heck are we checking for? What do they send in for… I dunno, routine massacre?”

“Oy’m not sure,” she said, simply, “this ain’t exactly ‘routine.’ If Oy were in charge… Oy would send in a small scoutin’ unit to check n’ see if the Devil were still in the area, secure the communication hub, n’ shoot a message back. Further orders’d prolly be to look for where she went while they secure the area.”

“...that was oddly specific for not knowing.”

“Oy make good guesses.”

“Well… the gist is that we need to be careful, right?”

“Ye.”

“Simple enough.”

That was the longest conversation we’ve had in ages. I was… missing our talks, huh? But… I’ve got something more important to do now. The Devil had to go down and we would need tons and tons of food for that. Sounds weird but in context it made perfect sense.

Mabyn and I make our made our way back to the bridge where we’d danced, an eternity ago. Though it was sad to see the broken stalls and the food spilled all over, we at least thanked our lucky stars that we hadn’t run into any sort of scouting team or… whatever specific craziness Mabyn had brought up.

We found some rucksacks in the stalls to carry the food in and made our way back to the subway rather uneventfully--thank whatever guardian angelfish we had watching our backs--but when we returned to the kettle Mabyn muttered, “somethin’s wrong.”

I shifted the bag on my back, the weight on my shoulders growing heavier with that comment. “What do you mean?” I asked.

Even in the darkness, I could make out the telltale ‘bloop’ of Mabyn shifting. Another ‘bloop’ told that… well she was still here. “Well,” she began, “Oy can’t get through the kettle, for starters.”

...shit.

Chapter Text

I’m used to civilized company. Though I sneak out of the house and try to blend in with the rabble, I’ll admit, I never quite understood what everyone was trying to do or say sometimes. At least when I am with the ‘cultured,’ I can understand in the denotation and the connotation of what is being said or implied.

Here, more than ever, I feel a displacement effect, as our Octoling guide, Longinus, spoke with a rough and tumble sort of fellow in the middle of a spire-filled circus.

The effect was that I found myself ignoring most of what they were saying. Sure, I caught enough to understand what I think was being said. It was mostly arguing bribes, to reach some sort of agreement about tracking some Octoling that was supposed to be with Saffy’s friend.

It was tedious. Too similar to home in its nature, but foreign in how rough their language was. Dull and alien; a perfect combination for a wandering mind.

As they argued, I traced my eyes over a fallen, chaotic roller coaster system. I felt, in some way, a connection to it. That the events I’d transpired through were similar in nature to this crazy, ‘whacked-up’ ride. Though the chronology was simple enough, my feelings kept being tugged this way and that.

At one point, all I wanted to do was wholeheartedly help my love. I wanted to find her friend for her, or at least be useful in the search. Now, not only am I the third wheel, I’m not sure I even want to achieve our goal. With the revelation of the Crimson Devil at hand, I could feel my mind working overtime, the past two days, unravelling my own emotions.

I feel like my being here isn’t wrong. Yes, I can do something. But I’m not sure what I want to do lies in help Saffy find her friend. Not yet, anyway. For now the best I can do is figure out what’s going on and then work my way from there. That seems the most logical course of action.

“Oy got’tit mate, two weeks’s rations! No lower! Ya want me ta starve?” Longinus cried, theatrically. Any more ham in his shoddy acting and there would be actual tears. Or pork.

“Ye; don’ come cryin ta me when the Traitor is all up in yer ass,” random man number five retorted.

“Oy believe tha’s my problem. Yers is makin’ sure that she’s found, capishe?”

“Oy got it, Oy got it. An it’s all nonperishable, aye?”

“Aye.”

Saffy just watched the transaction take place. Somewhere in my heart of hearts, I expect--no I want--her to stop him and say this is the wrong way to go about it. I want to go back the fantasy (which I now know was truly a fantasy) of us going on our heroic quest and finding her friend after facing many daring hardships, but ultimately knowing we were fighting for good.

What was she thinking? How could she have destroyed a city with no remorse? Maybe I should get her alone. Then I could ask her. Maybe I was misunderstanding something. After she ran into this man… that was when she started to turn.

Maybe it was an act? That was a possibility. But Saffy had never been good at acting. This seemed too honest, which was the most perturbing fact.

I wanted to believe that she meant the best. I really did. She’s my hero after all.

The conflicting ideas of Saffy gave me nasty headache, and as such, I decided to escape my mind for a moment. I realized we were moving again and I, like the good, domestic animal I am, was obediently following our Octoling guide.

“Now wif tha’ outta the way, we’ve jus’ gotta get one more thing in order ta complete our busy-ness ‘ere,” Longinus exclaimed, sweet and saccharine.

Serious as ever, Saffy replied, “what’s that?”

“We gotta figure out points ‘o exit!” the Octoling piped.

“Wouldn’t that be obvious?” I sighed. “After all, you know this place like the back of ‘yer ‘and,’ right? Wouldn’t you know the ways out and in?”

“Well, first, Oy’m ‘urt you’d even imploy that Oy don’ know what Oy’m doin’,” Longinus cheeks puffed in indignation, his oddly flawless face changing to an even odder expression. “Second, Oy’ll let’cha in on a little secret--kettles ain’t permanent.”

“...I see?” I said, halfway understanding what he meant. So did they expire after a time? What was their power source anyway--

“Now,” Longinus cut in, interrupting my thoughts, “they don’ exactly jus’ run out. After all, i’s our very essence they’s run on. Naw, some jerks pull tha cords.”

“But you just said they don’t run on an external--”

“The kettle itself is a livin’ thing,” our guide said, cutting me off because he clearly wasn’t done explaining himself. “That said, it don’t require all that much power, so jus’ a quickly charged battery will do. Oy believe the estimated duration for one pad is… abou’ a hundred years?”

“I see,” I said, plainly.

“...basically, it’ll last for three hops and a skip past yer lifetime, fuckfish,” Longinus pouted, obviously not receiving the lauding praise he was looking for. “Point is, people pull plugs to stop the fuzz from followin’ all the time. Literally, all the time. Ya gotta figure the ways in ‘n’ out on the weekly ‘re you’re liable ta get cornered.”

Longinus finished, turning away from us all, his brow furrowed. “Neither ‘o ya’ll’re fun. Boo. ”

Even though the words were biting, I don’t think he intended to insult me. In my time together with this Octoling, as brief as it was, I could tell he was talented in manipulating words and, by proxy, feelings. He knew what he wanted, and he knew what to say to get it. Further, he knew that skindeep insults wouldn’t hurt us.

Makes me wonder what he would say if he really wanted to make us feel like dirt. A dangerous place to let my mind wander, because I was almost sure he could read my face like a book.

Our guide, however, just grinned through it all as we made our way to the hub. It was probably the closest thing this place had to a town or living space. At first it surprised me that these crooks and refugees weren’t just hiding out in separate hovels but after I thought about it, it made sense:

People, after all, need people. Even thugs.

About half a mile walk from the kettle we’d come from, was a number of spires that faced inward. Conveniently, they were also decently large, so they were all homey enough to make a number of rudimentary buildings. Some of the pillars were further hollowed out by people salvaging the piping, computers and, as I learned later, biotech from within.

At first, I’d thought that biotech was only employed in the Octoweaponry and kettles but it was surprising to find just how wrong I was; the Octarians were years and years ahead of us in biotechnology and basically relied on the stuff as it was highly efficient--at least as far as electric energy--and adaptable to so many things. In this case, cores, otherwise known as hearts, were used to keep these little islands afloat.

It was odd to think that each of these little buildings, in a way, was once a ‘living thing.’ To contrast that notion, the people living in the pillars were very alive. Though their community was reclusive, crude and coarse, I’d observed on more than one occasion their bursts of enthusiasm and communion.

This was not one of those times. It was, as I could tell, evening for these people and they were all retiring from whatever it was they did during the days.

I like to imagine what they do sometimes--I could ask Longinus because I think he knows, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of running his mouth any longer than I have to.

Some of them left the hub, I’d imagine, to go to certain kettles and collect food or information or visit loved ones. I mean, food seems to be a prime commodity around here and the acquisition of it must act as wealth. Further, I figured that people are still people--they must have people they want to see and visit.

I glance over to Saffy. How does she see these people? The jarring disconnect between her and the Crimson Devil continues to generate a chasm gaping with emotion that continues to suck in my time and energy. Does she see them as people? Or as evil?

Sure, the folks around here are rough around the edges… moreso than most, but at least through Longinus, we’re seeing that some have a good side.

Take for instance the lady (high-pitched voiced man?) tentacle who keeps guard over the nearest kettle. She always has a nice thing to say to the passersby and they seem to always have something nice to say or give her.

Her self-imposed guard duty and kind demeanor--even though she comes off as a bit off her rocker--is comforting and the residents here know it and share their goods with her for her round the clock information on comings and goings and, further, she is absolutely savage to any new visitor that happens to hop through the kettle; her nature is symbiotic.

Then there’s the little stubby guy I like to call the ‘messenger.’ He (?) always seems to know where everyone is around the hub, or outside it for that matter, and takes payment to run messages between the rogues of the land. For even more, he’s willing to bring people to others’. In fact, that’s how we found our last man.

Apparently our informant tracks people outside the carnival, finding and learning their goings-on for relatively cheap prices. He’s not exactly foolproof and apparently doesn’t always get 100% accurate results, but the fact that someone like this exists points to a somewhat civilized underbelly of society.

It’s all markets. I wonder if Inkopolis’ underground works in a similar manner.

All I can say is, though I hate him and everything he stands for, Longinus provides an important service to Saffy and me: he knows this world like the back of his hand. His demeanor had always caught me rather off guard, but seeing how easily he weaves between people, how casually he refers to people he claims to not even know shows that he has a mastery of charisma attributed only to a rare few.

And those rare few are dangerous. But even dangerous people sleep. We were currently headed to the hovel that we had claimed as our own while we were here.

It wasn’t large, but we managed to get two people in the hovel at a time so that one person could stand guard. Even though Longinus had been mostly amiable with the people around here, it still wasn’t a good plan to completely let your guard down. There were a number of strategies to achieve this, though guard duty was the preferred method.

Though, I suppose that couldn’t protect us from the shark that may lurk within our group. The sad part is I can’t quite say which one of us is the threat.

Saffy had first watch, so I laid myself down and tried to get comfortable, despite the piping cutting into my ribs.

* * *

Who is who? What is right? Right or wrong?

Words and thoughts shifted around, making the surreal state of consciousness that Hector floated through alive. Though no physical shapes, nor humanoid persona gave him leave to move through the world, he still navigated through flustered thoughts, attempting to unweave the contradictions that plagued him in the waking world.

Love is right. I love Saffy. People’s lives are valuable. Killing is wrong. Saffy is a killer. I love her. What is right? Who is who? Crimson Devil or S Rank Hero?

What was it that Hector believed was right? There were too many conflicts. People’s lives. The one he loved. Intentions. What were intentions? The black void of sleep granted no rest to his buzzing mind.

Who is Longinus? Are we getting played? Who’s playing who?

Who was the guide that they were taking advice from? He was too clever by half to be just a mere part of the rabble, but too gritty to be aristocracy. What was he doing? He said he wanted to escape. Why couldn’t he do that now?

Hector tried to pull up reasons and laws that might bar Longinus’ passage, but in fitful dreaming he couldn’t manage that train of logic. Worry continued to assail him from every spaceless direction. Any avenue of escapism was barred.

Saffy had always been an escape. She was a free-spirit. Admirable.

As the thoughts bubbled to mind, Hector built up the first near-physical being in the dreamscape. This Saffy was pure and pristine, literally shining in her idealism and perfection.

Saffy had just destroyed a city. She killed hundreds of people. Wrong. Too wrong.

A separate form began to emerge from the disparate ideas. Next to the perfect Saffy was an evil being. Still humanoid in form, but darker, dripping in crimson ink. The Devil.

How could they be one? Was one the real? Was the other fake?

Hector knew that people had different psyches that surfaced in different situations. He was a perfect example of the extremes one could take, his thoughts and home life crisp and professional. His outside life more relaxed and… well he knew he seemed like a tool, but it was better than the latter.

Did Longinus have something to do with this?

However it was also possible that Saffy had been corrupted by Longinus. Octorians had curious technology and who knew what they could do with them. After all Saffy had begun to act like this only when he showed up.

Good to evil. Evil to good.

I need to ask. What’s really going on here. What’s…

* * *

I woke from my fitful sleep. Saffy was shaking my shoulder, whispering, “your turn, doofus.”

“Huh…” I mumble, trying to shake some sleep from my body. “I… wait I was…”

“Dreaming,” Saffy interjected, quietly. “Now, get out there. I want to sleep too.”

Right, I was dreaming. But they were the same thoughts as waking. And thankfully so. I glanced over to Longinus, who appeared to be sleeping. For all I knew he wasn’t though, so I instead said, “in a second. I wanted to talk to you.”

The dark figure of Saffy looked at me, then looked to where I was sleeping. It was clear she was tired and the part of me that still desperately cared for her didn’t want me to deprive her of well-earned rest. But the inquisitive part of me required that this be done.

“Okay,” she finally whispered, “but make it quick.”

At my urging, we moved outside, though we continued to talk in low voices. “Saffy, how do you feel about this… Longinus guy?”

“Necessary evil,” she shrugged. “He wants something. I want something. Figured we could both be happy.”

I paused, taking in what she said. He didn’t seem to be a corrupting influence on her. Which scared me. But I had to ask the next question. “Why did you kill those Octarians?”

Again, she shrugged. In the darkness, the flippancy of it came off as downright dismissive. “They were in the way.”

“...and you didn’t even think about how they felt?” I asked, a sick feeling welling up in my stomach.

“Do you think about every mook you mow down?” she sighed. “They’re obstacles. They’re in your way. You destroy them, then move on.”

“They’re people,” I began, “and--”

“Are they, Hector?” Saffy interrupted. “Are they really? What makes them a ‘people,’ huh? What gives you the right to say that these things are people.” Though quiet, the words continued to resound in my head. “They’re Octarians, Hector. Never forget that.”

She huffed. I had nothing to say. She really just didn’t see them as people.

Obstacles.

“Man, are you even the same Hector we left with,” Saffy complained, walking past me to get to the shelter. “Right now, you seem more annoying and less a tool, if that’s even possible.”

…

It wasn’t long before Saffy was snoring alongside Longinus and I was left alone with my thoughts again.

This was real, wasn’t it? Saffy really didn’t think anything of the Octarian race. She was just another person who perpetrated the war-minded misunderstanding that the two races couldn’t get along. Worse, she was actively deepening the wounds.

Even though it was only a hundred years prior, people seem to have quickly forgotten how relatively short a time it had been that the Octarians and Inklings had been the closest races. Seeing how genetically similar they were considering the fact that they could actually have families together and build family trees--though it was still uncommon--it isn’t surprising that until recently (from a historical viewpoint), they’d had very amiable to each other.

But after the Flood and the Great War, the two races seemed to absolutely abhor each other… but that didn’t have to be the case. At least I don’t think so.

Clearly Saffy didn’t.

The confused emotions I had before were simply replaced with hurt ones. I still cared about Saffy. Just… she also… stands for things I hate.

I’ve seen a lot of bigotry in the upper crust. The upper classes hating and distrusting the lower classes. Racism. Sexism--though that’s getting better. But nothing’s worse than the pandering to the veterans from the Great War.

It’s not their fault that they hate the Octarians. They had to fight them for years. They had to live with them as the enemy. They lived different times. They had to monstrify. They had to to feel like they could morally take the actions they did.

But Saffy… is that the reality she lives? What made her have to think that way?

...is she okay?

“Oi.” A familiar voice broke me out of my musings. “Oi. You. Quiet goy. Oi. I found the gal.”

Huh. “Wait, who?”

“The traitor? Where’s the food oy was--” making sure not to wake the group, I pulled out the parcel that Longinus had prepared beforehand as payment.

He pawed through it, making sure everything was there before saying, “she’s ‘ere.”

“Say what?”

“She’s ‘ere, wif some Inklin’ boy.”

Shit. “Thanks.”

“No prob, Longinus is fair ‘n’ an honest businessman, if a stingy son of a bastard,” he shrugged. “Oy’m ‘appy ta ‘elp, even if ‘e is in league wif the bitch.”

I cringed at that, but just said, ‘thanks’ again. He gave me more specific directions and I waited until the man left. Then, I weaved through the pillars. They were here looking for Saffy.

What did she plan to do when she found her friend? Or the Traitor? Had I been lied to? Am I being played?

Maybe this was all a scheme. She’d killed thousands of Octarians already. If her friend was in league with her, this could all be a way for her to finish the job. To finish the Octarians off for good.

I… need to confirm. My fears had been right so far. I can’t let things get worse. I took a deep breath, then I began my trek to the location that they were right now.

The mechanical spires were still unfamiliar, but were not innavigable or without pattern. In most cases, when you’re trying to give directions around here, you’d use an easy point of reference and what better a point of reference than the kettles.

Apparently, the Traitor and Saffy’s friend were hot on her trail, only a step behind. They’d, after all, just come from the same kettle. How they knew when Saffy had arrived so quickly was anyone’s guess, but if I had to make a prediction, the trail of death ink she’d left behind probably had something to do with it.

It took only ten minutes… the two groups were only ten minutes away from each other. There, I saw the blue Inkling. It looked like he was hiding his mask with makeup, but that cover was wearing off. He wasn’t even hiding his tentacles. But I suppose I’m not even hiding I’m an Inkling here. Not yet anyway.

But this must be why he was so easy to spot. Right now, here he was, training. The shooting was rudimentary and his movements could have used work, but right here was a natural-born Ink Battler. No wonder Saffy and he were friends.

I watched him for what felt like hours. It wasn’t hard to keep out of his sight, he was so focused on what he was doing. So I simply got to watch him practice on and on.

Should I let him and Saffy meet? Seeing his aggressiveness, thinking on Saffy’s destructiveness, I…

I decided to make a hard decision. I didn’t return to wake the Octoling for our watch. I didn’t return for that whole day; instead I followed Saffy’s allies--I can find Saffy and Longinus later. They seemed to be spiraling away from their starting point, making sure to check every nook and every cranny for any sign of Saffy.

“Clear,” I heard, keeping in my hiding spot. When I knew they’d moved on, I moved on. Their pattern was predictable, precise and to the point. They checked each spire one after the other. Had they continued, they’d have reached the hub… if at an incredibly slow pace.

But after what I assumed had been hours, as chronology is particularly difficult without a timepiece, they found an old Octoling. He was a tiny thing, gaunt and sharp eyes. The man had lived and seen the darker sides of life.

And guns did not seem to be a thing he approved of. “What’d’ya want, totin’ around weapons fer all ta see?” he asked, taking the initiative. “What’d’ya want from a tired ol’ man?”

“‘Ave ya seen the Crimson Devil?” the Octoling I presumed was the Traitor asked. Her tone was stern, but she commanded attention. She was… a lot gentler than I’d imagined.

“...Might’ve,” the man responded, with the frugality I’d begun to expect from the people who dwell in these caves.

“Speak,” Saffy’s friend commanded. His tone was much less controlled. He seemed almost angry. Did he… was he going to shoot the Octarian!?

I was going to step in, give away my position to help the vagabond when the old man laughed. “Oy know somethin’ ya want. Why would’ja kill me if Oy didn’t speak?” Everyone paused. He’d made his position clear. “And on that… why would Oy speak if ya don’ got somefin’ to sweeten the deal?”

And to my surprise, the Traitor took initiative, and metaphorically dragged Saffy’s friend out of the situation. They argued about it afterwards; it was clear they had differing opinions on the situation… or else the Traitor was more levelheaded in general.

They decided to head back to the kettle and I followed. I sat in wait as they rested and tried to come to an ultimatum. They were leaving. They were leaving. So close to Saffy…

Do I help them? Do I risk more damage to the relationship between Inklings and Octarians by reuniting the Devil with her compatriot? Or do I simply…

The rest ended sooner than I expected, with the Inkling getting up and climbing the rail, followed by the Octoling.

When I was sure they’d portaled away--that is, after I heard two hisses from the kettle above--I came out from the spire I’d been hiding in. Activating the rail I knew they’d used, I swam my way up to the kettle.

I… didn’t know what I was going to do. I’d expected it to be so clear at this point. Help Saffy. My love. Reunite her with her friend. Happy end? Or maybe… something more dangerous. Do I stop them from meeting? Risk Saffy’s wrath? Risk the return of the Crimson Devil? Do I…

I looked over the kettle here. A kettle like any other. I looked around it, and saw it. The plug. All I needed to do was pull the plug, return to the group and make some excuse. That, at least, would buy me some time to figure out how I really feel about this whole situation.

But it would be betraying Saffy.

Pull it. That’s all. That’s all I had to do. This kettle was using just a small amount of residual power from this spire. I stared at the plug. All I needed was to unplug it. To pull it. And this would be over for the time being.

But I was betraying Saffy.

Some actions in life, just take one decisive action. All it would be would be time bought. Just a little stalling. Just a pull of a plug. A momentary setback. It was so simple.

But it wasn’t, was it?

The plug was in my shaking hands, quivering as I decided. Pull. Don’t pull. Pull. Don’t pull.

I…

I…

I pulled.

With a small tug and a sharp zap, the plug came loose, and the kettle’s humming ceased, a sign its functionality was no more.

I decided to leave before I changed my mind. Swimming down the ink rail, I made my way to the bottom of the gigantic platform that was supposed to lead to a carnival. A fun place. How warped that original sense had become.

The hub… which way was it to the hub… I looked around the spires before someone tapped me from behind. Now, it’s hard for me to express my surprise, as my vocabulary is quite passive, but I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a familiar voice say, “so ya decided that, then?”

“Wha--” I responded, mostly in shock. Turning I saw a grinning Longinus. “You… you knew…?”

“Well, ya didn’ come back in the mornin’ so Oy, the good saint Oy am, went ta look fer ya. Asked ‘round Oy did,” that smug look on his face never left as he explained the situation, slowly, painting himself the hero. “And ‘lo ol’ Babalon goes and sees an Inklin’ and the Traitor together. Fancy that.

“So Oy go where the ol’ fart says and, to my shock,” he said, not shocked at all, “Oy found ya! Would’ve jumped fer joy if Oy weren’ certain ye were spyin’ on yer friend’s friends. Gotta keep quiet on them stakeouts. Oy should know.

“Ya hear, ya wait, an’ then ya sabotage yer friend meetin’ her friend,” he continued, the grin plastered on his mug. Slowly, his finger found its way to his chin, the grin growing more malicious by the second. “Now why could that be? Hmm…?”

I had nothing to say. I’d been caught red-handed.

“Now, fuckfish, Oy don’ care what’cher up ta but Oy’m gonna let it slide.”

Wait, what. Why would he…

“Been a long time since Oy seen some quality backstabbin’,” the Octoling smirked, his dagger-sharp teeth gleaming unnaturally bright in the darkness. “And you, rainbow shoes ‘re a natural. Betraying a Devil, hoo boy, Oy’ve got a front row seat ta the show o’ the century.”

Chapter Text

I took a deep breath, as I tried to sum up the situation. I could tell that the kettle was off. Someone probably took the time to pull the plug on the other end to prevent our return.

I suppose I should have guessed that even criminals would want little to do with me.“Well,” I began, “Oy can’t get through the kettle, for starters.”

Snorting, I went on, “‘nd we’ve prolly got company.” I don’t know if Innes noticed, but there had been some noise as we walked into the subway. If I were to take a guess, the scouting party I had predicted was now here.
Innes readied his gun. I put my hand on his weapon and whispered, “no.” Hastily, I pulled him off to the side behind one of the supports near the back of the room.

“Mabyn. I can’t see,” Innes said, rising panic in his voice, “where are we going?”

“Shh! Be ready to shift,” I replied, ignoring his question. I don’t have time to answer. He’s smart. He’d read things quick.

Luckily, it appears we hid at just the right time to avoid a ray of light that scanned by us. It appears someone brought a torch to navigate.

I wonder which faction has access to night gear right now…

An errant thought passed through my mind as I thanked the Deep Ones that all we had to do to avoid detection was avoid the light.

“...’s command thinkin’?” I heard as the group made its way into the transit center.

“What’d’ya mean?” a female voice responded.

“Why’re we ‘ere on this suicide mission?” The first voice, definitely a male voice, responded.

“Keepin’ up appearances, Oy’d presume.”

“‘S the point though?”

The voices got closer as and I began to get more paranoid. Controlling myself, I simply looked around and made sure we were as hidden from the light as possible. Unfortunately, Innes’ right tentacle was sticking out.

“Leaders need ta’ look like they got everythin’ under control,” the girl responded, her deep voice resonating throughout the open room. The soldier in me reprimanded them for making so much noise--they should know better. But as long as they were talking, they were distracted. I had time.

“‘S obvious they don’ though,” the other grumbled.

“‘Nd tha’s why yer not in politics.”

“If Oy were in power--”

“Oy’d shit my britches and pray for the future of the Basists.”

“--Oy’d be a wonderful leader and ya know it.”

With my one good tentacle, I tried to poke Innes to try to get his attention. Unfortunately, in this form, my disability turns to near-paralysis, so reaching over my body to poke Innes was impossible.

“Ya couldn’ lead a kid to the toilet,” the female voice responded.

“Oy could, so!”

“Oh congratulations, ya can get’cher git ta the john! Bravo!”

“Oi! Lower ya voice. The Traitor might still be here…”

I ignored the comment about me. For some reason, Innes was looking in the direction of the light, unaware of my attempt to get his attention. Though, even if I did catch his eye, how would we communicate? But there had to be some way...

“Don’ tell me yer afraid o’ ‘er!”

“She took down the Devil ‘erself!” the male voice went on. “Oy don’ think Oy ‘r ya could, frankly.”

“Oy’m a scout. Oy try ta avoid battle, ‘n’ collect info instead, thank ya much.”

“Ye, if she can do then ain’t tha’ more o’ a reason not ta ignore ‘er threat and shut up? ”

“Relax, Domitius, nothin’s gonna ‘urt ya,” the women comforted, “remember, the Ichiling man said that that Octoling and ‘er companion left. Speakin’ of which, we really need ta find a way ta get that poor guy outta ‘ere.”

I ran through more options. We were already pressed together. I could nudge him by jetting myself slightly but I don’t have good control of that. Worst case, I might end up pushing him entirely out in the open. I could also try to speak. But in this form words are much less clear; I’d either have to speak louder or more to get my point across. In this confined space, that might spell out the end of our relative secrecy.

“Poor guy,” Domitus mumbled, “e’s in shock.”

“That ‘appens seein’ yer child popped; ‘ave some respect.”

“Still, e’s not gonna get better if ya jus’ leave ‘im alone, Tit!”

“It’s Titiana ya boob!”

I watched the torchlight pass by as the two are wrapped in their own conversation. Finally, I decide to take my chances when the light seems to pass away and I nudge Innes. As expected, I push a little too hard and he ends up flopping on the ground and into full sight. Luckily, the light wasn’t near him.

Though there was a slight flopping sound as he repositioned himself, when the beam flashed by again, he was no longer in sight. Good.

“Anyway jus’... give ‘im some days,” Titiana replied, “e’ll be better enough to bring back to base and we can take care o’ ‘im there.”

“But wha’ if the Trai--”

“Didn’ we literally jus’ go over this!”

“E’ might o’ ‘erd wrong! Maybe she and ‘er partner ‘r whatever ‘re still ‘ere!”

With Innes no longer worrying me, I began to size up the situation. Looking to the left, I got brief glimpses of the two’s figures from their shadows. One looked to be an Octoling. The other a Takoling. If need be I could engage them and take them out before things get too dangerous. On the other hand, it’s safer to have them think we’re gone and report out movements to the Carnival.

“Look,” Titiana went on, sounding frustrated. She tapped something metallic. Probably a kettle. “Look ‘ere. This is the kettle ta the carnival. S’off. They prolly unplugged it from the other side. It wouldn’ be off otherwise. They wanna see us as much as we wanna see them. Which is not at all.”

She had that right.

“The slumdogs unplug the kettles ta the carnival all the time--”

“What slumdog is gonna be dumb enough to be known to fra’ernize with the Traitor or ‘elp the Devil?!”

“Ya make it sound like they’re good, upstandin’ Octarian citizens,” Domitus snarled.

“Pffft!” Titiana scoffed. “Oy’m jus’ sayin’ they ain’t dumb if they’s hidin’. Hidin’ people don’ attract attention ‘f they can ‘elp it.”

They seemed to be moving away from us. We were on the left side of the room and they were heading right. We were lucky. The scouts probably weren’t well-trained because they didn’t check the room thoroughly.

It makes sense. Logically sending new blood to do the most dangerous work first means less losses when they fail. But it assumes nothing is to be gained by sending them in the first place. The girl was probably right. This was a political move. They weren’t supposed to find anything.

They might not have even been expected to come back at all.

“Fine fine!” the man exclaimed, not even trying to hide his voice. “Oy’m wrong, Oy’m wrong! But Oy don’ like bein’ ‘ere so le’s git!”

“Ye, unfortunately, Oy agree wif you for once. Le’s head back ta base and send in our ‘report.’”

“Ya mean all o’ the nothin’ we foun’?”

“Tha’s the scary part, ya gutless dogfish.”

I looked back to Innes who happened to be taking a fatal risk. He was looking out from behind the pillar. He’d let himself fall to the ground and was slowly inching out, probably to get a better look.

The light wasn’t shining in our direction so there was time. Again I tried to nudge him, but he wasn’t even squeezed up next to me anymore. He was a whole octopus away and flopping down onto the ground had too much risk--the sound would be even greater.

The Basist scouts were leaving… making more sound wouldn’t be worth it. All I could do was hope he had the sense to come back. What was he thinking?

“Oy can see it now,” Domitus preached. “‘Scouts Come Back. Find Nothin’!’”

“Oy doubt tha’ll get people ta come back ‘ere,” Titiana responded. “Besides, we did find somethin’ ‘ere. That one Ichiling.”

“Ya know what Oy mean.”

“Oy know.”

First the light disappeared. Then, I heard a bloop then a hiss. Then another. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until after the final hiss and I promptly transformed back into my Octoling form. It felt good to have mobility again.

Shortly after, Innes followed suit and I used my mobility properly. I smacked him upside the head. Reprimanding him, I hissed, “why’d ya do that?”

“I needed to know which kettle they took,” Innes answered, simply.

“But why?” I asked. I could feel my fists tightening. My teeth were gritting.

“Don’t you want allies?” Innes asked, rubbing the side of his head and grimacing. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to take out the Devil if we had people on our side?”
I paused. I did. But… “...maybe fer you,” I breathed.

Innes looked to me. Then looked to the kettle. Then back to me. “At the very least I want to follow them and see if they can be of any use to us. Being around a military base or town might give us better notice of when the Crimson Devil attacks again.”

I took a deep breath. He had been risky. But he’d had a reason.

I sighed, my frown growing. “Le’s at least get yer disguise in order and come up with a plan before we go charging into there.”

We left the underground room and made our way back to the bridge for supplies again. Our goal was similar to last time, but different in its purpose. As before, we were here to prepare. However, this time it was for infiltration.

I found the makeup that would help Innes blend in with the surroundings and we retreated to a house to work on his disguise. First, we stuffed his tentacles back into his hat. Then, we got to the powder. As it made contact with his face, it became semi-liquid ink, then dried back into a skin-like mask. It was good-quality, what we’d found. Too bad it wouldn’t last.

His natural eyemask seemed too big, even for an Inkling. It was only after making him look like an Octoling that his roiling, indigo eyes proved a normal size. In one sense, the black mask was a pain because it meant we had to use more makeup to cover it all up. More of a chance of Innes rubbing it off, more had to be used each disguise… so many issues.

And yet, it was nice to be close to him. I didn’t get a chance to get close to people growing up. Right now was the perfect excuse and quite the extended period of time. I needed to be close to work on this. Close enough to hug. I could hug him.

...I pushed away the flitting thought. That wasn’t important. My personal interests aren’t important. We have a goal:  take down the Crimson Devil.

But he looked so thin. I could easily wrap myself around him. I could reach around him and touch my own side. So small… People seemed so big from far away. A threat. But here, so close, why had I noticed how small he was?

I finished the mask, having put more thought into this disguise than the first time we’d pulled it together. The materials were somewhat expensive as they were a luxury item, so I made sure we took as much as we could. No point letting it go to waste.

“So do I look good or do I look good?” Innes said, grinning for the first time in a while.

I found, to my surprise, an image of his waist and how thin he was came to mind. I shook it as soon as I could, but already I could feel myself flush, if only so slightly. He probably didn’t notice.

“Ya look fine. Functional. Shouldn’t need ta reapply for a few days, at least,” I said, all business. But Innes was grinning. I was tempted to return the smile but instead, I turned away.

Still something in me glowed. In all this talk of vengeance I’d forgotten how nice this all was. This journey. Being together. Enjoying someone’s company. Innes’ cheap vanity. All of it was familiar now. Relaxing.

I believe this is what people call nostalgic. Odd how something could be considered nostalgic when it’s only been a week. Still, in that time, I feel like Innes knows me better than anyone else in this Valley. And I have some idea of who he is.

That was why this was so nostalgic. It dawned on me, Innes has changed. Ever since we heard about the Devil, he seemed caught up in chasing her down. But why? What does he want to meet her for?

I can’t understand.

Why don’t I just ask him? A stray thought murmured. Why don’t I voice my questions as freely as he does? I never minded the questions as long as they were asked at the right time and with purpose. I doubt he would mind the same.

So why don’t I?

“Who are the Basists, do you know?” Innes asked, interrupting my thoughts, while proving my point.

I shifted a little in my chair, my goggled gaze flicking away from Innes. “They’re one of the two major factions the military broke into when DJ Ocatvio was captured--”
“Wait,” Innes interjected, “wait wait, are you talking about the hit single ‘I Am Octavio’ DJ Octavio? Like, phantom webartist who--”

“Ye ye,” I cut him off. “And we’re all very embarrassed by that experiment.”
“Huh?”

“Octavio controlled people who didn’ follow ‘im through a music-based mind control o’ some sort,” I grimaced. “It wasn’t in good taste, but it kept the Octarians centralized. As it is now, it’s clear how vital ‘e was in unifyin’ us all.”

“Wait, so this dude was trying to mind control us?”

“That was the idea, ye.”

“Damn. That’s sick.”

I could feel my jaw tighten at the insult to our former leader. “Woulda been less dirty than us ‘avin’ ta try stealin’ zapfish to try ta keep our country from fallin’ apart.”

“...wait what do you mean?”

“Doesn’ matter,” I shrugged his question off. Maybe I do mind some of the questions. That topic was a particularly touchy subject. “Ya wanted ta know about the Basists? Octavio disappears and some leaders popped up. Heads a’ houses tha’ Octavio granted land.

“They started ta take charge,” I continued, “but in doin’ so demanded resources from the other Lords. As things always seem ta play out, sides started to form in who could use resources best. Righ’ now, Oy think the two are at a ceasefire, but the military squads started ta take sides. Now i’s split almost even between the Basists and the Higher Ups.”

“What really separates them? What does each side have?” Innes asked. I gave him a look and he continued, grinning slyly, “I’d just like to have a better idea of what kind of people there are here. That’s all. Don’t worry about it.”

I did not feel like grinning back this time. “The Basists want more equality for Octarians in general. They have the most support o’ the people, and control the resources that can be used best by a lot o’ people, like farmable land an’ the like.

“The Higher Ups believe in an Octarian Republic, under the idea that an elite few chosen by the public should govern the people and lead ‘em ta victory. As they control the floating islands and most technology, their elite soldiers typically ’re sent on missions in secret, but with big results.”

“I see. So one group for the little folk, and one group for the elites,” Innes figured. “And they’re… in balance right now?”

“Mo’e or less,” I said, finally getting up. “We should get going.”

“Yeah… man I just can’t get over the fact that DJ Octavio was literally trying to mind control us.”
“S’ rather effective on Octarians,” I grimaced.

“It’s not a joke, if that’s what you thought I meant. It’s just, uh, surprising.”
I grunted. I’d already said more than I was used to and was ready to rest. Talking takes a lot out of me. Especially talking about subjects I hadn’t broached in a long time.

One of the biggest reasons I wasn’t immediately persecuted was because the army had bigger problems. First with containing the Devil, which failed. Next with the loss of their organized head, which led to chaos. In that chaos and with the infighting between the groups, I was able to fly under the radar. I was safe for a while.

But it seemed that no matter where I went, I was remembered when I was revealed. That always hurt. Seeing the looks on people’s faces. Like they’d betrayed themselves by being near me. That helping me was some sort of crime. That I was an abomination. That that failure would spread to them. Maybe it did.

I looked back to Innes. He was finally getting up, seeming to have enjoyed the break, even if he didn’t say so. When the Ichiling had said that I was the Traitor, instinctively, I’d expected Innes to run. I expected him to suddenly see the light and realize that being with me was a mistake. But he hadn’t. I was still his ally. We were in this together.

Don’t you want allies? Innes voice echoed in my head.

It wasn’t like I didn’t want help with this. I feel like I’ve been carrying the responsibility of the Devil on my shoulders all this time. That this was all my fault. It was. But I wanted help. Knowing the burden, though, no one would.

But Innes would. Innes did. And Innes wanted the Basists on his side.

As we made our way back to the subway, I tried to think of anything that would help us with gaining the Basist’s support. Just as importantly, without revealing who we were.

They were always recruiting. Literally always. Part of their mentality was to accept new members. For their soldiers and their missions, I was definitely out as they almost certainly would do a full body check; I am very distinct and cannot pass off as a different person. But maybe as a low-ranking guard...

Anyway, unless they accepted an Inkling into their ranks, Innes wouldn’t be able to join either. Octarians, as a whole, tend to distrust Inklings, especially considering their race currently wrote a peace treaty which included noninterference with Octarian affairs. And lands. Not that many made their way down to the depths of the Valley, but those I’ve heard of didn’t meet kind fates.

Maybe it would be possible with their wide variety of members to find a snitch of some sort. With such a large breadth of soldiers, it was only reasonable that some people would let things slip. Maybe checking in on them when they’re deep in their drinks? That would mean keeping tabs on bars in the area that soldiers frequent, but that’s assuming we’re entering a Basist base located near a town--

“Hey, Mabyn,” Innes began, interrupting my train of thought, “is this the right way?”
...he had a point of course. In my distraction, I’d begun to walk away from our goal, not to. “Oy… Oy’m a bit distracted. This isn’ the righ’ way.”

“Are you okay?” Innes asked. Those were words he seemed to say a lot. And yet, it felt like a long time since he’d said them. A very long time. A wave of relief or comfort washed over me.

“Ye,” I said, my tactics and plans fading away. “Ye, Oy’m okay.”

“Good,” he said, with a grin contrasting stern-looking eyes. “I was worried. You seemed really distracted there.”

“Mm.” In reality though, the one who really seemed distracted to me was Innes. I wish I could help him. But I’m no good with other people. Emotions are complicated. Feelings are complicated.

We made our way to the subway again and traversed the stairs. I prayed to all the Deep Ones that we wouldn’t run into another scouting party on the way down. Chances were low, as the Basists seemed hesitant to send in the first. But one group or another might be back to pick up the Ichiling.

So, we made haste. I slipped back on the goggles and I took Innes hand. I powered down the stairs as far as I could without Innes falling behind. Then, I realized something.

“Innes, you saw which kettle they took, right?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

Without responding, I simply took off my goggles and felt around for his hand. Without too much trouble they were in Innes grasp, but before long he complained, “how do I put these things on?”

“Just jus’ slip it ‘round yer head,” I responded.

After a few minutes of fiddling, Innes finally went, “ah, got it. Wow, everything’s surprisingly clear…”
“Jus’ lead us to the kettle.”

“Okie dokie, boss. You got it.” Taking my hand, Innes began to lead me along. It felt weird to be led through the dark. In fact, I hadn’t gone anywhere blind in ages. But somehow I felt… well, more comfortable than I thought I would be. Low visibility was still nothing to sneeze at, even though we’d been trained to fight in it.

“Here we are,” Innes said, after a few seconds. “So, can I ask what this place is?”

“If ya tell me which Jetty it is,” I responded, impatience slipping through my voice.

“Jetty 26.”

I went silent. Jetty 26 was my old home. A farming village of the Valley. But they never had enough land to work. Too many people and too little work to do. They were a military base now? Well, they’d always had the training site there but…

“Maybn?” Innes asked, concerned. “Gonna answer my--”

“I’s nothing,” I said, quickly. “Could’ja gimme my goggles back?”

With no further commentary, I seeped into the kettle. Innes followed suit.