Chapter Text
The sight of Inkopolis always leaves Three with a suitcase full of conflicting feelings that they’re not quite ready to unpack. They’re still not even sure if they are capable of processing any of it.
Could you even make the choice for yourself if you wanted to?
The unwelcome thought was brushed aside as the inkling touched down near one of the broken lamp posts on yet another abandoned street. Even if they ignored the traitorous mental statement, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t enough to leave their stomach in knots. They’re already off to a bad start.
Maybe it wasn’t their brightest idea to keep coming back to the sanitised part of the city every now and then. Then again, it was really the only place they could walk in and walk out without anyone batting an eye. Some poor sanitised souls still wandered the streets of the region despite the attempts the NSBS made to relocate or mercy-splat them. Thankfully enough, today appeared to be a quiet day without the agents or sanitised inklings right in their face.
They still don’t know how they’re supposed to feel about the Squid Sisters either.
Malice. Disgust. Betrayal. Wrath.
Guilt. Helplessness. Failure. Home.
The two sides argue in their head like a relentless mantra. Listening to one or the other is impossible and it makes it feel as if their head is full of fog. Even on quiet days like this, it’s enough to leave Three leaning on the lamppost with one hand pressing hard into the glowing ink still plastered on their face. Both of their eyes screwed shut to block out the sensory overload they felt coming their way. The reason they’re alone today to begin with is because Four’s energy was already enough to give them a migraine. The internal argument is only icing on the cake.
Aren’t you guilty? Look at what happened to your home. What did you do? It sounds like their voice but also clearly is not their voice. It’s livelier, less monotone with a detectable trace of sarcasm.
They deserve worse. Why are you standing around? Get over it and finish the job. It’s their voice again, only much more robotic. More bitter. In that case, is it really a voice at all?
They feel an uncomfortable buzz as the first voice tries to retaliate. An involuntary sneer rips free from their throat as they slam a fist against the metal of the pole. “Shut up . Leave me be. ” For some reason they aren’t capable of yelling. They haven’t been able to as long as they can remember. However, the discomfort rattling in their head is enough to at least leak something into their voice a little.
Apparently it’s enough. The voices disappear and Three is left with an eerie silence.
Both of them usually just prattle on and on but neither of them ever breach the surface into reality. It’s sad, really. Not even their thoughts are their own. They don’t know who either of the voices arguing in the back of their head happen to be. Apparently the two know each other well enough if all they do is fight.
It doesn’t matter. Do as you’re told. Thinking is not a part of your orders.
A gentle wind flutters their cape. For the briefest of moments, the area around their right eye aches. One touch is enough to let them know that the sanitising ink around their eye has started to become drippy again. Fantastic. Another problem to the list. Three doesn’t know who or what is speaking to them anymore. It doesn’t matter, right? They only came to be after leaving the metro to serve a purpose. Nothing else should matter.
If that’s the case, then why does it feel so wrong?
A hand touches their shoulder not even moments later. Eyes flying open, Three practically launches to the side. Their hands feign for a weapon they lost long ago, now brushing nothing but tattered cloth. They’re already way out of kilter so the sudden movement is enough to send them tumbling to the pavement with a resounding hiss. Shards of glass from the broken lamppost dug into their palms, but the pain didn’t register enough for them to particularly care.
An outstretched hand is the first thing they see once their gaze finally finds the time to focus.
Their beak bares into an animalistic snarl, but it drops the second they trace the hand to its source. Pink octarian tentacles, blank white eyes wide and full of fear. Traces of tears ran down her cheeks. Three’s own fluorescently green ink ran down her arms and dripped off her fingers onto the pavement below.
She’s familiar. She’s familiar and it hurts. Who are you? There’s no name to put on her face. No voice to stick to her parted beak. They bite back a whine as a surge of emotions hits their brain with the force of a bullet train.
Anger. A hero shot slowly lowered to a snarling octoling.
Sorrow. The octoling’s eyes were full of frustrated tears yet she was all too strong to let them flow.
Defeat. Her weapon was far out of reach and she showed no sign of being able to get off the ground that she fell to.
Acceptance. They didn’t feel anything at all as a resounding bang of a dissipating form echoed in the elevator.
Love. Grief. Heartbreak. Right before they pulled the trigger, she had shot one last grin to them, the expression forever haunting the back of their consciousness. Despite everything, the octoling managed to mouth a silent “I love you,” in return.
No! The last three aren’t possible. They splatted her and moved on to the next part of the mission. The subject was just another obstacle in the road for them to overcome. What happened to her didn’t hurt them back then, right? Why does it hurt to remember it all now?
Three simply stares ahead, now more conflicted and confused than ever as the voices left behind go deathly silent.
I’m sorry. Says one.
Stay gone. Says the other.
“You’re dead,” They settle, voice flat and almost lost. “You shouldn’t be here.”
But no one answers. When they blink, the figure is gone as quickly as it appeared. Three’s head gently falls into their freshly cut and bleeding hands. The glass shards are embedded further in their skin, but they can’t bring themselves to do anything about it. They still don’t even remember her name. The sanitising ink on their face suddenly felt so much heavier than they remembered.
They’re alone again.