Chapter Text
A resounding bang reverberated through the hallway as the bathroom door haphazardly slammed against the concrete wall behind it. Heavy yet frantic footsteps coincided with the louder noise, yet it still wasn’t enough to drown out the sound altogether. The octoling nearly rammed directly into the wall herself, a harsh shriek rising as the heels of her combat boots scraped against the bathroom tiles beneath them in an attempt to stop. A deafening silence followed the cacophony of sound, only occasionally interrupted by an unsteady breath.
Gray eyes frantically searched the room, looking yet not really seeing the area around her. Several different sets of heartbeats thrummed in her chest in a lost rhythm. There was no one else in the bathroom. No stray turf war participants nor any inkfish in general. No echoes of footsteps coming down the hall after her. No fluorescent teal tentacles flashing in and out of the corner of her vision like a ghost.
She was alone.
The thought was comforting yet oh so terrifying. Isn't that what she wanted? Fear and regret rotated in a dance within her head. No, maybe she doesn't want this. She was supposed to be better than all of this. She was past this.
“Calm down, Eight. It was an accident. Three is okay, and so are you,” she spoke far too shakily for her liking. Any confidence she tried to muster dissipated within seconds, each time leaving yet another wiry arrow in one of her hearts. Her claws dug into the porcelain with a white-knuckle grip. Everything felt muddled in her own head the more she tried to think about anything at all. Speaking aloud was the only form of solace she could think of, but even then it was proving ineffective. “They’re fine. It was just a scratch. Three stopped me before I did anything worse.”
How would she know though? She left Three there by themselves like a coward.
A building sense of dread clouded around her like an oncoming storm. She knows what’s coming. It isn’t the first time she’s felt a surge of panic bubbling from within, but each time it happens she can only hope it’s the last. A distinct pain starts to throb in her chest. She’s not sure if it’s the result of her rattling breaths or the guilt of what she almost did returning with vengeance. It hurts. It aches. She knows she can do something about it, anything about it, but she doesn’t.
Her gaze refused to move anywhere except the green and dark blue mixture of ink running down her claws and into the clean, white bowl of the sink. The sight was enough for nausea to burn in her stomach as the guilt returned nearly tenfold. Eight felt the way Three’s ink was starting to dry and flake on her fingers. It’d be easy to turn on the faucet and let the color drain away, but she can’t. She can’t do it. She can’t because washing it away is just as good as washing away the only reminder of what she did.
The air grew thicker. Each breath became more difficult to draw in than the last.
She’s been doing fine. Great, even. No episodes, no nightmares, not even negative thoughts following her through her day. She was supposed to be better than this.
Why did it all choose to come back with a sickening vengeance now?
It was supposed to be a regular tower control match. They’d both play against each other and the winner would brag all the way up until the duo scheduled a rematch. It was supposed to be fun, normal, a great time for the both of them. Now she’s doing everything she can to not resort to losing her shit in some public bathroom within Deca Tower while Three is off who knows where without her.
When did it all go so wrong?
— — —
“Cod, Eight! Watch where you swing that thing around!”
Eight raised a brow at the lack of an inkling in front of her. What? Where did they…? It’s only then that she panned her gaze down and… yikes, okay, that makes a lot more sense. Three half-heartedly glared up at the octoling from the floor of the training room. One hand nursed the right side of the top of their head while their long tentacles were splayed out on either side. Her attention shifted from them to the e-liter that she held carefully in her hands. Oh. Oh, oops. That was an accident. She slowly lowered her e-liter until the barrel was pointing at the ground. Eight at least had the decency to look a little sheepish at the whole ordeal.
In all fairness, it wasn’t her fault that Three snuck up on her while she was in the middle of testing out the scope on her e-liter. Don't get her wrong, she doesn’t really like playing on scopes. It’s way too closed-in and limited for her liking. She wanted to add something different to their ranked games today though. She’s pretty proud of her own reaction time, but it appeared that Three wasn’t quite as ready as she was. Three had tapped her on the shoulder while Eight had her full attention on her scope, resulting in her pirouetting around to face them in record time. The metallic clank of her e-liter whacking Three upside the head was enough to make her cringe a little even if the situation itself was funny.
“Sorry! Guess you gotta think a little faster than that, Three. Just use your head!” She shot back with a toothy grin, but still offered a hand out to her companion on the ground. The inkling muttered something under their breath, but Eight was able to catch the fond rolling of their mismatched eyes shortly after. Three’s hand met hers and Eight effortlessly helped them back on their feet. Despite their outward appearance, she couldn’t help but frown a bit while tilting her head at Three. The hit still sounded like it hurt. “You are okay though, right? I didn’t mean to hit you. You just spooked me a little, and I didn’t know you were that close to me.”
“It’s fine. I’m still good enough to kick your ass in tower control today if that’s what you’re worried about,” Three shrugged as a knowing smile slowly crept onto their face. “Besides, you’ve hit me harder than that before.”
This earned Three a pointed glare and a light punch right on their shoulder. The cutoff yelp of surprise from them was enough to bring back her own smirk. You deserved that. Totally. Cheeky jerk. “Very funny. You know what I meant.”
“Rude,” Three huffed while rubbing their shoulder. Their face did a little scrunch as if she kicked them down a flight of stairs or something. “Stop trying to take me out before we actually get into a match. That’s foul play!”
Now you’re just being dramatic.
She has watched them clumsily tumble down an entire cliffside only to immediately walk it off afterwards. She’s also seen them launch out of windows, hers included, instead of walking out the door like any other sane inkfish would do. Now they’re whining about a measly punch to the shoulder. Eight stuck out her tongue at them in lieu of a response, you know, like any other mature cephalopod would do. Three, who is no better than she is, returned the gesture but far more subtlety than she did.
This caused what she dubbed yet another freakishly long and pointless stand-off between the two. This time it’s right in the middle of the lobby on a decently busy day. Fantastic. This is definitely what she wanted to be doing right now. It’s not like Tower Control is in rotation already and they’re wasting time by standing here. Oh wait, we are. Something must have shifted in her own expression because Three raised their own brow, tongue still only slightly poking out from their beak.
This carried on way longer than necessary. She didn’t miss the several prolonged stares from passing inkfish as the two agents just kept making the same face at each other. Any lobby regular was probably used to this by now, but that doesn’t mean it’s still not a little embarrassing for both her and Three. Despite that, she refused to look away. Breaking eye contact is for cowards. I am not a coward. She can be patient and wait until Three inevitably gets too bored or impatient to stop staring at her like that. If past experiences are anything to go by, Three would probably last all of five more minutes before doing literally anything else.
Nearly a whole minute of absolutely nothing passed before Three’s bad eye twitched. Checkmate.
“…Can we just get this over with? I’m tired of you holding last week’s bragging rights over my head,” Three groaned, head tipping backward and everything. Just like that, the impromptu standoff was left behind. Eight couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the offhanded dismissal of it all.
Huh. Turns out she was wrong. Three lasted a grand total of less than two more minutes.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have let my team knock yours out twice in a row last week.”
“That’s because your clash blaster was an annoying little bottom-feeding bastard that suddenly had the range of an e-liter whenever they saw me for more than two seconds. They needed to check that guy for illegal weapon mods or something. I mean it.” They jabbed a finger in her direction as if she’s the one that caused the problem.
That game was hilarious to watch though. Three is usually deadly silent during matches and just out in public in general. She doesn’t mind it at all. Eight knows that they’re pretty antisocial, but that only makes it that much funnier when they do get riled up enough to voice their thoughts aloud. For example, she purposely avoided shooting at Three from way up on a perch one time just so that the clash blaster could attack them as soon as they set foot on the tower. The singular enraged shout of “Motherfu—” in response to the initial hit by the clash before splatting had Eight on the floor for at least ten seconds.
Three said they had to take a ten minute break after that match. All they did during that time was pace in a circle. She’s at least ninety percent sure that the break was to avoid queuing with that person again.
“Uh huh. Right What about literally every other game then?”
“The charger I had for two of those games couldn’t hit for shit. If their aim reflected their personal life then I bet that it probably takes them six tries to get their foot through the opening of their shoes in the morning.”
Here we go again.
A noise somewhat between a groan and sigh escaped before she could help it. Welcome back to Three being the world’s biggest and most oblivious hypocrite known to inkfish kind. I really don’t know how you do it. The thought is enough to drag a headache right into her skull. It’s kind of a problem at this point if she’s going to be honest. She could start up an entire Squitter thread on how often Three says something that immediately contradicts another thing they said or have done recently.
“Three,” Eight massaged her temple while shooting them the driest stare she could muster. “Why are you making fun of someone for having bad aim on a charger when you missed not one, not two, but five shots in a row on a stationary training dummy while using my e-liter yesterday?”
“…It was ironic.”
What. That doesn’t even…alright.
“Soooo is that also why you laid face down on the floor of the training room without saying a single word right after you missed that fifth shot?”
“What was it you said like… four minutes ago? Oh yeah! I was using my head, y’know, by lying down to get a better angle. All in the math or whatever.” The squid had the audacity to close their eyes, cross their arms, and then nod as if they said something of scholarly level.
She deadpanned at them for their really awful attempt at a joke, and then flicked them square in the forehead. It was better than humoring them with a response. Three yelped out a particularly loud “Fuckin’ ow, Eight!” at the hit. Eight nearly snickered at the flush that immediately rose to Three’s cheeks once they realized what they just yelled aloud in the lobby.
Three must’ve heard her laugh anyway because they turned their head to stare right at her, eyes slowly narrowing and everything. Maybe they were a little mad after that. It wasn’t until Three reached for their Hero Shot that she realized oh. Huh. I should probably get out of here.
She took off in a sprint toward the spawner, e-liter haphazardly tucked under her arm. If the rapid footsteps behind her were any kind of warning, Three was just a couple paces behind her. Three never did get the chance to do anything in revenge before the spawner activated and took them both to the next available match.
After spawning into Walleye Warehouse, Eight noticed two things. One, Three didn’t spawn alongside her so they actually managed to get onto the opposing team. Two, her ink color, to her own disappointment, had only shifted to a slightly brighter pink like her other teammates. That meant that the other team had that one shade of green. Boring! They should’ve at least swapped the teams instead of sticking both Eight and Three with colors so close to the ones they use so often.
Her teammates consisted of one inkling on a flingza roller, another on a splash, and an octoling with a brella. Eight fiddled with the e-liter in her hands. At least she was the only one on a backline weapon this game. Even though she attached the scope onto it today, she doubted she was actually going to use it. Three is especially slippery, so there’s no way she’s going to let the scope be the reason they get the upper hand.
The match starts, and Eight beelined directly for the grates ahead of spawn. Her teammates can handle whatever comes to the frontlines. Well, at least she thought so until two of her teammates were taken out at the same time. She had a sneaking suspicion as to what happened. It didn’t take long for her thoughts to be confirmed.
Eight can spot Three’s bright white Squidforce t-shirt along with the pair of black and yellow shorts that they probably have thousands of from a mile away. She doesn’t even have to mention the hero shoes or headset because they never wear anything else. They had the gall to flash a peace sign at her while grinning before diving behind another large container. She had to suppress a groan at their theatrics. Coddamn it, Three. A headache formed almost immediately.
At least the brella was faring well enough on their own. They took out the enemy octobrush and backed up just enough to where their teammates could jump right back in. Three was off who knows where preparing to terrorize the poor players on her team. The least she could do was pick off some of the other team until she and Three crossed paths.
The first victim of her e-liter didn’t take long at all. One of the octolings on Three’s team swam up onto the top of the tower. Eight pulled the trigger before the tower had a chance to play a tune. Sometimes the other players make it too easy. Eight charged up another shot, fully expecting their splat dualies to roll out from behind another container.
A burst bomb somehow got lobbed high enough to smack her right in the middle of her negative longcuff sweater. Ouch? Eight withdrew from the scope, but didn’t bother taking her finger off the charge. Another burst bomb exploded at the tip of her boots. There was only one squid lame enough to go out of their way to get on her nerves like that.
Eight flicked her e-liter downwards at Three without batting an eye. Of course they still had a stupid grin on. At least they weren’t able to get out of her sight this time and went out with a bang. Her brows furrowed anyway. “Seriously?!” Eight called out to Three’s respawn ghost, annoyance rising higher when she spotted the mirth lighting their eyes even after getting splatted.
I hate you so bad. Sooo bad.
Three could’ve taken her out with a well-aimed shot after landing that first burst bomb, but nooo they had to try and be funny about it. However, she would’ve been royally pissed if Three did manage to splat her with burst bombs while she was staring through a scope instead of paying attention to her surroundings. Oh well. Now that Three was forced to respawn, she had no issue with pushing up on the map.
She crossed the gap between the grates and the closest container with one leap. Meanwhile, the brella swam their way onto the tower. The tower slid forward, its musical jingle echoing off the walls of the warehouse. Eight crouched at the edge of the container to survey the area. More importantly, she was keeping an eye out for Three.
Where did they go? Usually they’re back by now.
One player from each team took each other in a trade closer to their base. Neither of them were Three. What are you doing then? The brella went down to what she assumed was the carbon from the way the other inkfish disappeared without a trace. They probably didn’t go far, ninja squid or not.
Eight peered through the scope again as the tower passed back over the midpoint rather than stopping at it. Bubbles rose in the ink behind the tower’s pole. Found ya. She smirked and lined up the shot only to hear the distinct sound of an ink-infused roll. Leave it to the dualies to harass an e-liter. At least it wasn’t Three this time.
The dualies rolled out of the way of her charged shot and refused to back up. They returned fire, still being incredibly annoying by spamming rolls throughout. Eight dove down from the container, wincing slightly as some of the enemy ink clipped her leg anyways. Apparently the flingza noticed her predicament and came around from the side.
The flingza rushed forward, easily taking out the splat dualies that just ran fresh out of rolls. They immediately headed for the tower, but unlike Eight, they were none the wiser about the ink still bubbling from behind the cover of the tower’s pole. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but the carbon roller quickly splatted her teammate with one close slam after surfacing from their ink.
The carbon dipped back down into the ink, but Eight had already figured out exactly where they were hiding on the tower. She dashed to the side, e-liter already charging as she lined up her laser right on the pole. Before the carbon was given a chance to move, she flicked her sights just far enough off the pole and into the enemy ink to land a clean shot on them. Another one down, yet still no Three.
Her other remaining teammate was too far away to immediately hop on the tower. Eight quickly inked a line from her spot to the tower, jumping down from her highpoint. Just as she swam up the side of the tower, her eyes caught a glimpse of a superjump marker. The tower started to move in the other direction, but the distinct ringing of a splashdown coincided with the chime of the tower’s song.
The high-pitched sound was enough to cause her heart rate to spike.
Eight’s flight response temporarily takes over as she dove off the tower. Three lands with a powered slam, green ink flying all around them. A splotch of it streaks across her wide open eyes and obscured her vision. That’s…not good. Eye mask protection or not, it doesn’t really help if the ink gets in your eye. That doesn't even account for how irritating it is in general.
She crouched low to the ground, one hand charging up her e-liter while she used her other to swipe at the splashdown residue around her eyes. Instead of the ink just wiping away like expected, all she did was make things worse by smearing it around. Damn it! Having her vision reduced to colorful smudges wasn’t the most ideal outcome especially while on a charger. It also didn’t help that her hearts were hammering in her chest a mile a mile for whatever reason.
Where the hell are my teammates?
Eight pressed close to the side of the shipping container. Confusion swarmed in her head as her claws uncontrollably tapped and rattled the e-liter in her hands. Why were her hands shaking so bad? What is there to freak out over right now? She’s dealt with so much worse than a splashdown and some temporary blindness.
The jingle of the tower grew louder the longer she wasted time thinking. Her only choices were to be ready or to try jumping out. Jumping out meant that the other team would probably take the lead stupidly close to the end of the match. On the other hand, staying was also risky considering her vision wasn’t at a ten. Blobs or not, like hell I’m running away. As long as her hands stopped shaking for a second she could find a way out of this.
The e-liter beeped as it fully charged. This wasn’t exactly the most ideal spot to take a shot, but it’s not the first time she’s had to play a ground charger. All she had to do was pop around the corner and splat whoever was on the tower. Tower lost, lead saved, and crisis averted. Then she could jump out and properly wipe off her face.
One. She took a deep breath to steady herself.
Two. The erratic beating of her hearts dulled into background noise.
Three. Eight rounded the corner to confront the inkling she expected to see standing on the tower only to see a sickeningly familiar teal .
The sight startled Eight enough for her to let go of the trigger and miss.
Her hearts sank to her stomach like stones in a river. She had to be seeing things . What was that ? Why the hell would there be teal amidst the mess of colors she saw? The warehouse felt darker, colder, and damper. Eight inhaled sharply only to fight back a cough as stale air infiltrated the back of her throat. What? How could the air be stale? We’re outside!
A sea of dread pooled in her stomach once the implications set in. Nothing like this has happened in such a long time, so why now? Why was her mind freaking the hell out so bad? I'm just playing Tower Control with Three. I’m okay. An overly acidic taste left the impression of a burn on her tongue. I'm not there. The rumbling of a passing train echoed in the back of her mind. Her shaking had only worsened since she had last paid attention to it.
Something’s wrong. Something’s definitely wrong and I need to tell them.
She pointed her weapon at the ground as the tower’s jingle faded out entirely. Why did it stop? Was it ever really there? Eight grit her beak, frustration and anxiety now working in tandem. “Three? Hang on, I don’t–“
Droplets of fluorescently teal ink splattered onto the ground just inches in front of her.
What? Again? But the color on the other team is…
Her vision had cleared up just enough for her to meet the gaze of the inkling on the tower. Three’s gaze was no longer fond nor loving. Lifeless and glowing eyes devoid of any emotion stared right through her. A hero shot pointed right at her, the same teal ink that had been fired at her dripped from the nozzle. All she could focus on was the fact that the colored ink was bright enough to burn her retinas. Teal. Not green. Not orange. Not theirs. Just that sickening teal. There was no sign of the squid she knows and loves.
The parasitic gunk clung to the right side of their face just as hauntingly as it did back then.
You didn’t rid them of the sanitization well enough back then, now did you?
That wasn't her voice. It wasn't Three's either. A sharp pain shot through the back of Eight’s head, eyes squeezing shut as soon as it hit. A pained hiss escaped from her clenched beak. What the hell is going on with me? Her mind ran through thoughts a mile a minute. Everything was fine up until now! She’s not dreaming, and she’s not down there. Right? If both of those are the case, then why does this feel so real.
There is no tower. There are no other players. That is not your Agent Three.
Upon cracking open her eyes again, all she could see was teal, teal, teal.
Wake up, 10,008.
Eight’s beak bared almost instinctively at the tinny sound of the telephone. Her stress levels shot up monumentally. “How about you mind your own business and leave me alone?” She practically growled at the haunting figure. The hero shot in front of her lowered significantly as if the thing in Three’s head was contemplating its actions. Good. Her e-liter smacked the floor with a metallic clang as she haphazardly tossed it to the side. It’ll only slow her down in hand-to-hand combat anyway.
Without giving Not-Three a chance to think, Eight leapt forward and rammed them off the platform that they partially stood on. They slammed onto the ground with a hissed out wheeze as if it was enough to wind them. Something tells her that the action must’ve caught them off guard. In hindsight it doesn’t make much sense, but she’ll take her victories in smaller batches.
She doesn’t want to hurt them anyway. Not while it’s using Three like this. She just wants that damn goop off their head so she can get her girlfriend back and get herself back out of this nightmare.
That’s… what this is, right? Just a nightmare.
Her attention slipped for a moment as fingers gently brushed against her wrists. Not-Three had tried to take advantage of her plight by… reaching for her hands? They weren’t holding their weapon anymore or anything. White-hot rage burned within her chest all the same at the thought. How dare you try to use such an innocent and loving action against me while using them to do it.
Eight snarled and shoved them completely flat on the ground by their shoulders. The worst part was that Not-Three didn’t even try to stop her. Not even as she held them down while glaring into their vacant eyes. The sight sent a wave of anguish through her. Why does this hurt so bad? I just want to save you. Not-Three’s mouth moved, but nothing they said reached Eight’s ears. She didn’t want to hear whatever manipulating jargon the phone was making them say anyway.
Not-Three writhed beneath her grip, but even that wasn’t enough for Eight to pry her eyes off their face. The sanitizing ink is hypnotizing in a bad way. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t focus on anything else. Everything around her blurred into static except for that teal. It was rage inducing. Sickening. She wanted it gone. She needed it gone so everything could be alright again. If it’s gone, Three would go back to being themselves. If it’s gone, she’d untangle herself from this impromptu web of a nightmare.
Three had to be desanitized somehow. That’s how her nightmares always ended before. The only problem is that she doesn’t have an octoshot this time. The charger she abandoned moments before could kill Three this close, and that’s not something she wants to risk. There was one option she could do since Not-Three was already right there.
She’s not proud of the decision she came to.
Eight quickly dropped down to where she had one knee on either side of Not-Three’s lower abdomen. Her right arm pinned them flat across the ground by their shoulders. With her left arm now free, she drew back a clawed hand. Not-Three immediately tensed beneath her instead of retaliating. The reaction only left her with more questions than answers.
Why are you making this easy for me? Why aren’t you fighting back?
Her hand trembled from where it sat idly in the air. At this point she couldn’t tell if it was from the anger or the anxiety. Maybe it was both. Eight doesn’t want to do this. Not even in the slightest. What other option did she have left? She shook her head. She has to carry through. If not for herself then she’s doing it for Three. “ I’m sorry, ” Eight rasped in Octarian amidst shaky breaths. “It’s fine. It’s fine, I’ll-“
A cold hand touched her left shoulder.
Danger.
An inner voice cries out in alarm and makes her go rigid. Eight doesn’t want to turn around. She doesn’t want to see whatever the hell was trying to distract her. “Get off of me!” Eight barked out instinctively while throwing back her left elbow as hard as she could. Apparently her elbow struck something soft . Whatever or whoever had touched her choked on the air with a wheeze, the hand leaving along with it.
The inkling beneath her used that as an opportunity to struggle against her hold. “Oh no you don’t.” The octoling applied more force with her arm, boots audibly scraping at the ground. Not-Three’s eyes meet hers again. For a brief second she could’ve sworn that she saw wide and worried orange and dulled teal eyes instead of that sickly fluorescent teal. She blinked once only for it to disappear. Tartar’s glare returned as if it had never left. Liar. Stop trying to trick me like this is some game! Her vindicated action came back full force as she once again arched her claws with a growl.
It’s only then that Not-Three wrenched an arm free from her. That action changed nothing. The only thing Eight could focus on was the parasitic sludge making itself at home on her significant other’s face. Instead of trying to attack her directly, they threw up their arm to block what was coming. Pointed claws swung forward regardless, slicing both the topside of their arm and the right side of their face with deadly precision.
Not-Three cried out in a way that’s almost haunting to listen to. It’s wrong. It’s wrong. It sounded too normal , too real. A large portion of it fell to the ground with a squelch. Once glance told her that a fair amount of sanitization residue dripped from her claws. Her stomach churned at both the sight and up close smell of it all. To her dismay, Three’s empty gaze didn’t change in the slightest, save for a pained squint in their right eye.
Why didn’t it work?
A hand gripped at her arm. That was the only warning she received before she was the one sent flat onto the ground. Despite the scratch, Not-Three managed to dislodge from the pin enough to grab ahold of Eight and roll her off of them. They stared down at Eight from where they crouched, one foot on her back while holding one of Eight’s arms behind her head. This counter was so painfully familiar. So painfully Three.
It’s not them though. Three would never look at her like that.
She bared her teeth again, fully expecting Not-Three to start attacking. Just because they didn’t before didn’t mean that they couldn’t start now. Maybe they were just waiting for her to drop her guard. A cruel twist in fate compared to the usual merciless fights she has relived against a sanitized Three.
Yet they didn’t.
In fact, they weren’t doing anything to hurt her. The foot placed on her back lifted almost as soon as she showed a sign of aggression. Eight then attempted to yank her arm back out of their hands from where she was on the ground, but it was no good. That was the only thing Not-Three didn’t give up on yet. They made no move to grab their fallen weapon either.
Whatever was going on this time, it felt nothing but wrong.
Not-Three stood up beside her without letting go. They tugged on her arm in an attempt to get her to stand too. Like hell was she going to do what they wanted without a fight. She fought back with a yank as soon as she got to her feet. Satisfaction bubbled in her chest as the inkling stumbled. Eight snickered and almost had it in her to smile all smugly, but now really wasn’t the time.
Apparently that pissed off Not-Three or something because it was enough for them to try and close the gap. She raised her only free hand again with the full intention of clawing them if they tried to do anything. Her defense was rudely interrupted when Not-Three’s arms wrapped around her in an embrace instead. They didn’t hold her tightly enough to hurt by any means, but the close proximity to them might as well have been suffocating. The sanitizing ink left on Not-Three’s face burned away at Eight’s skin as it leaked onto her neck and clothes.
This isn't right. Her fight with Three didn’t go like this, not even in her nightmares. Every single thing that they’re doing just doesn’t make sense and falls so far out of the normal pattern. There’s no point in restraining her especially with her charger being abandoned so long ago. So why were they doing it now? Not-Three wasn’t making any kind of moves to hurt her either, not after firing the weapon once at the start. Everything they did was purely defensive and Eight wasn’t even bruised.
What am I doing? What’s the point? This should’ve been over as soon as I got rid of the sanitization.
Her will to fight ebbed away, her tensed posture slackening along with it. I don’t want to fight you anymore. It’s been so long since she had to play her part in the horrible dance. Night after night she had to deal with this for the first months after reaching the surface until the nightmare became less and less frequent. It should’ve been over. She’s better. She’s moved past all this.
Nothing from the metro was supposed to bother her anymore.
It's only then that she heard the voice of the squid she wanted to save speaking a mix of Octarian and Inklish softly in her ear.
“You’re okay, Eight. You’re in Inkopolis. You’re okay. You made it out of there. Breathe. It’s okay.” Their voice sounded tired, pained, but it held no trace of the robotic tone that Tartar carried. Clarity started to return at the sound of their voice. It was Three’s voice and Three’s alone.
You’re not asleep. Eight drew in a deep breath. You’re in Inkopolis. The underground air of the metro slowly began to freshen. Three is here, not Tartar. The static clogging her ears was replaced by the sound of her own breathing. Her gray eyes tentatively moved to stare at the inkling resting their chin on her shoulder.
Disbelief coursed through her skin as if it had turned her own ink into ice. There was no sign of the fluorescent teal that she was seeing for the past few minutes. Instead, dark green ink tinged with a sickly dark blue streamed down the right side of their face. Horror dawned on her when she traced the leak back to its source. There were a few visibly deep scratches surrounding their half-lidded teal eye.
Scratches? Three didn’t have any of those earlier. The thought ran through her mind on how exactly Three could’ve acquired the wounds. Eight ripped the gunk off of Not-Three, but it shouldn’t have hurt them underneath it.
I wasn’t asleep though. Not even for a minute of that fight. Still, Eight had to have scratched something, someone, that was physical if she’s been awake this whole time. She felt the liquid on her hand. Nausea settled in the pit of her stomach the more it sank in.
I didn’t scratch the sludge because the sludge wasn’t there. It was never there.
Hysteria flooded her system at the implications. She’s an idiot. An honest to cod idiot. She’s been in Walleye Warehouse on a Tower Control setup this whole time. This was supposed to be their weekly match, yet she somehow found it in her to ruin it. There was no metro. There was no Not-Three or Tartar. There was no nightmare.
It was me. I hurt Three. I hurt Three in front of everyone over nothing .
“…Eight?”
The ink that was burning her skin just moments before felt like nothing but a wet patch on her cheek. If it wasn’t sanitization ink then… What was it? Eight raised her hand into her field of vision, horror dawning as her fears became a reality. It’s dark green. Dark green mixed with the dark blue of cephalopod blood. Her breath hitched in her throat.
It’s Three’s.
It’s Three’s blood and ink drying on her claws and cheek. She forced out choked words from her beak, each one shakier than the last. “Oh cods. Oh cods, Three I didn’t mean to. I—” She’d just been so angry. So fed up and done with memories of the metro that she had lost touch with reality. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m—” her voice cracked and completely left her.
The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.
Three released her and backed off just enough to properly meet her gaze. One hand gently cupped her cheek while the other suspiciously tucked behind their back. She could’ve sworn that she also spotted that same green and blue mixture somewhere on their arm before they hid it from her. The fact that they were hiding something from her only made her feel that much worse.
What did I do to you? Why did you let me do it?
“It’s alright, Eight. It’s not your fault. You weren’t here when you did this,” Their gentle words were comforting but did little to soothe the storm whirling within her head. It was me though. I did hurt you. You didn’t even fight back until after I already injured you. Eight can’t bring herself to say it aloud. She repeatedly shook her head as she fought back her own tears. She doesn’t get to be the one that cries over this.
Eight should’ve pieced it together herself. She’s smarter than this. Not-Three didn’t try to injure her even once. Restrain, sure, but that was nothing compared to what she did to them. They were also acting just like Three normally does, but she refused to look past their sanitized appearance. The octoling essentially attacked her girlfriend who had zero intention of fighting back and never realized it.
She doesn’t even remember what it was that could’ve set her off to begin with.
Footsteps of countless other inkfish coincided with the sound of warbled speakers around her. The lights and colors of the surface overwhelmed her sight, but looking at Three after what she did to them was a much worse fate. Shutting her eyes wasn’t an option either. If she shut her eyes, it could just take her right back to the place she wanted to stay away from the most. It was all so overstimulating. She had to get out. She had to get away
This sucks. This sucks so fucking bad.
Three’s faint yet annoyed voice cut right through the static. “Back up. Back up! Leave us alone, I got this!”
Anger sparked in Eight’s chest for a reason she couldn’t quite place. Was it because Three was mad at someone else but not her? No, that’s not it. Her partner has a heart of gold, so of course they’re not upset over what she did. They should be though. They have every right to be. She deserved it. What she didn’t deserve was the love Three was trying so hard to show her.
…Maybe she’s just infuriated with herself.
The couple of inkfish near her obliged to Three’s demand, but it was all still too much. In a battle where her fight instinct had already been dragged out to the point exhausted, flight came in to take the reins. Eight jerked herself away Three’s careful hand, the latter making a surprised grunt. She stumbled backward, her vision blurring at the edges.
“Eight, stop! It’s okay! It doesn’t even hurt, I promise!” Three sputtered and reached out to her with the hand they’d been keeping hidden. The octoling immediately honed in on their wounded arm. The size and severity of the scratches matched the ones near their eye one to one. I did that too. They must’ve noticed they used the wrong arm too if the sudden paling of their face and tentacles was anything to go by. “Uh, hold on! It’s not as bad as it—“
“Leave me alone, Three!” Eight swatted their hand away from her. Each spoken word felt like poison on her tongue. "I can’t do this right now. I just can’t.”
“Can’t do what?” Their voice sounded so incredibly hurt, but it wasn’t in the strained way that came with physical wounds.
“This!” She gestured up and down at them. “Look at you. Talk to you. Cod, I can’t even think about you right now!” Eight snapped, her own tentacles twitching and writhing with misdirected fury. “If I do, then what’s stopping me from losing my shit and mutilating you in front of everyone? Oh wait, I already did that!” The crude words left her mouth before she could spare another second to think about it.
Three just wordlessly stared at her with eyes full of what she could only describe as pity.
“I didn’t mean that. Don’t look at me like that.” She rasped, the burning rage dying out as quickly as it arrived. I don’t deserve your pity. Not after what I did to you.
It was only partially true. Eight really didn't want to talk to Three right now. They were talking to her like she didn’t attack them in a blind rage like some feral animal. She made a mistake. A big mistake. Their face and arm were more than enough to prove that she was dangerous. Why were they acting like she did nothing wrong?
Nothing was making sense and it hurt.
Three took one step forward.
I just want to be alone.
Eight took two steps back.
“Don’t go.”
The weakness in Three’s voice tore at her heartstrings, but it was too late. She had already made up her mind. Without wasting another second, she dropped into swim form and superjumped toward the spawner at the back of the warehouse.
For the second time that day, Eight left Three behind before they had the chance to reach her.