Chapter Text
Agent Three was not a particularly friendly inkfish on a good day. Tolerable, sure, but a far cry from being as charismatic as their idols.
Today was a bad day. It had started the same way most days had for the past cod-knows how long. Wake up from the floor they’d fallen asleep on, slumped over in a deeply uncomfortable position. Check for any threats nearby, the glowing teal of sanitization, and when none was found, let out a breath of relief. They were safe for another night.
Get up. Stretch out their aching limbs and ignore the cracks and pops from sleeping sitting up, propped against the door of a broom closet. Try to ignore the IV bags full of the same glowing liquid that filled the veins of this facility’s soldiers.
Check to make sure the weapons they carried were still functional. Well, weapon—the hero shot Sheldon had so carefully modified for them years ago.
A splatter of orange ink covered the wall with a pull of the trigger, and the agent nodded, relief filling them for a moment. But it was time to get moving—finding Cap’n was their only priority, right along with getting out of this hellscape.
So they started walking, pushing their long tentacles out of their face. The endless hallways, all made the same way, stretched in all directions. Tile floor, with fluorescent lights every five feet on the dot. If Three hadn’t already decided they hated it here, maybe it would have been more interesting to see how meticulous the architect had been.
And so it was for… an amount of time. Three couldn’t tell how long—there was no way to gauge it. There were just hallways, stretching on and on, with the occasional octoling soldier that would lunge for them, but quickly be dispatched by the more experienced squid.
It was dull. Repetitive. Mind-numbing. Everything about this place reeked of hand sanitizer, and though Three’d long since grown desensitized to it, it still felt like breathing in acid.
They were startled out of their routine by a beeping in a pocket. Urgent—a distress signal?
A hand shot into their jacket, scrambling to pull out the device they’d shoved in there ages ago. It was old, but apparently still in perfect condition.
A signal showed on its map. They’d long since figured out the dot was them, but the hallways seemed to lead nowhere, so it was practically useless. But now, another signal was there, a few halls away from them, though darker. Below them, perhaps?
It was the first lead of… anything they’d had in ages, so may as well take it. The agent took off at a run, and after a few turns, something changed. The white tile was replaced with a sheet of dark glass, and below them was something. A giant metro station, with a train pulled into it.
Something else was on it. A blender..?
Why the fuck was there a blender in whatever this place was?
No time to question it, because as Three looked closer, something became clear. Cap’n was inside the blender, and instinct took over.
The roof shattered with a crash, and the blender was quick to follow. The seemingly-thick glass was not prepared for a very determined inkfish to come crashing down on it, and it showed, though also hurt like hell.
Their memories were fuzzy for a bit from then on. Cap’n talking to someone, followed by a few more tinny voices, before a superjump. The device they’d had was taken from them too, and though Three usually would have protested, they were drifting in and out of consciousness.
Time passed (or maybe it didn’t—it was hard to tell) but a wave of clarity washed over them at some point, giving them enough strength to stand.
Something felt different on their face, but Three dismissed it as a byproduct of crashing into the blender. Regardless, they knew they had to follow The Subject, who had superjumped. It was vital .
Cap’n was here too, staring at them with… fear? How odd. He had to come along, too.
Agent Three walked over to him with purpose, picking the old squid up with no issue. They couldn’t move like this though—that was fine. They had the facility at their disposal.
As if on cue, there was a horrible metal screeching. The roof of the facility opened, and something came down.
A floating device. Perfect. A respawn station—already attuned to them—was installed, and it was a simple matter to tie up the old squid and put him on it, before stepping on themself.
From there, the facility went by in a blur. The Phases of the statue were easily traversable by them, now that they weren’t An Enemy.
The Spine was soon upon them, the giant expanse of the room a perfect place for the battle with The Enemy. Test Subject 10,008.
Agent Three did not question how they knew the name of the being who had escaped. They simply did. And they knew with all their being they had to eliminate the Test Subject.
Soon, The Subject entered the room. Magenta ink that ordinarily Agent Three would have found a lovely shade was instead vile, and their eyes narrowed ever so slightly as the figure came into view.
An octoling.
Another reason they must be eliminated. No octolings could make it to The Surface.
The Subject stepped onto the elevator, and it began to rise. Agent Three prepared themselves for battle. They Knew how this Subject fought. The Subject preferred keeping their distance, and in a melee confrontation, was far more vulnerable.
The elevator stopped, and The Subject looked around, confused. The old inkling said something, but Agent Three dismissed it as irrelevant, instead diving to the elevator, a splashdown ready in their palm.
They had to stop The Subject from reaching the surface.
The Subject dodged out of the way, narrowly. No matter. Agent Three far outmatched them.
The ink from their hero shot was a sickly shade of teal-green, but Agent Three paid it no mind. The Subject was all that occupied their mind.
One of their shots connected, and The Subject let out a cry before retaliating. Magenta ink shot out of an octo shot— how did The Subject get that —and the agent was covered in the vile color before long.
No matter.
They hopped back to their saucer, the refreshing ink of the respawn point washing over them, returning them to normal.
This time, as they jumped into the fray, a baller surrounded them. The Subject grit their teeth and fired, but the agent blew up the ball before it could break.
Teal ink covered The Subject, a sharp breaking sound following. Finish the job .
Agent Three fired at The Subject, but they had entered their octo form, swimming away before the agent could kill. No matter. Reclaiming the turf was vital, and would cut off The Subject's cowardly escape points.
As the ground became covered in swirls of teal and green, there was pain behind them. The Subject . Agent Three whipped around, but too late. All they got was a facefull of ink, and retreated to their platform once more.
Failure here is not an option .
This time, instead of engaging The Subject, they pulled out a stingray. The beam came to life in their hand, tracking the ever-elusive Subject with less precision than was ideal. The Subject weaved around the beam, yelling something Agent Three dismissed as irrelevant.
Soon, the special ran out, and The Subject still stood. No worries. Another stingray would be ready soon.
Before this could happen, The Subject lobbed a bomb at them.
Why did The Subject have bombs. Those octolings had failed in their objectives. Perhaps it was better they were eliminated.
While they contemplated why The Subject had bombs, it exploded, the sickly ink stinging their head. Another wash in the respawn and it was done, but now The Subject had to die. Finish the job, inkling.
The saucer raised, and The Agent flung themselves off it. Another splashdown, and then another, and a third, and yet Th e Subject still stood. They must be eliminated. Kill them now .
Something snapped in The Agent. They dove for The Subject, kicking their legs out from under them and pinning their arms down, tossing the octo shot aside.
Now The Subject was finally cornered, and would not be getting away. The Agent pressed their gun into The Subject’s chest, but before they had the chance to fire, The Subject used whatever strength they had remaining to flip The Agent, taking the momentary stun to grab their octo shot and fire.
Even as the ink burned like acid in their skin, The Agent moved forward, blindly firing at The Subject, but to no avail. Even if they hit, the barrage didn’t let up, and soon the world faded from magenta to black.
---
When Three awoke, it was in a much different place than they’d remembered. The whirring of helicopter blades was practically deafening, and their eyes felt leaden. The floor wasn’t covered in ink anymore, and the side of their head—did someone try to give them an impromptu lobotomy?
Some noise must have escaped them, because the next thing they knew, Cap’n was talking to them, far too close to their ear for their liking.
“Agent Three! You’re awake! Thank cod, we were so worried.”
Another groan. Three slowly opened their eyes, taking a moment to let the blurry shapes settle into something that made sense.
From this angle, yeah, it was pretty clear they were on a helicopter. The sea was below them, which was… odd. But the thing that stood out most was the bright magenta-painted statue. Cracked and broken, but still pointedly standing.
Their gaze moved to the helicopter itself as Three forced their aching limbs into a sitting position. The pop idols Pearl and Marina were embracing, the smaller inkling practically crushed in the grip of Marina, but seemingly enjoying it all the same.
Cap’n sat next to Three, wearing the oldest pair of headphones Three’d ever seen, and in some old track jacket..? Whatever, his fashion choices were not their problem, and never had been.
And then The Subject sat on the edge. They could be so easily pushed off into the raging waters below.
An octoling with magenta ink and a lot of teal scars littering her body. She wore a rather uncomfortable-looking leather getup, and—oh my cod, were those heels? Had they lost to an octoling in heels?
That one stung.
Long tentacles were tied up, anxiously flicking around as it seemed she caught Three’s gaze. Almost fearfully, she forced a smile and wave, which Three returned with a dead stare. Not that they could do much else.
Misunderstanding Three’s expression, Cap’n gestured to The Subject . “Agent Three, this is Agent Eight! I met her in that metro, and she got us out of there.”
Turning to the octoling, Cap’n continued. “And Agent Eight, you already know Agent Three. Sorry for siccing ‘em on you all the way back then, and thanks for saving ‘em from that Commander Tartar fellow.”
Saving them? Commander Tartar?
If Three could have furrowed their brows in confusion, they would have. Alas, their face did not want to move more than it already had, so they settled for cautiously raising a hand to sign.
“ What happened? ”
Slow, sloppy, and altogether a sign of just how shitty they were doing. Still, the octoling seemed to pick up on the gist of it, indicating Cap’n attention to Three.
“An explanation, right. Well, we were trapped down there for about seven months while Agent Eight completed all her tests to find those Thangs.”
Three nodded like this made sense. Seven months? Thangs?
“After gettin’ all the Thangs, Commander Tartar—it was the telephone” (There was a telephone?) “It tried to blend us up, but you came in and saved us! Agent Eight started escaping, but it hijacked your mind and you tried to kill her. She got that goop off your face, blew up a statue with the help of these two.” Now, he indicated the duo who were trying very hard to pretend that they hadn’t been kissing, despite Marina’s lipstick covering Pearl’s face. Marina gave a sheepish wave before returning her attention to the smaller inkling.
“Did I miss anything?” Cap’n asked, turning to Agent Eight.
She hesitated a moment, as if thinking hard. “I do not believe so, no.”
Right. Great. Awesome.
Cap’n was best friends with one of The Enemy now, they’d been out of commission for seven months, and… what. What now?