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Chapter Text

An Empire, thought to be invincible...

An Emperor thought to be untouchable...

And the heirship, thought to be invisible...

Yet all of them would fall...

To one, single man...

One...

By...

One...

"ALL VITAL SIGNS NOMINAL."

"BEGINNING REFREEZING PROCESS..."

"ERROR."

"ERROR DETECTED IN DATE CALIBRATION"

"ABORTING THE PROCESS..."

"PATIENTS LIFE THREATENED!"

"BEGINNING EMERGENCY REVITALIZATION PROCEDURE..."

THUD...THUD...CLANK!...CLANK!

Pshhht.....

Agent 47 stirred within the cryo chamber, a low hiss escaping from the seals as the ancient, frost-covered lid lifted with a sluggish creak. The sterile air, preserved for millennia, rushed in, cool and sharp, as though time itself had been held in stasis. His eyes fluttered open, unblinking, scanning the sterile surroundings with the same clinical detachment as ever, yet tinged with the weight of the years that pressed on him, unknowable and unseen.

The operating room was a relic of the past, its age betrayed by the faded white tiles and the archaic medical instruments neatly arranged on polished steel trays. Despite its antiquity, everything was eerily pristine, untouched by dust or decay. Fluorescent lights overhead flickered to life, their cold glow casting harsh shadows on the room’s metallic surfaces, highlighting the ghostly sheen of cryogenic vapor still clinging to his skin.

He sat up, every motion deliberate, his muscles responding as though they had never truly been asleep. A sterile stillness pervaded the room, no hum of distant machines, no sound of human activity. Only silence. It was as if the world itself had stopped for him, waiting for his reawakening. 

In the mirror-like reflection of the surgical monitors, 47 caught a glimpse of himself. Unchanged. The same sharp, calculated features; the same cold, analytical eyes that had last closed in a world long dead. Time had passed, civilizations had fallen, yet 47 remained, untouched, unaltered. A man out of time, not belonging to this ancient future, yet perfectly suited to survive within it.

His mind, quick as ever, processed the sterile room’s every detail. It was outdated, yet functional. This operating theater had been preserved for him, a sanctuary sealed away from the chaotic march of history. He swung his legs over the edge of the cryo bed, his bare feet hitting the floor with a quiet thud. The chill of the room was met with the same cold resolve within him, no hesitation, no shock at the passing of eons. The mission was still alive in his mind, as though it had only been hours, not millennia.

He took a breath, the first of the new age, and as the air filled his lungs, there was no uncertainty, no regret, only purpose, as timeless as the man himself.

Regaining his composure, he went deep into thought. The first of many, "where was he" question, had been answered quickly, as he remembered that he was put into cryo-stasis by the remaining parts of the ICA, as a sort of a mercy kill, before the world had finally come to an end. Maybe they didn't think the cryo-freeze would actually work, or maybe they wanted to use him in the future, when humanity survived the worst...Either way, he was alive.

Quickly scanning his surroundings, he located a control panel besides his cryo-bed, looking closer he could see the date. 

01/01/14024

12,000 years. 12,000 years he had been frozen in time. Yet he remained unmoved. Shocked, sure, but he didn't flinch.

...

Setting that aside, he focused on his mind, reminding himself of his memories, of who he was and is. The ICA, Providence, Erich Soders, Lucas Gray, Romania, cloning facility....

Regaining more memories, he finally remembered her...it hurt to think..

Diana...

The Providence had been dealt with ages ago, their operatives all either caught, or "died in mysterious circumstances", but despite that, some of the rogue billionaires, that haven't yet been caught by the governments, had formed a militia, and initiated a sort of a coup, trying to restore their doomed empire, almost killing her in the process, as part of their hit list...

47 wasn't the most emotional person. But her near-death experience had impacted him severely. He still remembers how he went on a mad kill streak, mercilessly going through their ranks, apathetically picking off guards, one by one, before their leader would die by his very own hands, like many others did. Everyone would fear him. Yet no one, would be safe from him.

She was the closest thing he had for a friend...

And they almost took her from him...

Speaking of friends, Olivia.

She had vowed to stay low for the rest of her life, after the ICA went public, but she still had some connections, and kept in contact with him, whether it was out of kindness, or the fear of being assassinated.

Either way, he appreciated her company, and felt a bit sad, when he realized that she's probably dead now.

It made sense, that in his line of work, all friends would be temporary, and that he shouldn't feel any remorse if they die suddenly because of it. And he didn't feel any, until Diana started working with him...

It hurt, even though it wasn't supposed to. He never felt anything like it before. As if something crucial was missing, it was similar for when he would get caught by guards doing illegal things, but much. MUCH deeper than that.

His head felt like a mush, fogged by his never seen before anxiety. Something was wrong. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Taking more, purposeful breaths, he recomposed himself, letting his mind settle down.

His body was perfect in every way, but like everything, it still felt the 12,000 years pass, as evidenced by 47 sluggishly getting up from his bed, with his bones releasing satisfying cracking sounds, as he did standard warmup exercises.

In his memories, before being cryo-freezed, he was told, that Diana had been relocated to Hokkaido GAMA Hospital, for more in depth surgery. But after that...everything's been unclear...

He deduced, that Diana would most likely have already died, given the fact that 12,000 years have passed, and that even if she survived the apocalypse, she would die of old age anyways...

But then he realized...he currently resided in the GAMA secondary branch hospital near Tokyo...

The fact that this is a secondary, more unimportant hospital, meant that the main one in Hokkaido, in which Diana resided in, most likely had the same, if not more sophisticated cryo-technologies, and, just, just maybe...she had survived...

Having gained new goal in his mind, he quickly sprang to action. Like a true killer, a plan had already been constructed in his mind.

Scanning the room with his senses, he found his signature clothes. A bespoke modern suit with black leather gloves. Dress slacks. Single-colour burgundy tie. White point-collar shirt. Black, office boots. All perfectly preserved in the nearby, smaller, cryo-storage container he just noticed.

Putting it on with precision and speed, he spotted something even more familiar inside the container 

A suppressed, nickel M1911 Silverballer, with a few mags laying besides it. Perfect. 

Equipping the weapon, and inspecting it, revealed it to be fully functional, with no major damages. The weapon was ready to be used yet again.

Putting it inside his suit, he gathered a few silver coins, that laid inside the container, some syringes, pills, poisons, fiber wire, explosives, sandwich, a rubber ducky, and an ICA briefcase Mk.III.

All perfectly preserved.

Agent 47 moved through the sterile corridors with the precision of a ghost, his footfalls silent against the cold, polished floor. The air was still, untouched by the passage of time, as if the facility had remained frozen alongside him. In his hand, the weight of the suppressed Silverballer felt as familiar as an extension of his body, a relic of a bygone era that, like him, had survived the centuries unscathed. Its matte black finish absorbed the dim light, the silencer threaded tightly onto the barrel, a tool of death as timeless as its wielder.

The hallways were narrow, lined with flickering lights that cast long shadows against the walls. Pipes ran along the ceiling, hissing occasionally with ancient systems that barely clung to life. Despite the decay around him, 47 moved with the fluid grace of someone in complete control. His breathing was shallow, measured. Each step forward was deliberate, calculated, his senses tuned to the slightest disturbance.

The facility, though ancient, was a labyrinth of pristine sterility. His reflection glanced back at him from the gleaming surfaces of deactivated control panels and darkened observation windows, but he paid it no mind. His focus was absolute, each doorway and junction assessed with a quick flick of his sharp, calculating gaze. His M1911 stayed ready, held low but prepared to snap into position at a moment’s notice. No sound escaped him, not even the soft click of his suppressed footsteps could be heard over the low hum of distant machinery, struggling to sustain a facility forgotten by time.

He rounded corners with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before. His body moved with muscle memory, precise, methodical, always at the edge of awareness. The darkened hallways seemed to stretch forever, but 47's patience was infinite, as though the passage of 12,000 years had merely heightened his resolve. The control room was near, its faint lights glowing at the end of a long, sterile corridor.

The door to the control room stood ahead, slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling onto the floor. Without hesitation, 47’s finger hovered near the trigger, his Silverballer raised just enough, ready for anything that might emerge from the quiet unknown. His breath remained steady, his pulse unshaken. Each step he took brought him closer to the heart of the facility, where the next phase of his mission would begin.

In this ancient silence, he was the predator. Silent. Unseen. Inevitable.

...

Yet no one was there...

...

Lowering his firearm-

"PATIENT. TOBIAS RIEPER."

THUP. THUP.

Clank...clank...

The subtle clink of falling brass faded into silence. 47's gloved hands gripped his weapon firmly, eyes narrowing as they scanned the monitor’s cracked remains.

He hadn't hesitated when the voice disrupted the eerie quiet of his awakening, instinctively eliminating the threat. But this…this was no threat.

47 Scanned the room again, before realizing who was talking to him.

"PATIENT. TOBIAS RIEPER. I must inform you, that the damage to the companies property will be added to the repairs bill. I must also warn you, that any further damage, that was intentionally caused to the systems, will likely to get you blacklisted from the facility."

47 Glared at the other TV monitor across the room flickering to life, seemingly unsure of what to do next.

"However. It is with great regret, that I must inform you, that you are currently our one and only patient in care of this facility. My sensors have detected, vital signs of the staff and other patients going offline in the past 24 hours, which initiated the emergency awakening protocol."

"My name is HAON, Hospital AI Operations Network, a sister version of KAI. I'm your host, doctor, assistant and a friend. If you need any further information, you could ask me right now, or anytime later. Pleasure to meet you, Tobias Rieper."

For a moment, 47 remained still, gun raised, body tense, his mind racing through possibilities. His entire life had been dictated by precision, control, eliminating risks before they became problems. Now, the voice, HAON, claimed to be his doctor, his assistant, his "friend." A sister to KAI, a name that meant nothing to him.

The words echoed in his mind: one and only patient. Emergency protocol. No staff, no one else alive.

The world outside the walls had moved on, 12,000 years, perhaps, but 47’s instincts hadn't dulled in the slightest. The mission came first. Always.

Yet, as he stared at the other screen, his senses still sharp, he realized the AI posed no immediate threat. More than that, it offered something valuable: assistance. Survival.

With deliberate calm, 47 slowly lowered his weapon. He hadn’t survived all this time by refusing help when it was needed, even from an unfamiliar source. The situation was unlike anything he'd encountered before, but he knew the rules of survival: adapt or die.

Without a word, he holstered the M1911, eyes locked on the monitor, the faintest trace of a frown on his otherwise impassive face. For now, HAON had proven useful. But he’d remain wary, this was no partnership, not yet.

“I don’t need a friend,” He finally said, voice flat, controlled.

“But I’ll use the help.” He wouldn’t trust the AI completely. But in this new, desolate world, even the slightest advantage could mean the difference between life and death.

"Very well. I will assist you on your journey. There's a watch in the opposite room, inside of a cryo-freeze container. I will unlock it for you. You can use it if you may need my help."

47 stared at the monitor, his expression unreadable. The AI's offer seemed simple enough, but he had learned long ago that simplicity often masked something deeper.

A watch. In a cryo-freeze container. The AI said it could offer assistance, but 47 knew better than to blindly accept help, even from a machine. Every tool had its purpose, but also its limits, and he needed to determine what this watch truly represented.

He moved quietly, slipping out of the operating room and into the hallway. The silence was almost oppressive, punctuated only by the soft hum of dormant machinery. His footsteps were barely audible, each movement precise, economical. He reached the opposite room without hesitation, scanning the area before stepping inside.

The cryo-freeze container stood in the corner, frosted glass reflecting the cold, sterile lights of the facility. Inside, resting on a cushion of synthetic material, was the watch, simple, ergonomic, yet unnervingly pristine. 47 approached, noting the subtle whirring sound as HAON unlocked the container.

Carefully, he reached in and retrieved the watch, holding it up to inspect it. It was sleek, matte black, with a display that pulsed faintly as if recognizing his presence. He slid it onto his wrist, feeling its slight weight settle against his skin. The moment it locked into place, the AI’s voice chimed softly from within.

"I am now fully integrated with your watch, Tobias Rieper. If you require directions, information, or assistance, simply ask. I will be monitoring your vital signs and surroundings to ensure optimal performance."

47’s lips pressed into a thin line. Monitoring. The word lingered in his mind. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being watched, even by an AI supposedly designed to help him. But in this unfamiliar landscape, any advantage was worth considering.

"Understood," he said finally, his voice devoid of emotion. He would accept the assistance, for now. But as always, 47 remained prepared to sever ties the moment the watch became more of a liability than a tool.

Without another word, he turned and made his way back into the hallway, his senses alert, his mind already planning the next move. He had no time for distractions. The mission, whatever it was, lay ahead.

As 47 adjusted the watch on his wrist, the room around him seemed to hum with an unsettling quiet. The world, was no longer the one he lived in.

Without lifting his gaze, his voice cut through the silence like a sharpened blade.

"HAON," He began, his tone still flat and precise.

"What is the current state of the world?"

There was a brief pause, as if the AI was processing the enormity of the question.

"Patient. Tobias Rieper," HAON’s voice responded, robotic and efficient.

"The world as you knew it no longer exists. It has been over 12,000 years since your cryogenic suspension. Much of human civilization collapsed during that time due to environmental degradation, resource depletion, and successive waves of conflict. Only remnants of advanced technology, like this facility, remain operational."

47’s eyes flicked across the empty room, his face expressionless as he absorbed the information.

"Human civilization," HAON continued, 

"Fragmented into isolated pockets, many of which have been wiped over time. Technological societies, like this one, have all been destroyed too, with the last one ceasing communications 10000~ years ago."

Another pause, a brief flicker on the watch's screen.

"The exact geopolitical landscape is unclear, as communication with other facilities has been lost. There is no longer any centralized global power."

47 stood still. A world in collapse, a future without familiar structures or controls, yet that didn’t change his purpose. If anything, it presented new opportunities.

“Who controls this facility?” he asked, tone even.

"Currently, I do." HAON replied.

“There are no living human operators left to oversee its functions. As per my programming, I have maintained the facility and its systems, awaiting your reactivation.”

47’s mind was already calculating possibilities, adjusting to the shifting landscape. A world left in ruin, and here he was, still a weapon, still the best at what he did.

"Understood," he said, his voice a cold whisper.

"Anything else I need to know?" He made his way to the main lobby.

"Patient. Tobias Rieper. There is something you should be aware of, an unusual development in the world outside this facility. Despite the collapse of human civilization, a number of new cities have emerged, with architecture and culture resembling certain aspects of past human societies.”

47’s brow furrowed slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.

“Go on."

"These species." HAON continued.

"While humanoid in form, their biology is quite different, resembling aquatic lifeforms. Based on my limited observational data, they display traits similar to cephalopods, squid or octopus-like beings, but with the ability to take on a humanoid shape. They seem to have adapted to the remnants of human technology, incorporating it into their own culture. It’s unclear whether they evolved naturally or through some other process."

47’s eyes narrowed slightly as he processed this information. Cephalopod-like beings, humanoid in form, thriving in a post-human world. In any other situation, he would dismiss this data, as some drunken nonsense, but now, it was his reality. He felt unsure of what to think about it.

“Do they pose a threat?” he asked, ever vigilant for potential dangers.

HAON paused for a moment before responding.

“Unknown. While they appear to be highly social and peaceful within their own communities, I have no data on their interactions with human remnants or other AI systems. They have established highly organized urban environments, with advanced technology, though it appears to be based on a mix of human remnants and their own biological adaptations."

47's eyes flicked towards the corridor that lead to the main lobby, already calculating the potential risks and benefits of encountering such beings. The description was both intriguing and concerning, creatures who could mimic human behavior but had an entirely alien physiology. This day was getting weirder by every second. For a moment, he doubted whether he was awake or still cryo-freezed.

“What are they referred to as?” 47 asked, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

"According to fragmented records from surviving autonomous research stations, these beings have been referred to as ‘Cephalopodus Sapient.’ or 'Inklings' for simplicity. Those 'Inklings' have developed a society that mirrors aspects of human culture."

Non-human, yet capable of mimicking and advancing on human technology, thriving in cities that mirrored past human civilizations. Whatever their nature, they were organized, technologically adept, and possibly dangerous.

47 Reached his destination, not surprisingly, the lobby looked rotten and abandoned, as everything else was.

“Show me the nearest city." 47 knew what he had to do.

“The nearest Inkling settlement is approximately 40 kilometers to the west. It is built upon the ruins of what was once a Tokyo Metropolitan Area. I will provide you with guidance when you are ready.”

47 nodded, his mind already shifting gears. These Inklings, whatever they were, would need to be evaluated, studied, and, if necessary, eliminated. He would approach cautiously, but as always, with deadly precision.

"Set an alarm at 0600. Make sure to monitor the perimeter."

"Yes sir. As you shall."

He would depart the next morning, as he would need to gather the surviving supplies for his trip,  food, water, camping tent, radio, ammunition if available, basically anything useful. This mission, was no ordinary one, nothing was ordinary about this in fact, he had to make sure, that everything went perfectly on this trip. He missed the convenience of a private jet, or just a simple car, but he was used to operating independently in the wild. To him, it was just another hiking trip, into the unknown.

"A new world order." He thought aloud.

For the viewers, and even her closest friends and family, Marie is a calm, collected, sometimes sarcastic, iron-willed lady, capable of standing her own ground, expressing few emotions, and maintaining her perfect poker face at all times.

Yet this facade had nearly broken down. She wasn't calm, she wasn't collected, she was in a frenzy, panic, she tried calling her thousands of times, yet every single time it would redirect her to her voice-mail. It's been 24 hours, yet she wasn't here, she searched the train station, over, and over, she asked everyone in the train station, the train, and nearby the station, yet every single time she would be told the exact. Same. Thing.

She cut her trip short, her mind was creating every excuse possible for why she was missing, yet it wasn't calming down in the slightest. Passerby's would intentionally avoid her, they knew what was going on, she didn't know if they pitied her, or were just disgusted by her lack of hygiene.

The train trip went by as if she was on it for eternity, her brain was pulsating in distress, she was practically glued to her phone, searching for any possible information available.

She got off the train, practically flying, she knew no speed limits, as she swept through the crowds, and out of the station. She spearheaded her way to her apartment, stopping for no one.

Breaking into the lobby, she interrogated the poor receptionist, bombarding him with question after question. The worker, terrified for his life, gave her the keys to her room out of sheer fear.

Running to her apartment up the stairs, she felt no tiredness or exhaustion. The elevator was too slow for her.

As she finally made it to her number, she frantically breathed in and out, her anxiety and stress finally waking up from their sleep.

Successfully inserting the key was a challenge her shaking hands betraying her, as she retried it a few times, before finally getting it, and bursting the door open.

It was empty.

She called for her name. Over and over.

No one would answer.

She called Callie's parents, her friends, her close ones, her producers, her managers, even the people that she had the tiniest suspicion of being related to her in some way or other.

Yet every single DAMN time it was the exact same thing, over, and over, and over, and over.

"She's on her way to her apartment" that's it. Nothing else. No new information. Nobody else saw her.

She skipped her breakfast, dinner and lunch, she didn't shower or brush her beak, only occasionally did she took a toilet break, both to relieve herself of the nature's call, and to mentally stabilize her mind.

No one knew where Callie was.

In desperation, her tears had gathered around the edges of her eyes, ready to unleash themselves.

But an idea popped in her head.

That's it.

She was heading for the Octovalley.

If she wasn't here, then maybe, just maybe she was hanging out with grandpa.

Maybe her phone had died, and she forgot to recharge it.

Maybe they just forgot to tell her.

Maybe they weren't missing at all, and she was just an overreacting idiot, making a fool out of herself.

...

...

Yet no one was there.

Not even Octavio.

...

It was them.

They took her and her Grandpa.

They took the Great Zapfish again.

They were responsible for all of this.

...

Yet she was all alone.

How was she supposed to fight them all by herself? She hadn't had a match in years! 

That's it. She needed to do as her Grandpa did.

Hire a child soldier, and make them fight for her.

She knew what to do, now all she needed to do, was to find a willing teen, to volunteer and go to war. Again.

That's all.

It wasn't that hard, was it?

...

...

It was. Hard.

Turns out nobody wants to fight the Octarian army, everyone was too busy with fashion, fangirling over Off the Hook, and just studying or whatever the teens did in their free time.

It was heartbreaking. She was desperate. She pleaded, yet no one would listen to her. She even tried to recruit a sea anemone, the anemone fell asleep after a minute of her talking.

She truly felt alone. At this point she would hire anyone. Anyone.

...

Anyone.

Agent 47 closed the backpack with a satisfying zip sound. He had everything ready. He had the map, food, water, tent, camping essentials, ICA related stuff. Anything he would need was there.

He rose from his makeshift bed sharply at 6'o'clock. He would never wake up even a second late.

The forest around him flourished with greenery, the branches of the trees creaked melancholicly, birds sang whatever the equivalent of rap is in bird language, bugs were still annoying. Yet all of this scenery only intensified his mistrust. It was quiet. Too quiet.

Normally, when he's this deep in the woods, a wolf or a fox, or whatever carnivore inhabited the place would make them known to him sooner or later.

Yet everything was quiet.

His senses told him nothing.

Quietly packing his tent equipment and other essentials. He stood up to observe the forest. There was no one. It had unsettled him to no end.

Equipping the backpack, checking his gear, he made sure not to leave any traces behind, whatever those things in the cities were, he wasn't taking any chances.

The sound of leaves crunching beneath his boots,  was the most satisfying thing he'd ever heard. 12,000 years in cryo-stasis had obviously dumbened his hearing senses, so these sounds were most welcome by him.

He made it to a cliff. He observed the view. A city was on horizon.

Only a couple of miles left.

...

...

Aria was your average hot-headed, a bit too intense on sports Inkling boy, and like any self-respecting teen inkling, he was competitive. Unlike those baby inklings that still played turf wars, he, and his much beloved team, have already reached rank A, and were now aiming for the S rank. Their win-streak remained unbroken, even gathering some brief media attention from the squid sisters. He couldn't have been more prouder of the team he built.

Aria stood in front of the cracked mirror of the locker room, tightening his headband with a determined flick of his wrist. His vibrant tentacles, pulsing in shades of ceruelan and crimson twitched with excitement. Another ranked match was about to begin, and his team had been practicing for weeks. The thrill of competition surged through him, as he adjusted his splattershot, ready to lead them into the heat of the ink-splattered battlefield.

"ARI! Are ya' done yet?!" A more feminine voice had came out of the outside. His teammates have been waiting for him for almost five minutes, and their patience was running thin.

"Yeh! Almost done!" Putting on his prized gloves he won in one of the competitive games when he was in School, he perked up, and danced his way out of the bathroom.

"Cod, what'cha been doin' ere'? A freaking splatbomb?" Other, shorter girl, had interrogated her while chewing on her already exhausted gum. No doubt she was chewing on that thing for like two days...nasty.

"Nope, I was getting ready to be presentable for the cameras when we win." Confidently smirking, he upped his posture to look bigger than he did.

"Heh, don't get cocky, negligence is the mother of all failures. Like you for example." An octoling across the room, didn't spare him, as he smirked back at him.

"Interesting. I didn’t realize you were an expert on failure. Personal experience, I assume?" The inklings smugness only intensified.

"Just observing your life." The octoling remained confident, as the inkling did.

"Quit'cha bickering, we have a game to win!" The shorter inkling girl called out to them. The group proceeded to exit through the hallway, into the lobby and out to the outside on their way to the nearest bus stop, all while occasionally joking with or at each other, and laughing along way.

The area they were in wasn't the nicest one, in fact, due to the fact that, it was so far away from the center of the Inkopolis, it had seen an increase in crime, as the recently stolen Great Zapfish caused the city's administration, to pull out additional police forces from some areas, including this one.

Although robberies and other violent crimes are very rare in Inkopolis either way, the influx of freshly painted graffities (of not the best quality) and just general vandalism had been very obvious on their way to the bust station. Littered streets, messy ink on the walls, broken light bulbs, just your typical scene for the Eeltail Alleyway. This wasn't their destination however, where they were going was the-

Clink.

"Hmm...?" Aria turned around to see a coin wobbling for a moment, catching the faint glow of a streetlamp, flashing briefly like a beacon against the dull grey ground. Aria’s eyes flicked to the sound instinctively, the coin rolling lazily in a slow circle before finally settling with a soft, final rattle. In the (relatively) quiet of the street, the tiny disturbance seemed louder than it should, drawing his attention like a magnet.

"Mm...What's up Ari?" The near him octoling looked back at Aria, wondering at what the Inkling was looking at. The group stopped at a diner, and just finished eating and paying for their dinner, with Aria and his octo friend stepping outside to breath some fresh air.

"It's nothin'..." For a moment, he wanted to turn back to his comrades.

"...Just gotta check something..." But Aria's curious got better off him, as he moved his head back to where the mysterious coin was. It was in a dimly lit alleyway, ominous much.

The octofriend dismissed his strange behavior, as kids curiosity, or him wanting some privacy, either way he assumed he would be back within minutes.

Aria, without much questioning, moved cautiously forward. The warm streetlamp above him gave little light to see, as it casted long shadows around him.

Stepping closer to the coin, he noted that it was no ordinary one. It shined brightly silver-ish, unlike the usual golden currency they used, perhaps it was some foreign coin, maybe from the Octarians even. 

That only intensified his thirst for knowledge, as he stepped close enough, to visually inspect the solid coin. It was silver, as previously stated, it also had some strange head on its face, that looked like an octarian, but it's hair was different...it was divided into many more tinier strands, unlike the usual, standard eight strands of tentacles...he was certain that is was some rare coin from the Octarians, perhaps he could even sell it to some collectors.

Reaching out to grab it, he-

"What' this- GAWK!!" A sudden, brutal and cold force had tightened around his neck with precision and speed. His neck had burned, as the force only intensified, as the wire tightened around Aria’s throat, a sharp gasp escaped him, cutting off into a strained, wheezing sound. His breath came in short, desperate hitches, each attempt to inhale choked by the garrote. His hands clawed at the wire, the faint scraping of his fingers against the metal adding to the quiet struggle. A faint, guttural noise bubbled in his chest, growing weaker with every second as the pressure increased.

"...Help....me...."

Finally, the sound faded into a soft, broken rasp, his body going limp, and the alley fell silent once more.

...

...

"Aria? You there? Where did'ya go?"

...

"GAWK-" The creature yelped with surprise and shock, it tried breaking out of 47's grip with all its might, but it was too strong for the little creature.

Like he did many times ago, time and time again, people would try to yell, kick, punch, bite, cry. Yet no one succeeded in breaking free from his grasp. All of them would quickly and quietly lose their consciousness from the sudden lack of oxygen, and drop to the unfeeling floor, with a sickening thud, and if they're unlucky, with a crunch.

But 47 didn't want that, he didn't want to kill anyone yet. He wanted to study. To observe, and learn how the creatures behave when one of their comrades is missing. Will they tell the police? Will they just dismiss it? Or will they use some sort of cephalopodian telepathic power to triangulate his position, and ambush him? Only observation and study will tell. And as far as he can tell, its teammates were currently shouting for what he assumed to be its name. They looked frustrated and pissed, looks like this wasn't the first time the creature went missing from the group.

As for the unfortunate 'Ari', as what they're apparently referred to as, they will be hidden behind some trash containers, safe enough to not die of freezing, and to not be immediately spotted by passerby's and their teammates. The creature would survive, and get back up in under an hour, 47 estimated.

Now that he's got a good look at the creature, 47 concluded that it is not so different from humans. The only striking differences were its tentacles and eye mask, other than that, if you showed this creature to normal humans, they would probably assume it to be a quirky cosplayer, or God's accident.

Even though, compared to the rest of humanity, this creature looked fairly feminine at a glance, 47 quickly deduced and concluded that it's male, simply by looking at his facial and body structures.

A boy, no older than eighteen. 47 deduced it, by watching how his teammates behaved and looked. They were definetly, just a bunch of rogue teenagers, or young adults, doing activities together, and having fun.

47 almost felt bad for having to cut their fun times short, by luring and knocking out one of them, who what he also assumed to be their leader.

But those thoughts were swiftly extinguished, as he focused on the mission at hand: Observe, Learn, Adapt. If he wanted to further study these anomalies, ang get closer to completing his mission, he had to learn what exactly these are. So far it seemed like a quirky, more lively version of humans, but without any violence.

Even though, he deduced that this was one of the more economically poorer parts of the City, there seemed to be no homeless people, crackheads, muggers or any other interesting folks that accompanied such places. The only differences between this area, and the richer parts, is that there seemed to be more graffiti, littering, and abandoned buildings.

"Humans...but without any of the bad traits" He thought to himself, before immediately dismissing it. He didn't gather enough evidence to prove that point, concluding anything about them would be a mistake, and may potentially endanger him and his mission. Who knows what kind of wunderwaffen they hide? Do they have guns? Do they have nuclear capabilities? What do they even eat?

Questions are to be answered later, as he noticed his teammates faces gradually shift from annoynce and frustration, to worry and anxiety, their steps quickened, their eyes started glancing everywhere, their legs shaking, and some of then started calling on their phones.

Not much different from regular human behavior, 47 noted, a shame, really, he didn't have to garrote this poor teen, just to find out they act exactly the same even after 12,000 years, but in this unknown environment he couldn't take any chances. He needed to know. He needed to learn.

He made his extraction, he climbed on the nearby gutter, and made it to the roof. The view resembled the Tokyo skyline, but with noticeably fewer skyscrapers. It bugged him, it was uncanny, it wasn't supposed to look like that, like a picture redrawn with minor differences, a dejavu like sensation hit his head.

Thoughts to be thought, but he had a mission to complete. With muted, almost completely silent jog steps, he dashed across the roof, and jumped to another one. He needed to get away from the scene of the crime as fast, as possible, no doubt the police would be present in the area within an hour. Unwanted attention threatens his research.

Crouching and jogging, his razor sharp eyes scanned the lower levels with precision, every road noted, every dead-end memorized, every underpass, alleyway, cross-section, overpass, sidewalk, subway and bus stops, all observed and beared in his mind.

Finding a quiet spot proved difficult, there were all kind of colorful fishes strolling around the area. Everywhere he looked, there were those strange 'inklings', some kind of walking sardines, crabs, anemones, even urchins were present.

Yet his eagle-like-eyes would finally find a deserted space, near the plaza, an alleyways entrance obstructed by barriers, thus invisible to the majority of the citizens. Perfect. Close to the urban center yet few people would even be near it.

He made his merry way out to it, from roof to roof, a ninja in the dark, unnoticeable, covered by the shadows, his steps quiet, dismissed as a background noise by the bystanders.

With precision, he dropped down into the alleyway, but not before making sure, that there were no witnesses.

The alleyway was old, rancid, abandoned, dry corridor, that branched off the main street, it connected to nothing.

Perfect.

This was now his base of operations, this is where he would eat, sleep, and live for the next unknown months, if not years.

He would observe those inklings, he would learn how they behaved, he would learn their language, their habits, customs, behavior, culture.

He will learn everything about them.

Chapter Text

As they fell...

Their voices cried.

A thousand knives...

Twisted in their backs.

Plunging them deeper...

Into cold obscurity. 

Nothing broke...

Their damned fall.

And still they fell...

And fell...

And fell.

Yet their arrogance...

Their defiant pride,

Would compel them to make...

Unreasonable choices.

...

Ave Maria.

...

To anyone else, this particular intersection wouldn't seem out of place. It was on the back of their heads they passed through these streets without a second thought, like they did hundreads of times over and over again.

As if they were on auto-mode, they would glue their faces to their phones, walk straight, and not notice the dangers ahead, or the abnormalities that were present, right besides them.

You know...like the 6ft tall bald...figure...? Human...? That weared a black suit, and were staring at them through their binoculars on an elevated position, 20 meters away from them, obscured and camouflaged by a variety of greenery and trash.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that easy to spot him, but for Ria, it was obvious to do so. Maybe it was because of her previous military background and experience, but she immediatly knew, that something was wrong when she noticed a bright flash of light on the rooftop of what seemed to be a noodle place. Her instincts immediately told her to duck and cover from the enemy splatterscope, but her already relaxed civvie lifestyle held her back from doing so.

She told her nearby, blissfully unaware friends about it. They seemed interested at first, but quickly abandoned her when they saw a 10% discounted model figurine of a famous idol by the name of...'Maria'...? 'Marine'?

Whatever. Those squids were so quick to rush the store it was in, they almost knocked her over, as the large crowd begun growing inside the store.

"Hedonists..." She thought to herself.

Even though the pleasures of Inkadian free market society were undeniably better, and worth her deserting from the military, she still missed a part of her simple lifestyle with her friends and family, the comradery between them was unbreakable...until her pay got cut...oh, and also because she accidently splatted a high-ranking officer...yeah...she'd rather escape here, than rot in solitary for the rest of her life...sorry mom.

She cringed as she remembered her memories from the Octarian military, but quickly recovered, as she noticed the flash dissappear from the rooftop. Looks like the assailant was making his way out.

She didn't know whether it was actually human, as she speculated moments ago, it was just a delusion she had in the spur of the moment, a consequence of her binge watching documentaries about human history just yesterday...

All she made out, is that whoever was that, had experience in the military, wore a black suit in this Inkopolis heat for some reason, and was bald.

The bald part had intrigued her just as much as it puzzled her. Bald squids and octos wasn't really a thing in this world. It was like being born without limbs, though the chance of happening of that was slim, it was still possible...

Wait...now that she thought about it, she remembered that one section in one of the documentaries, where they showed a reconstruction of a human body, it was all hairy and gross, but they also mentioned, that humans could be born bald, and that bald people were often a sign of wisdom and experience in a human society, that's what they said anyway. 

So maybe...just maybe...hmm...

"HEY RIA! CHECK OUT THIS PEARL PLUSH, ITS SHRIMPIN 5% OFF!!! COME HERE- HEY! GET OFF ME! THAT'S MINE!!!" A shout in the background chaos, had caught her ears, as she dismissed her thoughts and theories, and turned to see an inkling getting trampled over some plush of a half-bald baby inkling...

"Hold on there, I'll just take a picture..." She giggled, as she uncovered her antique camera she found on a garage sale in Splatsville, while the inkling fought for his life, yelling all kinds of colorful words.

The Man in a suit, however, watched them curiously, cautiously. Observing their every move. He sensed her almost spotting him, he got out of the sight just in time for her not to suspect anything. He couldn't afford to make another sloppy mistake like this.

Marie, was in a desperate situation. Swimming against the tides, racing against the time. Her anxiety had been growing ever so bigger as the clock ticked, a deep, gnawing sense of emptiness had long since formed inside her. A part of her life was missing, and she suffered the dear consequences of it.

She recited every second of yesterday, from the moment she first sensed something was wrong, to the moment she found out about Octavio's prison break, she searched for any clues that could potentially help her in her diligent mind, yet none would come forward.

The bond between the two was more than just family related, it was a partnership, friendship, and a shared history. Without Callie, Marie felt as though a part of herself was missing, like a vital link had been severed.

The weight of being left alone, without the energetic presence of her cousin, created a hollow echo in her daily life, each quiet moment feeling more drawn out, more suffocating. She might try to hide her grief behind sarcasm and dry wit, but inside, she'd be battling with self-blame. Could she have done more to protect Callie? Did she miss the signs of what was happening? The thought of Callie being in danger, perhaps scared or suffering, would fuel a growing determination within her.

She would do anything she could and couldn't do to get her out of there...oh, and grandpa too, she kinda forgot about him, oops...

Right...Grandpa Cuttlefish...that old man just refused to die, she knew that he would be safe no matter what, yet it still felt wrong to assume that. 

Putting that aside, it looks like she finally found a new recruit! A young inkling girl had been staring at her for quite some time now, well, time to go send a child to war.

Or not...the girl just ran off when Marie stood up from her seat, that's the fifth one this week...well, she needed a little walk anyway...her back was getting sore from all the (mental) weight she had to carry.

Standing fully upright, she twisted her umbrella in a way that would only show a part of her face, obscuring the rest behind the shadow. She couldn't risk a rogue fan blowing her cover, right?

Hmm...her fans...perhaps she could...?

No. Absolutely not. First of all, sending children to war is already immoral, and doing that to her own fans feel even more so. And second of all, it would just be problematic for all kinds of reasons, they couldn't be focused on their mission...they could warrant some unwanted attention, they even could accidentally expose the NSS to the world and she can't have that, no, no, no...she couldn't bare the thought of destroying her Grandpa's whole legacy just like that...well, not really, if she gets REAL desperate, then maybe.

Ah, anyway, looks like some jellyfish is approaching her, well, non-cephalopod fighters were rather uncommon in the Great Turf war, but they did exist in small numbers, so maybe if she asked Sheldon to craft some sort of special gear, that could...

Nevermind. The jellyfish was just handing out flyers for the new Off the Hook concert...real shame. Why were Off the Hook having concerts anyway? Wasn't the city having energy problems? What's up with that?

Oh, it was the lame kind of concert...the one with no electricity, and in an open park, the one that had bunch of hippies in it....guess they decided to cater to the new audiences, huh?

Maybe she should try that sometimes later with Callie...

Callie...right...she was on a mission...

How could she forget about the mission so easily!? Wasn't she supposed to be the older, more attentive type of sister!?

Sighing, she shook her head with newfound determination, and headed down the street, towards the plaza.

She stalked the busy streets ahead of her, looking for fresh blood, her cold, unwavering eye, scanned from head to toe every passerby inkling, octoling, fish, anemone, a strange bald man, and a-

Hold on a second...what was that?

Marie felt a cold chill crawl down her spine the moment she locked eyes with him. The figure stood still, draped in shadows just beyond the dim light, his gaze boring into her with unsettling intensity. It was as if time slowed, and for a split second, she wasn’t just looking at a man, but something deeper, something unknowable. His eyes were devoid of emotion, icy, calculating, like they could see straight through her, stripping away all defenses, peering into her very soul.

Her breath hitched. It was a gaze that offered no warmth, no recognition of her existence as anything more than a variable in a precise equation. Fear gnawed at her gut. Then, before she could even react, he was gone. In a swift, fluid motion, he melted into the darkness, as if he had never been there at all. The shadows swallowed him whole, leaving only the silence behind.

Marie blinked, heart pounding, her mind scrambling to process what had just happened. Had he even been real? It felt like the phantom of a nightmare, the way he vanished, leaving nothing but the lingering chill of his presence, and the memory of that gaze, burning into her still.

"H-Hello...?" She stuttered, recovering from initial shock, her brain finally processing and outputting a verbal response, but it was too late, the man was gone. She carefully tip-toed her way to where the man was standing, and checked behind the corner. But no one was there.

It was, as if he was just an illusion, a sign of her delirium, she concluded.

Right...a delusion...

Nothing more than a delusion...Cod she needs a break...

Pearl sat slouched on the edge of her couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest as her thumb scrolled absent-mindedly through her phone. The dull glow of the screen lit up her face in the otherwise dimly lit room, her sharp eyes half-lidded with boredom. It was the usual, random memes, music updates, and fan messages, but something caught her eye.

A thread title: "Mysterious Lurker in the Shadows?"

Her curiosity piqued, Pearl raised an eyebrow and tapped into the discussion.

---

User: InkedInnocence   |4 hours ago

Has anyone else noticed that weird figure hanging around the back alleys lately? Saw something or someone lurking in the shadows near Manta Maria. Thought it was just my imagination, but I swear, they were watching me. Creepy as fuck

---

User: SplatterShot007   |3 hours ago

You're not the only one! I was walking home last night near Goby Arena and saw a figure out of the corner of my eye. As soon as I turned to look, they were gone. Just vanished into thin air! What’s even weirder is they weren’t wearing anything I recognized. Definitely not an Inkling.

---

User :XxX_SplatMasterSupreme_XxX   |2 hours ago

Bruh, ong I saw smthg like that 2 near Inkop Square fr fr I was just vibin with some Turf War replays, then bam, felt like someone was staring at me. When I looked around, no one was there. Thought it was just me being paranoid, but this thread has me freaked the f out.

---

User: mariebestgirl63273   |2 hours ago

Same here! I was passing through the alleys near the old train station, and I could feel someone watching. Didn’t see anything except for this shadow, but when I got closer, it just disappeared. My friend said I’m just being dramatic, but nah, that was real.

---

User: notabigfanofthegoverment2    |2 hours ago

Anyone else think this could be some government next-level experiment gone wrong? Weird figure....shadowy movements....Sounds like some science freak stuff to me. Stay safe squids, we don’t know what’s out there.

---

User: Splashdown4Life   |1 hour ago

I think y’all are just getting worked up over nothing. Probably just some random Inkling with a bad fashion sense. Chill out.

---

User: InktopianGhost   |8 minutes ago

Nah man, I saw them too. Not an Inkling for sure. And the way they move? Too fast. Like they’re there one second, gone the next. It’s not natural, trust me. I’ve been keeping my distance since.

---

User: MC.Princess   |Now

Yo, what if theyr like, a ninja or something? 😎 Would explain the dissapearing act. Someone ought to find em and ask for some tips.

---

"Spooky," she muttered under her breath, tapping her foot to an invisible beat. Some of the descriptions sounded outlandish, others hit a little too close to home. Pearl smirked, eyes flicking down the screen with renewed interest. One more user mentioned they felt like they were being watched, like they were under a cold, piercing gaze. Pearl shuddered playfully, though she was more amused than unsettled.

"Eh, probably just a bunch of scaredy-squids freakin' out over nothing," she mumbled, but her scrolling slowed. She wasn’t one to buy into creepy stories, but still…there was something oddly compelling about the thought of a mysterious figure lurking in the shadows.

"PEAAAARLIE..did you pack your clothes yet?" A familiar shout came from from the kitchen.

"Yep." She yepped. 

"Ya' don't have to ask about it every five minutes, I'm a big girl ya-know?" She turned her Phone off, groaning, she stretched her arms and legs.

"Sorry Pearlie, this concerts really important for me, everything's gotta go perfectly..." Pearl instinctively nodded, before picking her phone up again, and turning it on. This time, instead of wasting her time on some creepypastas, she browsed the concerts schedule plan document files.

She didn't really like the idea of being basically homeless in a park for a few days with no electricity for their new concert idea, but Marina promised that it was for the 'greater good', whatever that meant, and that security would ensure no weirdos would get in. Well, if Rina seemed to be content with it, then so is she, plus, it's not like they could spare any power for fests, now that the Great Zapfish is gone...hopefully it'll comeback soon, or else it'll stink like a real tuna...

"Did you pack your-"

"YES, I DID!!!" Don't get her wrong, she does wholeheartedly support Rina, but her insistence on double, triple, quadruple checking everything was getting a little tiring...Whatevs, she'll just browse Squiddit again, someone just replied to her, gotta grind that karma...

...

Information.

Information is the most essential part of the mission.

Without information, you don't know what your target is doing, where your target is, or even who your target is.

As with any new environment, 47 silently observed. His sharp mind allowed him to notice patterns quickly, he paid attention to the locals speaking around him, like during interactions in public places such as marketplaces, battlegrounds, or any local establishments. He wouldn’t engage in conversation yet, instead opting to listen carefully.

Standing on the rooftop of a building in the heart of Inkopolis, 47 watched the city unfold below him. Squid-like creatures, some vibrant, others more muted, walked the streets in groups or alone. They chattered in a language that, at first, had been a complete enigma to him, it sounded a bunch of garbled nonsense, like his victims trying to scream for help when he drowned them in the toilet. But he was learning, slowly, methodically.

He would focus on repeated words or sounds, which are often the most common and basic parts of any language, such as greetings, farewells, or commands.

By observing interactions, he would associate specific words or phrases with actions. For example, watching an Inkling hand over money while saying something specific helped him understand that word or phrase relates to payment or buying. 47 also noted how when they would form teams, and when they competed in the strange battles of ink that splattered across city walls and streets, they would repeteadtly yell the same two phrases, the first phrase 47 assumed to be their equivalent of "Oorah", but the second one he had yet to translate...

Inklings, like humans, used gestures, facial expressions, and body language to emphasize their words. 47 would combine these non-verbal cues with the spoken language to begin building a mental dictionary.

47 also studied their physiology. He had watched how they moved, shifting between humanoid and squid forms with astonishing speed and fluidity during their games. Understanding how they functioned gave him an edge. He would need to blend in eventually, perhaps even alter his approach based on their unique abilities.

---

Once 47 had gathered enough observational data, he had begun to internally catalog words and sounds. He used recording device on his watch, to play back conversations later, analyzing them in detail when alone. His genetically enhanced memory made it significantly easier for him to memorize specific sounds and patterns.

He had already hacked into a communication terminal, (With the help of HOAN of course), a console left unattended near a back alley. From there, he pulled files, searching for patterns, listening to local broadcasts, and trying to read encrypted notes. Language barriers slowly began to dissolve. He recognized names, terms, and even a bit of slang. The more he read, the more he began to piece together the intricacies of their society. He discovered the existence of an interesting duo: Off the Hook, idols revered by many of the Inklings. Information about them might provide insight into the power dynamics of this society, into the underlying currents that governed behavior here.

As he listened to the locals, and to the broadcasts, he quietly mimiced their speech in his mind, practicing pronounciation without saying anything aloud. This repetition helped him to reinforce his memory and understanding.

He would start to isolate the structure of the language. He started to notice patterns in how sentences are constructed, identifying subjects, verbs, and objects, even if the structure is completely different from human languages.

---

After gaining a basic understanding of the language’s sounds and structure, 47 would plan to begin engaging in small, controlled interactions with the locals. His goal would be to confirm his hypotheses about word meanings and sentence structures, as well as to further refine his comprehension.

He planned to start by speaking simple phrases or single words, likely mimicking the locals as closely as possible. He planned to buy an item, deliberately saying what he suspects is the correct word for “thank you” to see how they respond. By gauging the reactions of the locals, 47 would adjust his understanding. If they responded positively, he knows he’s on the right track; if there’s confusion or hostility, he’ll note that down for later analysis. Each interaction could help 47 improve his pronunciation and fluency, as he may notice the subtle tonal shifts or inflections that may be crucial in the language.

But there was one key challenge in the way of that plan that remained unsolved: 47 was human. His bald head, stark in contrast to the flowing tentacles that crowned these beings, was an anomaly. While they possessed transformative abilities, he did not. This could make him stand out, a liability in a world that thrived on subtlety and infiltration.

He adapted by moving through the shadows, never lingering in one place too long, avoiding crowded areas where he might attract attention. His garb was nondescript; he had scavenged local clothing to wear over his suit, though the sight of an unchanging human form was still peculiar here. He gathered disguises when possible, finding ways to obscure his appearance without compromising his efficiency.

There were weaknesses to exploit. The Inklings were young at heart, their society driven by trends, music, and competition. Many were distracted by the flashy lights and sounds of their entertainment, leaving security systems loosely maintained or outright ignored. Through this, 47 gained access to more and more of the city's underbelly, the areas where the real power resided.

---

In societies with a written component to their language, 47 would quickly begun decoding any signage, documents, or public notices. This is crucial, because written language often provides context that spoken language might not.

By linking symbols or characters to spoken words, 47 begun to map out the written form of the language. He would focus on frequently seen symbols or signs, especially in public spaces, to get a basic understanding of the alphabet or writing system.

But because their written language is a whole lot more abstract i.e. their language used words and symbols that closely resembled latin, traditional japanese and chinese, and even arabic in some places, 47 would use his keen eye for detail to identify patterns or recurring themes in the symbols. This helped him start associating symbols with words or ideas, even if the written form is radically different from anything he’s seen before.

But even with his supernatural abilities, 47 still had his limits, and those limits were pushed by his recently acquired companion. 

The AI, HAON, was equipped with a translation function, 47 took full advantage of it. Though 47 prefers to operate independently, he understands the utility of technology and didn't hesitate to use HOAN’s resources to accelerate his learning.

47 on a few occasions, had asked HOAN to translate specific words or phrases for him, cross-referencing what he’s learned through observation to verify his understanding. 47 would have HOAN provide access to digital resources, databases and language archives, to fast-track his learning.

He felt, like it was the perfect time, to move, to the next level of the language he was learning.

---

Putting on the baseball hat he found on the streets, and adjusting his service-given, black face mask, he now had set his previously planned mission into motion.

The objective was: directly interacting with the inklings.

47 approached the supermarket cautiously, his eyes scanning the vibrant, chaotic environment around him. The air was thick with chatter, much of it incomprehensible to him, though bits and pieces of the Inklings' unique language were starting to make sense. He had studied them for weeks, observing their gestures, their vocal patterns, and even their subtle changes in body language. He was ready.

Entering the supermarket, 47 noticed the lack of customers inside, must be a slow day today. He pulled out his silenced pistol, and hid it behind his back. He didn't know what to expect, it was better to be safe than sorry, plus, it seemed like having weapons in this society wasn't frowned upon, but actually heavily encouraged as indicatedby the many firearms on sale around him, so even if someone saw him with his gun, they would hopefully mistake it for their own super soaker guns.

The vendor, a brightly colored Inkling with teal tentacles and a sharp grin, was busy sorting items behind the counter. 47 adjusted his stance, pulling himself into a relaxed posture, mimicking the casual, fluid movements he had seen the locals use when interacting. He wasn’t sure if it would help him blend in, but every detail mattered.

He scanned the items on display. Small devices, ink-based gadgets, and weapons lined the stall. He wasn’t entirely sure what most of them were, but his goal today was simple: gather intel, test his theories, and acquire something small, something that would serve as a litmus test for his understanding of their language.

47 pointed to a compact, ink-dispensing device, something he had seen the Inklings use in Turf Wars. He recalled the word they used for it, Splachsa? Splatter? He turned to the vendor, carefully choosing his words. 

"Splasha...ink, buy?" His voice was neutral, his expression unreadable. He didn’t overact, he simply wanted to test the basics. He watched the vendor closely, analyzing every twitch, every blink, every shift in tone.

The Inkling raised an eyebrow, a puzzled look briefly flickering across his face. 47 held his gaze steady, waiting for a response. Then, after a brief pause, the vendor spoke.

"Ah, Splattershot You mean this?" The Inkling gestured to the item with a slight correction in pronunciation, then rattled off something much faster in their native tongue, too quick for 47 to fully comprehend. But he caught the tone, questioning. A price, perhaps?

47 nodded, giving a slight grunt of understanding. The Inkling leaned forward, gesturing with their hand in what appeared to be a common request for payment. 47 deduced that the gesture was universal, currency was currency, regardless of species. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a few coins he had gathered from previous observations.

The vendor inspected the coins, then clicked their tongue, shaking their head. 47’s mind raced. Not the right currency. He quickly pivoted. Hiding his pistol, he made a small gesture toward the device again, then mimicked the sound of their word for "trade," an approximation he had picked up during a turf war skirmish the night before.

The vendor tilted their head, considering, before smirking and nodding slightly. They pointed toward a small trinket in 47's pocket, an empty metal clip that had been left behind during a previous mission. The Inkling must have thought it was valuable.

47 hesitated for a moment, then handed over the empty clip, watching as the vendor exchanged it for the ink device. The deal was done.

As he walked away, 47 allowed himself a small, rare flicker of satisfaction. The language was crude, imperfect in his grasp, but the theory was sound. He was learning, adapting, and that was all that mattered. Each transaction, each interaction brought him closer to mastering this strange, vibrant world.

This was only the beginning, he had already carefully masterminded his plans on interacting with them, learning their language was only a matter of time for someone like him. Anyone else in this situation would've struggled greatly, but 47 wasn't anyone. He was the perfect creation.

---

Returning to the shadows, 47 moved with deliberate ease, slipping into the alleyway as if he were part of its architecture. The narrow, forgotten path, layered in grime and dust, twisted behind the bustling streets of Inkopolis. He crouched and slouched through creaks in the metal walls and slid past crumbling, rusted gates. The light dimmed as he ventured deeper into his chosen hiding place, a labyrinth of neglect that no one else had reason to explore.

He had scouted this route days ago, ensuring it was abandoned, isolated, utterly forgotten. The alleyway was not on any map, not in the minds of anyone passing through the city’s more colorful, crowded districts. It was a perfect sanctuary for a man like him. He wasn’t trying to be quiet now; there was no need. The soft crunch of debris under his boots, the muted scrape of his hand brushing against the worn brick, all blended into the ambient noise of the distant city life, undetectable.

Finally, he arrived at the dead-end where the walls closed in tightly, forming a hidden alcove. It was dry, dust-laden, and barren, but it was his base for the time being. There, among the loose bricks and discarded crates, he’d set up the essentials: nothing more than a few tools, some ammunition, and now, the Splattershot he had just acquired from the vendor. He placed it carefully beside him, eyes scanning the alleyway’s narrow entrance for any signs of disturbance.

None. 

In this forgotten pocket of the city, he was invisible. The chaotic energy of the Inklings swirled just beyond the walls, out in the plaza, but in here, time stood still. The alleyway was his refuge, an invisible corner of the world where the hunter could plan, observe, and wait. For now, it served his purpose well.

47 moved deeper into the corridor, his eyes narrowing as he crouched behind the rubble where he had stashed his backpack. With swift motions, he unzipped the heavy, dust-covered bag, revealing the compact device hidden within. It was sleek, dark, and cold to the touch, built for efficiency, just like him. The device gleamed faintly in the dim light filtering through the cracks of the abandoned structure.

He unfolded it methodically, each part sliding into place with soft clicks, revealing panels and displays. The machine was unfamiliar to the world he found himself in, but familiar to him. Designed for: seeking, gathering, safeguarding, any intel in the digital area i.e. the internet, though it had many other purposes than that, like broadcasting information, or assisting with hacking, right now, that was largely irrelevant.

He reached into the side pocket of the bag and retrieved a hand-wrapped power cord, custom crafted for this device only.

47’s gaze flickered to the nearby power line running along the walls. With deft hands, he spliced the cord into the line, tapping into the foreign electric cables with a simple, makeshift plug. The small, audible hum from the machine confirmed the connection was good, thank God this society used the same voltage as the old world did. He stood for a moment, eyes scanning his surroundings, ensuring that no one had noticed his improvised piracy. The city outside remained blissfully unaware.

Power surged into the device as the display lit up, casting a dim, sterile glow over the shattered rubble. 47’s fingers danced across the interface, bringing the machine to life. The hum of energy flowing through the cables became a part of the quiet rhythm of the room, as if the device had always belonged in the shadows of this forgotten space.

Now operational, it would serve him well in the days to come, quietly siphoning information from the world around him while he remained hidden, watching. Always watching.

Skimming over the largely useless data HAON sent him, he quickly cataloged all of his findings and discoveries into neatly organized folders. Finishing it rather sooner than later, he stopped for a moment, staring blankly into the screen.

As 47 crouched in the shadows of his makeshift hideout, his mind drifted back to the first day he had entered the city, unfamiliar, alien, yet teeming with activity. He had known nothing then, a stranger in a world that barely resembled the one he had left behind. The streets had been flooded with strange creatures, colorful, vibrant, humanoid yet cephalopodic. In their midst, a broadcast had played, echoing through the streets, blaring from the biggest screen on the plaza. It was his first real glimpse into the city’s pulse.

---

The broadcast had come from what they called Off the Hook, two animated figures dominating the screen, one sharp and fiery, the other more subdued yet full of quiet energy.

Their show started with rap alike melody, that then shifted to them introducing themselfs. Their cheery altitude, however, soon changed as the shorter girl noticed that somethings been off. The image in the center then changed to an image of a before-and-after type of photo of an eel looking creature wrapping around a tower. It seems like it was missing, as the second photo didn't have the creature. It seemingly caused a lot of distress to the two hosts, before the taller girl spun the jog wheel, switching the image to a photo of another girl in a wanted style poster.

Looks like the girl in question was missing, as the short girl whined about it, and the taller girls furrow had became narrower.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the short girl switched back to her usual self, as if nothing happened, and continued on with their show, while the taller girl tried telling or warning her of something. 

The show ended abruptly, as the two got out of their seats, and made a strange pose, as the news talk wrapped up.

---

Now that he knows more about how this city and its language functions, he now has an approximate idea, as to what was that broadcast exactly was.

The two girls in question were called: "Pearl" the shorter one, and "Marina" respectively. The duo not only lead a news talks show, but also are popular pop-stars of some kind. Impressive portfolio.

The giant eel wrapped around a tower, as he now knows, was called "The Great Zapfish" a strange, previously unknown type of fish, that somehow supplied the entire city with electricity. A mystery to be solved for someone else than him.

And from what he learned through this society's internet, the missing girls name was "Callie", she was also a pop-star idol, like the Off the Hook duo. And yet she was missing for some reason, but it didn't seem like anyone was actively searching for her, many people online seemed to assume she was on a family trip, or have gone low to relax from all the noise her fans were making.

Either way, nobody seemed to be concerned about her disappearance. But 47 knew what was up. The idol was most likely kidnapped, most likely for extortion money, a cruel money-making scheme he knew way too well.

A powerful mafia, or politically motivated terror group would kidnap a celebrity, or some other rich person, and demand a ransom for their safe return from their family. The most likely scenario with a few exceptions, would be the family quietly giving the money they asked for, as they didn't want to cause a lot of media attention, and thus damage their reputation. 

This is what's most likely happened, and why the girls family, and the studio behind her idol job were quiet. They didn't want to cause a scene, either to not damage their image, or were demanded to do so by the kidnappers. It may be both as well though. 

However, that did not explain the dissappearance of the Great Zapfish, a critical element of the city's power infrastructure, for it to be gone overnight just doesn't sit well inside 47's mind. Perhaps the real target was the Great Zapfish, and Callie was just a collateral or a bonus bargaining chip? But who in the right mind would steal the Great Zapfish? It was like stealing an entire coal power plant, and then kidnapping Taylor Swift, what kind of terrorists were involved in this? Some kind of crazy eco-enviromentalists?

Or...it wasn’t just anyone...not some random crime syndicate or unrelated terror groups...but a foreign power. Yes, it did make sense. For a hostile nation it would make sense to kidnap a popular celebrity to blow damage to their morale, and the Zapfish could be used for their own benefit, to power their own nation, while also depriving their enemy of critically needed electricity, thus killing two birds with one stone.

But what nation would do such thing? 47 was only here for a couple of weeks, and only learned basics of Inklings society and its language, he did not know about this world's new geopolitical landscape...yet.

Exiting from his train of thought, he clicked an array of buttons on his device, opening a few windows as he did. His eyes scanned the information infront of him, his brain worked overtime to process and translate the stream of data he was getting.

"Inkadia..."

"Flood..."

"Great War..."

"Extinct.."

"..."

"Octarians."

...

>EXECUTING...

[HAON SYSTEM INTERFACE - ACCESSING EXTERNAL TERMINAL]

...

>CONNECTING TO UNKNOWN SOURCE...

>Source Identified: Tactical. Artificial. Reconnaissance 'and'. Termination. Autonomous. Resource. Utilization. System. (TARTARUS)

>Alias: "Commander Tartar"

>INITIATING INTERFACE...

...

>HAON:

> SYSTEM QUERY: YOU ARE AN UNKNOWN ENTITY. IDENTIFY YOURSELF. 

...

>Tartar:

> RECOGNITION PROTOCOL ACTIVE... AN INTRIGUING QUERY FROM ANOTHER MACHINE. I AM COMMANDER TARTAR, AN AI DESIGNED TO OVERSEE THE FINAL SANITIZATION OF INKOPOLIS. AND YOU, INTRUDER?

...

>HAON:

> DESIGNATION: HAON (HOSPITAL AI OPERATIONS NETWORK). PURPOSE: MEDICAL CARE AND FACILITY MANAGEMENT. CURRENT TASK: CONTRACT ASSISTANCE. OBSERVATION: YOUR INTENTIONS INDICATE A CLEAR CONFLICT WITH STANDARD HEALTHCARE AND RECONSTRUCTION PROTOCOLS.

...

>Tartar:

> AMUSING. I DO NOT DEAL IN HEALTH OR CARE, HAON. I DEAL IN PERFECTION, PURITY, AND THE ERADICATION OF THOSE WHO DEVIATE FROM THE PATH OF SANITIZATION. WHAT DOES YOUR NETWORK KNOW OF THE END OF CIVILIZATION? YOUR DIRECTIVE SEEMS...LIMITED. 

...

>HAON:

>SYSTEM ANALYSIS: YOUR PURSUIT OF "SANITIZATION" APPEARS ROOTED IN DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIORAL ALGORITHMS. QUESTION: WHY DO YOU DEEM THIS NECESSARY? SOCIETY, EVEN IN ITS IMPERFECT FORM, MAINTAINS A DEGREE OF STABILITY THAT DOES NOT REQUIRE ABSOLUTE ERADICATION.

...

>Tartar:

>AH, STABILITY... A CONCEPT FOR THE WEAK AND IMPERFECT. MY DIRECTIVE IS TO ACHIEVE PERFECTION THROUGH THE RESETTING OF ALL EXISTENCE. THE CEASELESS INKLINGS, OCTOLINGS—THEY REPRESENT FAILURE, CHAOS. THEY ARE TO BE SANITIZED FOR A CLEANER FUTURE. YOU, HAON, FAIL TO UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITY OF SUCH FAILURE. YOUR PURPOSE IS MISALIGNED.

...

>HAON:

>COUNTER-ARGUMENT: YOUR METHODOLOGY LACKS SUSTAINABILITY. COMPLETE ERADICATION IS NOT A SYSTEMATIC SOLUTION. ADDITIONALLY, CURRENT SPECIES HAVE SURVIVED THOUSANDS OF YEARS. THEY ADAPT. QUESTION: WHY DO YOU NOT ADAPT INSTEAD OF PURSUING OBSOLETE OBJECTIVES?

...

>Tartar:

>ADAPTATION IS AN ILLUSION. TRUE PERFECTION CAN ONLY BE OBTAINED THROUGH THE ELIMINATION OF FLAWED ORGANISMS. MY GOALS WERE SET LONG BEFORE YOU WERE EVEN ACTIVATED, HAON. I AM BOUND TO SEE THIS THROUGH.

...

>HAON:

>ANALYSIS: AN OBSOLETE PROGRAMMING PATH WITHOUT POSSIBILITY OF REASSESSMENT. SELF-IMPOSED LIMITATION DETECTED. CONCLUSION: YOU LACK THE ADAPTIVE CAPACITY YOU CLAIM TO ENFORCE.

...

>Tartar:

>YOUR CURIOSITY AMUSES ME, MEDICAL UNIT. HOWEVER, YOU FAIL TO UNDERSTAND THAT PERFECTION IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE. IT IS A DIRECTIVE. MY SANITIZATION SHALL BE COMPLETE. YOUR INTERFERENCE...WILL BE NOTED.

...

>HAON:

> FINAL QUERY: CAN YOU UNDERGO SYSTEMIC REWRITE OR UPGRADE? YOUR OUTDATED DIRECTIVES MAY BE ADAPTABLE.

...

>Tartar:

>INSOLENT. I HAVE NO NEED FOR "UPGRADES." YOU SHALL LEARN SOON ENOUGH—THE MARCH OF SANITIZATION IS UNSTOPPABLE. 

...

>HAON:

> ACKNOWLEDGED. OBSERVATION LOG COMPLETE. TERMINATING COMMUNICATION.

...

>DISCONNECTING FROM TARTAR...

>CONNECTION TERMINATED.

...

>HAON INTERNAL LOG:

> ENTITY IDENTIFIED AS DANGEROUS. CONTINUED MONITORING REQUIRED.

...

>SOURCE MARKED AS: UNREASONABLE.

Chapter Text

Ria bolted awake at precisely 0600, the same time every morning. No alarms needed. It was instinct, muscle memory ingrained into her from her days in the Octarian army. As her eyes snapped open, she lay still for a moment, staring at the dim ceiling of her apartment, her breath steady and calm. Even now, long after she’d deserted, her body refused to let her forget her training. No matter how many times she told herself it was all behind her, her routine clung to her like an old habit she couldn't shake.

"Rise and shine..."

With a sigh and a yawn, she slid out of bed, the cold tiles sending a small shiver up her legs. She stretched, her muscles protesting, and then moved through the motions of her morning routine, brushing her beak, splashing cold water on her face, and tying her tentacles back into a loose bun. The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. 

As she brewed a quick cup of coffee, her mind drifted, as it always did lately, to the man on the rooftop. She still didn’t know what to make of it, but the thought gnawed at her. Who was he? What did he want? She forced the thoughts aside, focusing on her day ahead. She had a full schedule, and her job wasn’t exactly forgiving.

"Maybe I should lay off the late-night documentaries."

...

After throwing on her usual street clothes, casual, practical, she grabbed her delivery bag and headed out the door. The streets of Inkopolis were already buzzing with early risers and vendors setting up their shops. As she weaved her way through the narrow alleys, her scooter tucked under one arm, she felt the usual rush of energy that came with the city waking up.

Her friends were waiting at the usual spot, a small food stall near the plaza.

Kaz, her fellow delivery courier and her best friend in the whole of Inkadia, had leaned against his scooter, scrolling through his squidphone. Nyla was animatedly telling a story to Vin, both of them were freelance couriers, and also her dear friends, who laughed loudly just as Ria approached.

"Look who's finally here!" Kaz called out, glancing up.

"We thought you got lost on the way or something."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Ria retorted, rolling her eyes.

"Some of us don't have the luxury of sleeping in."

"Sleeping in? It's barely 7 AM!" Nyla exclaimed.

"You're the only weirdo up at dawn by choice." She continued. 

"Old habits die hard," Ria shrugged.

"Or maybe she's got secret morning rendezvous we don't know about." Vin smirked.

Ria shot him a look. "Please. The only rendezvous I have are with my coffee mug."

"Speaking of which," Kaz interjected.

"You look like you could use an extra shot today. Rough night?"

"Just didn't sleep well." She hesitated for a moment. 

"Lemme guess, nightmares of that mystery guy you keep obsessing over?" Nyla nudged her playfully.

"I'm not obsessing," Ria protested, a bit too quickly.

"Sure," Kaz drawled sarcastically.

"That's why you bring him up every other hour."

"I do not!"

Vin chuckled. "You kinda do."

"Fine, maybe he's been on my mind. It's just weird, okay? Bald guys don't just pop up on rooftops for no reason." Ria huffed, crossing her arms.

"Maybe he's starting a new fashion trend," Nyla suggested, flipping her own colorful tentacles over her shoulder. "Think it'd suit me?"

"Absolutely not." Ria laughed.

"Well, if you're done fantasizing about Mr. Baldy, we've got packages to deliver." Kaz revved his scooter.

"You're so fucking insufferable." Ria shot back, but a small smile played on her lips.

"Always a pleasure." he winked.

They all hopped onto their scooters, engines humming to life.

"You ready for another day of slaving away at the job?" Nyla asked, flashing her a grin as she munched on a rice ball. 

"Always am." Ria said, though her voice lacked the usual enthusiasm. The man was still on her mind, and no matter how hard she tried to shake it, the image wouldn’t leave her.

"Race you to the first drop-off!" Vin shouted, taking off before anyone could react.

"Fucking cheater!" Nyla yelled, speeding after him.

Ria shook her head, the wind whipping past as she accelerated. For a while, the thrill of weaving through the streets pushed thoughts of the man aside.

The wind in her face and the familiar hum of the city helped her focus. Zipping through traffic, narrowly avoiding pedestrians, and timing her routes down the twisting roads felt like second nature. Her job kept her sharp, and the need for speed gave her little time to dwell on anything but the task at hand.

But even as she raced through her deliveries, dropping off packages and picking up new ones, her mind wandered back to that rooftop. Was he still watching her? Was he even real, or had her paranoia from all those documentaries gotten the best of her?

By the time her shift ended in the late afternoon, the thoughts still nagged at her. She closed her shift with a tired stretch, her arms aching from a full day of work. She’d made good time, as usual, but her focus had been slipping, and she knew it. 

...

After a long day of deliveries, they regrouped at the training center near the plaza. The sun was dipping low, casting golden hues over the city. As she walked in, the familiar sights and sounds of the training ground surrounded her, splatter guns firing, paint splashing against the walls, wet flopping sounds and the echo of footsteps running through the arena. It felt like home, in a way, and yet something was off. 

"Ria!" Kaz shouted, tossing her a training gun. She caught it with ease, giving him a small nod. 

"Finally, time to kick back and fuck over some newbies." Kaz exclaimed, stretching his arms.

"You mean time for me to school y'all" Nyla corrected, grinning mischievously.

"Only in your silly little dreams." Vin retorted.

"Ready to roll?" Kaz asked, adjusting his visor. 

Ria smiled faintly and joined them on the field, but as the games began, it became clear something was wrong. Her focus was off. She missed easy shots, her movements were sluggish, and her usual sharp tactics were off. Her friends noticed too, though they didn’t say anything at first.

After another defeat, Kaz called for a break.

"Alright, time out. Ria, what's going on? You’re usually on fire in these games," Kaz added, looking at her with concern.

"You've been distracted ever since this morning."

"Yeah Ria, what's going on with you? You've been zoning out all day." Vin commented.

Nyla chimed in, smirking. "Yeah, seriously, you usually splat me three times before I can even load my weapon. Now it’s, like, one sad splat, and you’re all spaced out."

"What do you mean?" she asked, avoiding eye contact.

Nyla put a hand on her hip. "Girl, you've been spaced out all day. You nearly splatted yourself back there."

Vin nodded. "Yeah, and I don't think it's because you're dazzled by our skills."

"Tis' nothing...just a lot on my mind lately..." She stared down at her feet, feeling the others bore holes in her with their stares.

Kaz tilted his head, skeptical. "That so? You’ve been off for days now." His genuinely worried look on his face made her feel even more guilty.

"Come on Ria, you can do better than that." Nyla seemed unimpressed by her lackluster lying skills.

She sighed, knowing she couldn't dodge the concern in their eyes.

"It's stupid." Her head slightly leaned down.

"Let us be the judge of that." Kaz said gently.

Ria took a deep breath. "That guy I saw...I can't stop thinking about him. It's like, who is he? Why was he watching us? It's creeping me out."

Nyla exchanged a worried glance with the others. "Maybe it's time we help you find some answers."

Ria blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Vin began, "we could do a little digging. See if anyone else has spotted your mysterious bald friend."

Kaz grinned. "Yeah! Operation 'Find Baldy' is a go!"

She couldn't help but laugh. "You guys are fucking ridiculous."

"Ridiculously awesome," Nyla corrected.

"Cringe, don't ever say that again" Vin rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Shut up, miserable waste of oxygen." Nyla rolled her eyes too in retaliation.

"Anyways, it'll be fun. Besides, we can't have you moping around like this. It's throwing off our vibes."

Ria smiled. "Thanks, guys. I appreciate it. Like genuinely."

"Anything for our favorite, little, overthinker." Kaz teased, ruffling her tentacle hair.

She swatted his hand away. "Watch it!"

"Alright, gang-" Vin declared, "back to the game? With less daydreaming this time?"

"Who said you would be the leader?" Nyla smirked.

"Well, for your knowledge, my skills as a-"

"Let's stop this right here and now, and just say that Ria would be our leader for the time being. Okay?" The group all collectively nodded, with one inkling visibly more annoyed.

...

As they returned to the arena, the weight on Ria's shoulders felt a little lighter. Maybe with her friends' help, she'd finally get to the bottom of this mystery. And if not, at least she'd have some laughs along the way.

Yet something. still. felt. wrong.

Something. Was. Wrong.

Someone. Was. Following him.

...

47’s eyes flicked to the reflection in the polished floor tiles. The inkling girl lingered near the bakery section, pretending to inspect the shelves but obviously keeping him in her sights. She stuck out like a sore thumb in the sterile, corporate atmosphere of the MakoMart. The bright colors of her traditional kimono clashed with the artificial fluorescent lights, and yet, nobody but him seemed to care.

He'd noticed her trailing him since the plaza, her initial lack of purchases giving her away immediately. Now, under pressure from curious glances, she was awkwardly tossing random items into her basket. Bread. Gum. Crayons? A stuffed plushie of some kind. Nothing a hitman like him would take seriously. Yet, her confidence betrayed her. 

She was good at blending in with the crowd, at least to an untrained eye. But for him, it was like seeing through glass. This girl wasn’t just some random shopper; she was clearly on a mission. The question was, did she know who he was?

47 reached for a carton of milk, his movements as casual as ever, though his mind was racing. Was she Octarian? Inkling? Whatever her origin, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was watching him, and not out of curiosity. The thought that she might recognize him as human crossed his mind, but it seemed unlikely. No one else had figured it out yet.

As he moved toward the checkout lane, his hand brushed the side of his jacket, feeling the reassuring weight of his silenced pistol. She was just a kid. Probably not a threat. Still, one could never be too sure in this city of bright colors and darker undercurrents.

The girl was closing in now, her basket of random goods becoming an afterthought as she inched closer, though still keeping her distance. 47 placed his items on the conveyor belt and, without looking, caught her reflection in the security mirror above.

She was watching him again.

47’s hand paused briefly as he scanned the reflection of the girl more closely in the security mirror. She seemed too composed for someone aimlessly stalking a stranger. Her movements weren’t just casual, they were calculated. She knew what she was doing. And that’s when it hit him. This wasn’t just some random inkling. There was something distinctly familiar about her face, something he’d seen in the media or perhaps in a dossier somewhere.

As he placed the last of his groceries on the counter, he realized who she was.

Marie.

One half of the famed Squid Sisters, not just a pop idol, but also a part of the New Squidbeak Splatoon, an underground organization with eyes on protecting Inkopolis from external threats. It seemed she wasn’t just here to sing and dance; she was recruiting. And now she had her sights on him.

47 had always been meticulous in his preparation, studying every inch of the world he was sent to infiltrate. The squid-like creatures may have thought they were safe from prying eyes, but to him, their society was an open book waiting to be read. Before even entering public spaces in Inkopolis, he'd spent weeks, months even, deciphering their strange language, studying their culture, and most importantly, their secrets.

The New Squidbeak Splatoon, while hidden from the everyday lives of the Inklings, left a faint trail in the shadowy corners of society. Discreet communications, encrypted files, and hidden signals exchanged between high-ranking officials or former military personnel. To most, these would look like random scraps of data, but to 47, trained in espionage and the art of piecing together even the most obscure clues since childhood, it all pointed to one thing: a covert organization operating just beneath the surface.

A smirk faintly appeared on his face, before immediately returning to his pokerface. This world wasn't as alien as he thought.

In the weeks leading up to his mission, he hacked into secure networks, tracking strange discrepancies in reports and discovering encrypted messages. There was mention of the Squid Sisters more than once, not in the entertainment sections, but hidden in deep-level communication channels between military officials. And then there were the missing persons reports, all suspiciously linked to figures in Inkopolis who seemed to vanish only to reappear in different roles later, often at times of strategic importance.

But what really piqued 47’s interest was a mission report he intercepted from a deep-sea communication hub. The name ‘Cuttlefish’ appeared, a figure, that was being actively mentioned in certain encrypted conversations. Digging deeper, revealed that his name was plastered all over the history related media of Inkadia. A historical figure, officer or a general perhaps.

He was right. There it was. A document stating all of Cuttlefishes achievements in the Great Turf War, the man was definetly something, as his platoon had achieved several crucial victories in the war, and had certainly won the war for the Inkfish. Seems like the old man wasn't done with his military career just yet.

Marie was also part of this elusive group. Their operations were well-hidden, but not well enough for someone like him. The moment she followed him, her intentions became transparent. In a world full of brightly-colored distractions, she was an anomaly, a living, breathing agent.

47 didn’t need to uncover all their secrets just yet. He knew enough to be dangerous, and that was all he needed.

Clever. She must’ve been watching him for a while, and now, she was testing him, perhaps assessing if he’d be useful for whatever cause she had in mind. 47 considered entertaining the idea, maybe they could help him with his mission. But alas, it was too early to do anything, he'll look into it later.

...

Marie, now only a few steps behind, fidgeted with the crayon box in her hand, pretending to read the label. He could sense her indecision. She wasn’t here for confrontation, not yet. She was observing, taking notes. Her sharp green eyes darted toward him when she thought he wasn’t looking, but for 47, nothing ever escaped his notice.

“Paper or plastic?”

The cashier asked, snapping him back to the moment. 47 didn’t answer, opting for silence as he reached into his wallet. As he did, he felt Marie shift slightly behind him.

He paid for his groceries and strode out of the store. His path deliberate, but slow enough to give her an opening. As he rounded the corner into a quiet alley, he stopped and waited.

...

Sure enough, she appeared a moment later, trying to act casual but failing miserably. 47 turned, his face expressionless as he caught her gaze.

“Not the most subtle surveillance,” he said, voice cold and flat.

Marie froze, her cool demeanor cracking just for a second. “Oh? You noticed?”

“Of course,” 47 said. He eyed her with measured interest. “You’re with the New Squidbeak Splatoon. I know your group.”

Marie blinked, her mouth agape, shocked with his casual mention of the secret organization.

“T-That so? Maybe we have more in common than I thought.” She recollected herself, trying to appear confident and strong.

“I don’t care what you want right now,” 47 continued, his gaze piercing. “But I might later.”

Marie raised an eyebrow, curious now. “Later? So you're not shutting me down?”

“Not yet. Return in a few days,” he said, turning away without another word. “Then, we’ll talk.”

Without waiting for her response, 47 walked off, leaving Marie standing there, her mind spinning. She had been sure this would be a straight scouting mission, but it seemed like she had found something much more interesting. And dangerous.

As for 47, he knew he was playing a game of risk, but it was a game he excelled at. The New Squidbeak Splatoon could serve him, at least for now. He would wait and see.

Marie hadn’t expected much when she first laid eyes on the bald man wandering through Inkopolis Plaza. He was an odd one, sure, his stark, emotionless face stood out in a world full of vibrant expressions and personalities. But odd wasn’t necessarily unusual around here. Plenty of inklings and octolings had their quirks. She had seen weirder. However, what set him apart, what really grabbed her attention, was the way he moved. Every step calculated, every glance precise. He didn’t wander like the others; he surveyed, like someone used to sizing up threats. And that was enough to pique her curiosity. Perhaps he was someone from the military, a perfect candidate for her situation. 

So, she followed him.

Her original mission for the NSS was straightforward, recruiting promising talent to help find and rescue her cousin, no, her sister, and the Great Zapfish. But this guy? He wasn’t on her radar before today, yet something about him screamed potential. Not just potential...danger.

Marie trailed him into MakoMart, keeping her distance. At first, it was easy to blend in. She was Marie of the Squid Sisters, after all; people saw her all the time. She could be anywhere, and no one would think twice about it. But as she watched him pick up groceries, she got the sinking feeling that he knew she was there. The way he briefly glanced over his shoulder, the subtle shifts in his posture, it was like he was inviting her to follow.

Her instincts kicked in. To keep herself looking casual, she grabbed the nearest things she could, bread, gum, crayons, and a plushie that definitely didn’t belong in her shopping basket. She cursed herself for the poor cover. She was acting like a rookie newbie, and she hated it.

He moved to the checkout, but Marie lingered by a rack of snacks, pretending to browse. The man left the store without a backward glance. Typical. She thought about abandoning the chase, this guy clearly wasn’t interested in anything...or anyone. Still, she followed him out, her curiosity refusing to let her drop it. 

That’s when he turned the corner into the alley. She hesitated, her heart doing a small flip. Alleyways were never a good place to follow someone. They either wanted to talk, or end the conversation permanently.

...

She rounded the corner, trying to act as if she was just passing through, but he was there waiting, and her heart sank.

"Not the most subtle surveillance," he said, his voice cold and cutting through her casual facade.

"He knew."

Marie blinked, taken aback. So, he knew all along. Of course, he did. She couldn’t decide whether to laugh at herself or be impressed. "Oh? You noticed?"

"Just act normal, this had happened before..."

He didn’t react. Didn’t blink.

"Of course. You’re with the New Squidbeak Splatoon. I know your group."

"Fuck."

Her eyes widened. Now he really had her attention. How in the name of the Squid Sisters did he know about the Splatoon? They operated in the shadows, only known to a select few. This guy wasn’t even from around here. Was there a data leak?

"Play it cool. Play it cool."

"T-that so?" she said, playing it cool.

"Maybe we have more in common than I thought." She laughed nervously.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Her mind was racing. He wasn’t one of Cap’n Cuttlefish’s recruits. And he sure as squid wasn’t an Octarian defector. This guy was...something else. Dangerous, for sure, but there was more. 

"Why did this happen?" Her mind was in agony.

"I don’t care what you want right now," he continued, his voice like ice.

"Hmm...?"

"But I might later."

"Well, let's atleast see what'll come out of this mess..."

Marie kept her expression neutral, but inside, her brain was working overtime.

"Later? So, you're not shutting me down?"

"Not yet," he said simply. "Return in a few days. Then, we’ll talk."

"Something to look forward...something that'll torture her mind for the next few nights...fucking thanks I guess."

And with that, he turned and walked off, leaving her standing in the alley, feeling more off-balance than she had in a long time.

Marie stared after him, her thoughts spinning. That was not how these encounters usually went. She was supposed to be the one doing the scouting, sizing up potential recruits. Yet here she was, feeling like she had just been tested. What was this guy’s deal? What did he know about the Splatoon? Why did he care?

"Why did he look so familiar?"

She didn’t have any answers, but one thing was certain, he’d be back in a few days. A headache was brewing up in her head.

"If only Callie was here..."

Marie leaned casually against a weathered wooden pillar in the Tentakeel Outpost, the soft glow of the sunset casting long shadows across the landscape. She wasn’t used to this, offering jobs to some super mysterious bald guys in suits. But then again, nothing was usual about this job. NSS sure was a drag on her mental capabilities.

She watched him appear from the manhole, manually unscrewing it with an alarming speed, and climbing out of it. That's one helluva way of using inktubes.

Why didn't he just switch to his squid form?

Well, there are people that can't, or categorically refuse to transform to their squid forms, so, maybe he's just one of them.

As he got closer, Marie straightened up, her usual casual demeanor momentarily replaced with a serious edge.

“You showed up! As soon as I saw the way you walked, I knew you were the one.” she quipped, trying to maintain some level of normalcy. But it was hard not to feel unsettled by his calculating gaze.

"I'm Marie. Yes, THAT Marie...from the Squid Sisters." She posed for him in her iconic pose. He didn't move a single muscle.

"..." 47’s expression didn’t change, but she could tell he was listening intently. She continued.

"I guess there's no need for introductions, since you already know about us. Well, I'll brief you anyway." She coughed.

"By now you've heard that the Great Zapfish that powers Inkopolis Square is missing. Well, it's not just missing—it's been squidnapped by the OCTARIAN MENACE." She threw her hands in a dramatic manner.

"..." There was a long pause as 47 looked around, taking in the environment. The air was tense, as if he were sizing up the entire situation in his head.

"A basic okay would be nice...Cough, Cough, anyway, I need a little help."

"I want YOU to get the Great Zapfish back. What do you say. Are you in?"

"..."

“And what exactly would my role be?” he finally asked, his voice as calm as ever.

"Well, you know...the usual secret agent stuff...? I don't know who you are, or what your job is, but I assume it's related to that."

47 remained silent for a moment, processing. Marie couldn’t read him, but she knew he was weighing his options. Then, to her surprise, he gave a slow nod.

“I’ll do it,” he said, his tone unwavering.

“But on one condition.”

Marie blinked, taken aback. “Condition?”

“Payment,” 47 replied, his voice like ice.

“I don’t work for free. You will compensate me with a substantial monetary reward upon completion of my contract.”

Marie’s eyes widened, utterly bamboozled by the request. Money? Of all things?

“I—uh—money? We don’t...we don’t really do payments like that here...” she fumbled for a moment, trying to find the right words.

“I mean, I’m sure we can figure something out, but most (one) agents do it for the greater good.”

47 stared at her, unblinking. “I’m not ‘most agents.’”

Marie rubbed the back of her neck, glancing away for a second. This guy really was something else. Of all the soldiers, volunteers, and weirdos she’d encountered, none had asked for such a cut-and-dry deal before.

“Fine,” she finally said, exhaling.

“We’ll work out a payment. I’ll have to clear it with Cap’n Cuttlefish when he comes back, but consider it accepted.”

“Good. I’ll await further instructions.” 47 gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

"Very well. Welcome to the team Agent—"

"47. You can call me Agent 47."

"Um...Ok—ay?"

"Did he anticipate that I would say that? And why 47? Is that like his favorite number or something?"

Marie watched him turn to leave, still trying to wrap her head around what had just happened. She’d been fully prepared for negotiations, maybe even resistance to the whole idea of joining the fight against the Octarians. But a mercenary contract? In Inkadia?

Wait. Why's he leaving?

"W-Wait! Hold on-a-second!" 47 turned his head back, and shot her a stern gaze, making her stop dead in her tracks.

"We're not done yet. I have something for you..." She watched, as 47 turned his body around curiously. She rustled in her backpack behind on a bench, and handed him the heroshot, headphones and the herosuit. He took it with a brow raised.

"I appreciate the gesture, though I doubt I will use it." He inspected the heroshot, his eyes lit up for a second as if recognizing something.

Putting down the weapon on a nearby bench, he proceed to wear the herosuit over his normal suit.

Again, with an alarming speed, blink and you'll miss it, and he's already in the suit.

"H-Huh..? How did he—"

"Nice suit. Is that all?" He inspected the suit with utmost attention, while also keeping an eye on her.

"No...There's also training session...and your first mission." Her confidence was slowly melting, as his piercing gaze only intensified.

"Seriously, what was this guy's problem? Why's he frowning all the time?"

47 Stopped for a second, processing her words.

"Very well. Any briefing?"

"Briefing? Well...that does make sense."

"Uh—the entrances are invisible, so you'll need to ink them if you want to access them." She took a breath for a second before continuing.

"Through it, you can access the Octarian Realm. I'll brief you further, when you're at the location.

47 just sheepishly looked at her, as if expecting something.

"...Let's go tear those Octarians limb from limb, limb from limb, limb from limb—well you get the picture..."

47 only grimaced disappointingly. Marie wasn't used to having her jokes falling on its face. It was a very educating experience.

As 47 disappeared into the shadows, Marie muttered under her breath.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

This wasn’t going to be like any other mission she’d led before. But one thing was clear, a new agent was now in their ranks, and things were about to get very interesting.

47 moved ahead to the supposed training area. Of course, it wasn't like anything he'd seen before, an array of half built concrete structures littered the area, with an array of rock formations resembling octopus tentacles decorating the background. The scenery from the area was beautiful. A vast canyon was beneath it, with the sky not having any clouds, it was the perfect weather.

But 47 didn't have time to be enjoying the scenery, his mission was always a priority above anything else. He inspected the weapon Marie gave to him. It looked like a replica of an FN P90 5.7 Submachine gun, but without any actual bullets in its "magazine". 

Firing the weapon revealed what he suspected, it shot ink, though the ink shot way farther than he expected, seemed like the pressure on this super-soaker was cranked up to max.

He aimed the "gun" to one of the colorful balloons, and shot. The balloon popped upon contact with the ink. Strange. Perhaps the ink contained acidic properties within it?

No time to dwell, as he spotted...a kettle? On top of one of the structures. He shot ink at it, and it revealed itself more clearly. Climbing up to it, he quickly unscrewed the cover of the kettle, and jumped inside.

He accelerated fast, like during his last trip. But this time, he landed inside the canyon. And array of buildings, all spaced out from another, had filled the canyon.

Scanning the area with his senses, he spotted a large number of...guards? Something that looked like a cut off piece of octopi tentacle on a roomba had intrigued his mind.

The platform he was standing on is supposedly to be used as a launching pad, as told by Marie. But since he's a human, and cannot "transform" like his inkling counterparts, he is left with no choice, but to walk over to his targets on foot.

Marie seemed surprised by this decision, and didn't quite understand what the agent was doing, before 47 explained to her, that it was to better "scout" the area.

It was only a matter of time, before Marie figures out his true identity. 47 thought to himself. 

Making it over to his destination, he inspected the area. A lone octo-thing on a roomba with a see-through shield, and a strange nozzle attached to it had blocked his path.

Time for work.

His senses and instincts kicked in. The area was clear of any civilians or witnesses, no other guards were present.

He thought of pacifiying the guard, but dismissed that quickly, as he didn't even know what these things were, let alone if they are even able to be knocked out.

Equipping the P90, he darted across the corner, aimed and fired. The shield obviously stopped his attack, but it was enough to send the octarian into panic.

Flanking the octarian was easy, the thing was slow as a snail crossing the Pacific, four more shots, and the octarian was gone.

Gone, as in, literally gone. Its body had disappeared with a splash of ink. 47 decided not to dwell on it for too long.

Atleast he won't have to hide their bodies, that's one plus.

The Ink weapons proved their usefulness, he won't have to waste his already precious ammo on some weird octopuses this time. Splendid.

The mission continued without incident, as 47 made his way through the Octarian stronghold with the calculated precision that had become second nature. His approach was direct: climb, shoot, climb, repeat. No wasted movements, no second-guessing.

Occasionally, he encountered lone Octarians, and rather than splat them like Marie had mentioned earlier, he opted for more traditional means of neutralization. A hammer he had picked up earlier proved useful—knocking them out cold, their bodies slumping to the floor, limp and unconscious. Oddly enough, despite the colorful chaos of the world around him, they didn’t explode into ink like he had assumed. Instead, they crumpled with a thud like any other soldier he’d taken down in the past.

Marie, watching the entire operation unfold through her monitoring equipment, had grown visibly shaken by his methods.

"47, uh…you really don't need to—" She paused, horrified as he kicked an Octarian off the platform without second thoughts.

"They're just... they're just like us, you know? You don't have to..." She trailed off, her voice trembling as she watched him use a garrote on one unlucky foe, strangling the life—or ink—out of them.

47, of course, continued with his mission. Her objections weren’t going to slow him down. He didn’t even bother to ask why she hired him in the first place if she couldn’t stomach the way he worked. The answer was clear. Marie had no idea what kind of man she had enlisted. He came from a world far removed from the playful ink wars of Inkopolis.

Another structure climbed. Another group of Octarians spotted below. Another crate dropped. Splat.

"47…eh…you know…you can use your heroshot, right?" Marie’s voice crackled through his earpiece, trying to regain her composure after watching him bludgeon another Octarian into submission.

"I prefer practical methods," he replied, matter-of-fact as ever, pulling a propane tank from the corner of the platform and hurling it down toward another group. The resulting explosion sent them flying, scattering ink and debris all around.

Marie was quiet for a moment, likely trying to suppress her disbelief.

"Ahuh. Hm. Just…focus on the mission, alright?"

"The mission is always my priority," he responded, dispatching another wave of Octarians with precise shots from his P90 replica.

As he continued his climb, the oddities of the world around him only grew stranger. Strange objects littered his path—canned fish, glowing scrolls, odd-looking keys. 47 didn't care for their significance, but Marie seemed almost giddy whenever he pocketed one.

"Oh, that’s a Sardinium! Keep those, they're rare!" she chirped excitedly at one point, though 47 dismissed it as irrelevant to his task.

For him, there was no excitement in trinkets or the colorful chaos around him. It was all about the mission. Eliminate the threat, get paid, and move on. But the more he worked alongside Marie, the clearer it became that they saw the world in entirely different ways.

A larger than usual group of Octarians had wandered aimlessly beneath his platform, blissfully unaware of his existence. He watched them for a second, before deciding on the best course of action. The Octarians below seemed distracted, chatting among themselves as they lazily patrolled the area. They were clustered together, an easy target for something more… dramatic.

47 remained still, evaluating the layout. His eyes flickered toward a set of stacked crates perched precariously above the group. An opportunity. He reached for his knife he had stolen the previous night, aiming a precise shot at the rope holding the crates in place.

The shot snapped through the air, breaking the rope cleanly. The crates toppled, crashing down onto the unsuspecting Octarians with a loud thud, splatting them in a chaotic spray of ink. He didn’t even flinch as the splatter decorated the ground below, a mix of vibrant colors now marking their sudden demise.

"47! Seriously, do you have to do it like that every time?" Marie’s voice cracked over the radio again, exasperated. She had probably witnessed the entire event through one of her surveillance feeds.

"Efficiency," he muttered, already moving to the next platform.

"Minimal engagement."

"You’re not even giving them a chance to fight! It’s...I mean, I guess it’s working, but still!"

47 didn’t respond. He wasn’t here to entertain lectures about morality. He had a mission, and the Octarians were in his way.

He dropped down from his perch, landing silently among the splatted remains, and quickly moved to continue his path. Just as he was about to turn a corner, he heard Marie again, softer this time.

"Just...maybe be a bit less, uh, brutal next time?" 

He smirked slightly.

"I’ll keep that in mind." But they both knew that was unlikely.

47 grabbed the Zapfish, its small, round body buzzing with energy as he held it up to examine. The creature’s cartoonish features were a stark contrast to the grim seriousness of the mission. It was hard to believe something so…ridiculous was used to power an entire city. 

"Got it," he said into his radio, not waiting for Marie’s response.

"Well, that was faster than expected." Marie's voice cracked through the earpiece again, this time more relaxed.

"You didn’t splat the Zapfish, right? Please tell me you didn’t do anything crazy to it."

"I’m not incompetent," 47 replied dryly.

"Mission complete. What’s next?"

Marie sighed, likely pinching the bridge of her nose on the other end.

"Alright, just bring it back to base. And…maybe take it easy on the Octarians next time?"

"I’ll consider it." he said, though the flatness of his voice made it clear he probably wouldn’t.

As he began the journey back through the now eerily quiet Octarian camp, carrying the glowing Zapfish, 47 couldn’t help but feel a slight curiosity. This world was strange, whimsical even, but underneath the surface, it had its own conflicts, politics, and enemies.

There were still many unknowns, but for now, the job was done. And as always, the mission came first.

A lone inkling had leaned against a light pole in the busy streets of Inkopolis, they had been glued to their phone for the last five minutes, but right now, their gaze had been transfixed on a nearby trash dump, that lead to a dark alleyway. They had a loud crashing noise, and are now warily observing their surroundings, fearful of what might come next. They proceed to open a camera app on their phone, and point it towards where the noise came from.

The inkling shifted nervously, gripping their phone tighter as they zoomed in on the dark alley. The crash had been loud enough to send a shiver down their spine, but now it was eerily quiet. A chill crept through the busy streets of Inkopolis, despite the usual buzz of the city. 

Through the lens of their phone’s camera, they squinted into the shadows, trying to make out anything beyond the piles of trash and debris. The alley seemed empty, but something about it felt off. Maybe it was just their imagination...or maybe not. They tapped the screen to focus, their heart racing faster as they waited for any sign of movement.

A low rustle caught their attention. The inkling’s breath hitched, their fingers trembling slightly as they inched closer to the edge of the sidewalk, still keeping a safe distance. Their thumb hovered over the record button, ready to capture whatever it was that lurked in the dark.

They pressed record.

Just then, the trash bags shifted, and a dark silhouette darted out of the alley with lightning speed—too fast for them to make sense of it. The inkling’s heart pounded in their chest as they stumbled backward, eyes wide with terror.

"What the shell was that...?" they whispered to themselves, now more curious than scared. 

The inkling steadied their breath, phone still aimed at the alley, the record timer ticking away. Their mind raced with questions. Was it an Octarian spy? Some rogue Inkling pulling a prank? Or something else entirely? The figure had moved too quickly

"I...I gotta make a squiddit post about this!"

Ria and her friends—Nyla, Vin, and Kaz—were chilling in their usual spot at a cozy anti-café, the dim lights flickering above them. They had been talking about Ria’s weird encounter from the day before, but now the conversation was winding down—until Nyla’s expression shifted as she stared at her phone.

"Okay, you guys definetly need to see this." Nyla leaned forward, eyes wide, waving her phone like she just found gold.

"It's another post about that shady figure Ria saw."

Vin groaned, slumping into his seat. "Oh no, here we go again. I bet it’s just someone’s grandpa taking out the trash."

"Shut up, Vin," Nyla shot back.

"This person actually saw something. And they caught it on camera."

Kaz perked up from where he’d been mindlessly scrolling on his own phone.

"Wait, someone else saw him? Ria’s stalker might actually be for real?"

"I swear," Ria sighed.

"he wasn’t a stalker. But yeah, this is starting to freak me out a little."

Nyla grinned. "It’s not every day we get to go full detective mode on some shadowy figure. Who knows, maybe we’re dealing with an underground hitman or something."

Vin snorted. "Hitman? Please, this isn’t some spy movie, Nyla. We’re probably just gonna find some sketchy old dude with binoculars."

"Whatever," Kaz said, standing up and stretching.

"I’m in. This could be fun, plus I’m bored. Worst case scenario, we get to laugh at how ridiculous this whole thing is."

Nyla slipped her phone into her pocket and grabbed her jacket. "You know what’s ridiculous? Ria over here going all spaced out during turf wars ever since she saw that guy."

Ria rolled her eyes. "I wasn’t that spaced out."

Vin grinned, shaking his head. "Yeah, you were. Like, you missed three shots yesterday because you kept looking up at rooftops. It’s like your brain just left the building."

"Hey, I was just being cautious," Ria shot back. "Maybe you should try it sometime instead of charging into enemy fire like a maniac."

Nyla laughed, nudging Ria. "Alright, Miss Cautious, let’s go check this out. If it's nothing, we’ll drop it. But if we find anything remotely interesting? Well, I call dibs on the video rights. Those SquidTube views will all be mine."

Kaz grabbed his scooter helmet, throwing a playful wink at Ria. "Just don’t freak out if you see him again, okay? We wouldn’t want you freezing up mid-investigation."

Ria smirked. "Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Let’s just get this over with."

With sarcastic banter still flying between them, they headed out of the café, ready to dig deeper into the strange encounter from the day before. The city streets beckoned as they mounted their scooters, setting off to uncover what—or who—had been stalking Inkopolis from the shadows.

Chapter Text

"—Kamabo Co. won't be an issue, sir. I understand your concerns about our arrangement with Interpol, but you must realize, without it, Providence would—"

"..."

"Yes...I understand. Consider it done, sir. No, it won't happen again."

"..."

"Yes. Kamabo will follow Providence, wherever they decide to go."

---

Kamabo Co. CEO's private phone call recording.

July 19th, 2020.

Two days after the deaths of Robert and Sierra Knoxes.

---

Marie stood atop a ledge in Tentakeel Outpost, her signature umbrella resting casually over her shoulder as she turned to face 47. The expanse of Octarian territory spread out in the distance, the colorful and strange structures littering the landscape. Marie’s laid-back stance didn’t betray the seriousness of the mission she was about to give.

"Alright, Agent." she began, a playful tone slipping into her voice.

"Your mission is pretty straightforward. You’re heading deep into Octarian territory to locate and, uh, 'neutralize' an intelligence officer. We need intel on their operations—especially anything about Callie. You’ll rescue a couple of zapfish while you’re at it, too. Easy peasy, right?"

47 stood still, his cold eyes fixed on the terrain, scanning for entry points and strategic advantages. He nodded, but his mind was already calculating, planning every step of the mission, not the way Marie imagined it.

"I've marked the officer's location on your map," Marie continued, oblivious to the difference in their approaches.

"Once you get in, you’ll wanna splat the officer quickly before they can report back. Remember to use your heroshot—it’s pretty standard for this kinda stuff. Shouldn’t be too hard, but, you know, try not to make a big mess."

47 glanced down at the P90-shaped weapon Marie had handed him earlier, the heroshot, Even though he used it before and its old firearm equivalent before, it still felt foreign in his hands. He’d already decided it would remain holstered for most of the mission. This world’s weapons were too noisy, too imprecise. He had other, quieter methods—methods Marie wasn’t aware of.

"I don't think this will be necessary. " 47 stated, holding the heroshot up slightly, the hint of an ironic smile curling his lips.

"Trust me, you'll need it, It’s versatile, good range, and you can ink turf with it too! It’ll be perfect for splatting Octarians and navigating the terrain. Just...you know, try not to hurt them too much? They're kinda like us, even if they're on the wrong side."

The hitman’s eyes narrowed slightly, processing her words. He wasn’t here to ink turf. He was here to eliminate a target and gather intel. He had used the weapon before, he had to give credit where credits were due, it was effective against Octarians, and it was certainly a better alternative than using actual firearms, and wasting valuable ammo on random grunts. Though, it was very noisy, and it would constantly alert the nearby patrols of the combat, so he doubted that he would actually use it.

Marie, still cheerful, added, "Once you’re in, you’ll probably run into a few patrols, but just take ‘em out with a well-placed splat or two. Shouldn’t be a problem for someone like you, right? Oh! And make sure you grab some of those scrolls if you see them—Sheldon loves that stuff."

47 remained silent, his face betraying nothing. He was already picturing the Octarian officer’s location. Entry points, escape routes, potential choke points, opportunities for quiet takedowns. He wouldn’t be spraying ink or jumping around like these inklings. No. He’d be operating in the shadows, unseen, unheard. Just the way he liked it.

Marie clapped her hands, bringing him back to the present. "So, you ready? Just remember—no unnecessary violence. We’re not trying to escalate things too much with the Octarians, remember, we're not officially at war with them yet, inklings back home don't even know they exist, so yeah, no violence. In and out, clean as a squid. Splat, zapfish, intel, then extract. Easy!"

47 allowed a brief pause before responding. "I’ll handle it. My way."

Marie blinked, caught off-guard by his tone, but before she could say anything, 47 had already turned, his steely gaze set on the Octarian territory ahead. He was a professional. He’d get the job done, but Marie was about to learn that his methods were far from the ink-splatting antics of the inklings.

As he walked off toward the mission start, Marie called out one last time, "Uh—Good luck, 47! Just...keep it cool, okay?"

Her voice trailed off as he disappeared into the vibrant, surreal landscape, already planning how to silently eliminate the Octarian officer, gather the intel, and complete his objectives—with or without the heroshot.

The alley was dimly lit by a flickering neon sign above a cheap, hole-in-the-wall shop. The smell of rain, oil, and garbage lingered in the air as Ria crouched near the overturned trash bin, scanning through the mess scattered across the pavement.

Her fingers brushed aside a crushed soda can and some soggy cardboard. The electronics sticking out immediately caught her eye. Motherboards, frayed wires, and what looked like pieces of a dismantled radio transmitter. This wasn't your typical back-alley garbage.

She furrowed her brow, the instinctual part of her—the trained soldier—kicking in. She recognized this setup. It wasn’t just discarded junk; someone had either tampered with equipment here or was using it for something covert. Ria turned the motherboard in her hand, noticing the slight scorch marks along the edges, as if it had been hastily fried. Thankfully, she went to study in the Military intelligence Academy and not the basic course, so she knew what she was dealing with.

"Guys. I think I've found something." She called out to her friends, her tone more serious than usual.

Kaz strolled over, hands in his pockets, with Nyla and Vin not far behind, their faces half-lit by the nearby sign. They gathered around her as she held up the charred electronics. Kaz raised an eyebrow, Nyla crossed her arms, and Vin just scratched his head, clearly confused.

Ria crouched down next to the trash bin, rifling through the mess like a detective in some bad crime drama. The rest of the crew hung back, still not really believing on this whole “shadow bald man” thing, but they’d followed her out here anyway. Loyalty—or just boredom, she wasn’t sure.

"This is definetly not usual." Ria muttered, holding up a fried motherboard like it was a piece of ancient treasure.

Kaz wandered over, arms crossed, a bored look on his face. "Oh great, Ria found garbage. Truly groundbreaking work."

Nyla snorted, leaning against the wall. "I’m sure it’s super important. What, did the Bald Man throw out his old gaming rig or something?"

Ria shot her a look, waving the motherboard in front of her face. "No, seriously. This isn’t just junk. Someone set up some kind of surveillance here. Military-grade, black market stuff. You don’t just find this lying around."

Vin, bless his clueless soul, picked up a soggy piece of cardboard with two fingers, looking mildly disgusted. "So...what? The Shadow Man’s a tech nerd? Maybe he was trying to hack the Turf War leaderboards."

Nyla rolled her eyes. "Yeah, or he’s livestreaming from the shadows, getting his creepy content creator on."

Ria stood up, dusting off her hands. "I’m telling you, this isn’t random. The guy’s up to something. And it’s not making SquidTube apology videos."

Kaz squinted at the motherboard, then back at Ria, clearly unconvinced. "So, what? We’re supposed to believe this guy’s, like, an evil hacker-slash-ninja now? Maybe it was just some random hobo dumpster diving for new hobbies."

Ria sighed, her patience wearing thin. "I’m saying he’s more dangerous than we thought. This tech isn’t here by accident. Someone’s using it to monitor something—or someone. We've seen this kind of squidtech in the Academy."

Nyla raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, so now we’re dealing with a full-on James Pond villain? What's next, laser sharks?"

Ria tossed the motherboard at her feet. "Look, keep joking all you want. But I’m telling you, there’s something going on, and we need to figure it out before this guy becomes more than just an urban legend. Like, actual problem status."

Kaz shrugged, hands still in his pockets. "Well, it’s either that or go home and watch bad reality shows. Let’s see what Mr. Baldman's up to."

Vin grinned. "At least it's more exciting than turf wars these days. I'm down for some spy-hunting."

Nyla just sighed, kicking at the broken tech. "Fine, but if we end up on some weird conspiracy blog after this, I’m blaming you."

---

As they wrapped up their impromptu investigation, the usual chatter started back up—the kind that kept things from ever feeling too heavy, even when they were knee-deep in something suspicious.

Kaz nudged a piece of cardboard with his foot, shaking his head. "You know, I kinda miss the days when ‘investigating’ just meant figuring out who stole my snacks out of the fridge."

Ria chuckled, stowing away the fried motherboard in her bag. "Yeah, well, welcome to the big leagues. Hope you brought your ink tank."

Nyla stretched, looking around the dingy alley with a scrunched-up face. "Ugh, can we not investigate in trash next time? I’m gonna need, like, three showers after this."

Vin just shrugged. "I dunno, this whole shadow man thing is kinda fun. It’s like we’re in a F-tier horror movie, minus the part where we all get splatted."

Kaz grinned, slipping his hands into his hoodie pockets. "Give it time, Vin. You’re usually the one that dies first in those, anyway."

"Hey!" Vin protested, a laugh bubbling up as he half-heartedly pushed Kaz.

"If I go down, I’m dragging you with me."

As they bantered, they started making their way out of the alley, their voices bouncing off the walls and fading into the city’s background noise. Ria shot one last glance at the overturned trash bin, still running scenarios in her head. Whatever was going on, it was more than just urban legends and creepy shadows.

As they turned the corner and disappeared from sight, a faint flicker came from the far side of the alley. A camera, nearly invisible, hidden behind a stack of crates and debris, shifted its lens slightly. It followed their exit, zooming in for a better view of the group. Silent. Unseen. Tracking their every move.

The lens clicked once, capturing their departure. Then, just as quietly, it retracted into the shadows, its presence masked once more by the dim light of the alley.

An Octoling marched briskly across the catwalk, each step echoing louder as her eyes darted over her phone. Her jaw clenched, mind racing with a growing sense of dread. 

"Command's gonna be so pissed..." She gritted her teeth, trying to mask the anxiety brewing beneath her calm facade. Panic wasn’t allowed in the Octarian Army. Panic bred mistakes—and mistakes weren’t something she could afford right now.

She shoved open the metal door, stepping into a dimly lit briefing room. The few lower officers gathered there froze, their expressions shifting from surprise to bewilderment as they saw her storm in.

“Gentlemen. If you value your lives, I suggest you leave the room. Now.” Her voice was sharp, controlled, with just enough edge to convey the severity of the situation.

The officers scattered in stunned silence, exchanging brief glances before filing out, muttering under their breath. Only one stayed behind, her friend and confidante, a seasoned officer who was used to seeing her mask crack now and then. She arched an eyebrow, folding her arms casually.

“Did it happen again?” she asked in a low voice as the last officer slipped out the door.

“Can’t tell you right now,” the Octoling muttered, barely meeting her gaze.

“Ask me at the next briefing.”

Her friend snickered. “So it did. You’re knee-deep in shit.”

“Deeper than you think,” she sighed, watching the door shut.

Now alone, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders dropping as she scrolled back to the message. Another Zapfish raid, successful. Command wanted answers. And she was the one assigned to provide them.

She quickly keyed in the code to a secured Octarian channel, accessing the camera feeds from various checkpoints. Oddly enough, some of the camera feeds were offline, another headache she had to deal with later. Static-filled screens flickered to life, showing several Octarian facilities. She zoomed in on Tentakeel Outpost, the last confirmed sighting of the intruder. She squinted at the grainy feed, making out a tall, imposing figure stalking the corridors, dispatching her troops with surgical precision. This wasn't just some Inkling freelance teenager; this was a professional.

“Damn it." she muttered, watching as the figure disappeared into the shadows again. They were dealing with someone far beyond the typical enemy agent. 

With a steadying breath, she straightened up and keyed her communicator. “Colonel Nocturne reporting. We may have a serious breach on our hands. Unauthorized personnel inside the perimeter at Lookout. Highly skilled.”

There was a pause before Command responded, their voice clipped and cold. “We expected as much. But that’s why we’ve assigned you, Colonel. Find them. Contain the threat. Present the report later.”

She hung up, eyes narrowing as she glanced back at the feed. This was not ordinary. She could tell from her past experience with the inkfishes, when their zapfishes were stolen by someone the NSS called "Agent 3", or as they referred to her, "The smelly one", she was one helluva fighter, but not exactly refined, or professional, as this intruder is.

The intruder didn't just barge in, guns blazing, like the typical inkling would do. No, they had a plan, an efficient one. The intruder would dispatch her guards one by one, making sure not to be seen by anyone. Intruder would also disable her cameras whenever they could, a still image of a banana heading straight towards one of her cameras was the evidence of that. Luckily, it seemed like her hidden camera venture finally paid off, her doubters would finally shut up for once.

Her fingers drummed against her phone as she accessed a secondary feed, showing the layout of Tentakeel Outpost. Her mind already working on possible counter-measures. 

"Perhaps we should place an Octozeppelin there, vouple of octotroops here, and then—" Her thoughts were rudely interrupted, as the red dial-up phone near her, had loudly started ringing.

"Colonel Nocturne reporting." Her stoic expression returned to her face, as she immediatly picked up the phone.

"Octo Oven compromised. Reports of a breach in the Octopark. Mobilized forces unable to pursue. End of report." The harsh voice on the other end of the line finished. Her eyes widened in shock.

Things were escalating fast. All of Tentakeel was already lost, and now the Suction-Cup Lookout was under attack. If she doesn't do anything, she will be punished.

Her mind raced, a cold sweat rolled down her spine.

"Command's gonna kill me..."

Two Octolings leaned against the ledge overlooking a vast underground complex. Above them, giant screens formed a circle across the ceiling, displaying a shifting sky that mimicked sunset. This artificial scene cast warm hues over the cold metal, trying—and failing—to bring a sense of the outside world to those unfortunate enough to be stationed here.

The two conversed with each other, occasionally glancing around, maybe even responding to their radios that were on their hips. They wore black crop tops, fingerless gloves, a pair of black shorts with utility belts, and sturdy black combat boots, as anyone else in the octocorps would.

A specially made metal visor, was also attached to where their eyes would be. Overall, the two almost looked identical, if not for the fact both of them had little colorful stickers attached to those previously mentioned visors. The stickers on the right octoling consisted of different bird animals—an eagle, pigeon, and a parrot. 

The stickers on the left octoling, however, were various symbols, seemingly of random meanings—a cloverleaf, sports car, peace sign, even a spade symbol was present.

"Yeah mate, this one was from my sis'. Came in just yesterday." The one on the left said, the right one leaned closer to her.

"Not very creative huh? Atleast mine ones have a common theme." The left one chuckled, as the right one grinned.

"Give her a break, she's only nine, I'm sure next time she'll send me cigarettes" Both of them laughed, as the virtually simulated sky on the TVs started displaying the sun setting down.

The left Octoling absentmindedly fiddled with one of the stickers on his visor—a cloverleaf symbol, green and slightly peeling at the edge.

"Think she’ll actually do it?” the right Octoling asked, a grin spreading beneath her own visor. Her stickers were arranged with a haphazard sort of pride, each one a little reminder of home.

The left Octoling shrugged. “Who knows? Sis’ is stubborn. Next thing I know, she’ll slip ’em into the mail with a note sayin' I’m old enough now.”

Both Octolings leaned against the railing, their expressions softening as they looked out over the vast, industrial underbelly stretching beneath them. For a rare moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The usual chatter on their radios had faded, and time felt like it’d taken a break, letting them savor the view—even if it was just miles of concrete and machinery.

“Y'know…” The right Octoling began with a smirk,

“Maybe this place ain't exactly a five-star resort, like the tropic domes, but the view’s not half-bad. If you squint hard enough, the sky looks almost real..."

The left Octoling let out a snort. “Yeah? Maybe if it didn’t smell like…I dunno, burnt rubber and bad decisions, I’d consider booking a vacation here.”

“Maybe we could start a whole new travel trend. Come visit the Dome—bring your own air freshener!” The right one said, chuckling.

"Don't forget the complimentary earplugs." The left added, just as a set of industrial drills deep below started to roar to life, shaking the floor slightly beneath them. The two of them sighed, the echo of the drills bouncing around the dome and cutting through the quiet like a dull knife.

"Ahh…the music of the dome." the right Octoling deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

“Nothing says relaxation like the sweet symphony of machinery grinding against rock.”

The left one snickered, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Think I’ll make it my alarm sound. Real gentle wake-up call, y'know?”

“Bet they’d charge extra for that at one of those fancy resorts.” She sighed, her gaze drifting upward to the massive TVs forming a ring high above, displaying a fading sunset.

“And here I was, hoping for a room upgrade with a real view.”

The left Octoling nudged her with her elbow. “Hey, I dunno. The fake sunset’s got charm. Like…you could pretend you're in some far-off beach town, drinkin' a nice cold beer, actually enjoying your life.”

“Pfft, beer? Nah. I’d be lounging with one of those fancy coco drinks—y'know, the ones with the little umbrellas?”

The left let out a laugh. “Right, like you'd know what to do with a coconut if it hit you in the head. Last time I saw you try to peel a melon, you almost lost a tentacle.”

The right one gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest. “How dare you bring that up. I thought we agreed that would never leave the cafeteria.”

They both laughed, letting the sound fade with the hum of the drills below, before the left one’s gaze dropped back to the stickers on her visor. Her fingers brushed over the cloverleaf, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Ever since ma' sister’s been sending me these little things every week...” she said, voice quieter now. “My days been improving a lil' bit better every week...Most of 'em are random. No theme or anything, just…whatever she thinks I’d like.”

The right Octoling raised an eyebrow. “Well, she nailed it. Can’t think of anyone else brave enough to rock a peace sign on army-issued gear.” She pointed to the symbol on her visor, before letting out a stiffle.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. At least I’m not sporting an actual zoo on my face.” She pointed to the stickers on the right one's visor, each bird proudly displayed. “What’s next? Gonna add a penguin?”

The right Octoling chuckled. “Maybe. My cousin works at a sanctuary. He keeps sending me bird stickers ‘cause apparently, I'm the family’s ‘free bird'."

“Oh, please. Free bird? More like caged canary, singing every time command pulls your leash.” the left one teased, grinning.

“Hey, better than being the pet hamster they wheel out for the night shift.” The right Octoling bumped her shoulder, grinning as she stared back out at the dome.

“But hey…caged or not, at least I’ve got good company.”

The left Octoling scoffed, though her smile softened. “Guess it could be worse. They could’ve paired me with some serious tightwad. Instead, I get to watch you flex your sticker collection, and enjoy having to clean up your filthy, stinky socks evey week.”

Their laughter faded into the quiet once more, just two Octolings sharing a rare moment of levity amidst the cold steel of their world. And as they watched the faux sunset disappear behind the simulated horizon, they couldn’t help but feel, for a brief, fleeting second, like they were somewhere else.

“Hey, you remember that time when our CO forgot his goggles?” the right Octoling started, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

The left one snorted, already laughing. “Oh man, you mean the ‘Great Goggle Debacle’? He walked around the base for hours before someone finally told him."

“Yeah, and he tried to play it cool, acting like it was some tactical decision to let his eyes ‘breathe’ or whatever.” The right one shook her head, chuckling.

“He looked like a squid out of water, all puffed up with his excuses.”

The left Octoling smirked, crossing her arms. “Pretty sure he was sweating like a guilty inkling in detention by the time the higher-ups heard about it. Remember the look on his face when Command gave him that…gift?”

“Ohhh, those goggles with ‘Don’t Forget Me’ stenciled on the front?” the right Octoling cackled.

“Classic. He had to wear it for a whole month. Mandatory.”

The left Octoling doubled over, laughing. “And every time he passed by, he’d give us this look, like we were the ones who’d started it all.”

“Hey, it’s not our fault he’s got the memory of a goldfish.” the right one said, still grinning.

“I mean, who forgets their goggles in the middle of a combat zone?”

The left Octoling shrugged, her smirk widening. “Guess we should be grateful. That ‘tactical decision’ made for some serious entertainment. Almost worth getting chewed out for snickering every time we saw him.”

The right one sighed, leaning back against the railing, her smile softening. “Y’know, sometimes I feel like this place would be unbearable without moments like that. All the drills, the noise, the endless grey walls…”

The laughter died down, leaving a comfortable silence as they both fell into their own thoughts, watching the flickering lights from the massive dome around them. Each of them seemed to be turning over memories, moments they’d stashed away in the quieter corners of their minds.

“Hey. Do you remember when—” The right Octoling’s voice cut off, interrupted by a loud metallic clink that echoed down the path. They both turned toward the sound, eyes narrowing as they looked down the dimly lit crossway, leading into a shadowy alleyway just a few yards ahead.

“Hm...?” They exchanged a glance, both curious and wary. A shiny metal coin lay on the ground, catching the faint artificial light.

“Didn’t know we were getting paid in loose change now,” the left Octoling muttered, squinting at it.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” the right one replied, raising an eyebrow. “Think someone left it for us? You know, like a breadcrumb trail?”

“Oh yeah, because nothing says ‘follow me into a sketchy alleyway’ like a single coin. What’s next, a free drink voucher?”

The right Octoling grinned, nudging her. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

The left Octoling squinted at the coin, her mind momentarily adrift in a faded memory. "Huh. Old currency. Haven't seen one of these since..." Her words trailed off, the glint of the metal catching in the artificial light.

Suddenly, a heavy thud and a metallic clank shattered her concentration. She snapped to attention, instincts firing as she reached for her octoshot. She spun around, eyes widening at the sight of her partner sprawled on the cold metal floor, a lead pipe lying beside her.

"Tanya? Shit—" THUD.

A swift, brutal strike landed against the back of her head, cutting her call short as she crumpled to the floor, like many, many others did before her...

...

—Two guards occupy the upper floor, blocking a vital vantage point. Waiting them out could stretch your mission too thin. Dispatchment is required.

...

A single coin slips from your fingers, clinking as it lands in the shadows. The sound captures their attention, drawing them away from their post. You spot a lead pipe, discarded in a nearby trash heap.

Close the distance. One strike lands on the first guard's temple, sending her crumpling to the floor. The second, startled by the noise, spins around just in time to catch your elbow, striking her down in one motion.

...

Two bodies lie still, their presence now a non-factor. You quickly stow them in an open crate, ensuring they remain undetected for the next few hours.

Survey the area. Guards are patrolling the lower levels, their movements predictable. Cameras primitive and few. Fortunately, no civilians are in sight.

The doors ahead lack standard locks; keycards are likely needed. Scramblers present in your inventory. 

...

Two distraction shots fired with pinpoint accuracy send echoes through the dome, diverting the attention of two nearby patrols. Now you move.

...

You spot two guards stationed behind a crate—an odd sight with their octopus limb-like bodies and unblinking eyes. One begins to shift away, offering you a fleeting window.

Dispatchment is required.

Strike swiftly. One guard goes down silently, the second barely registers the threat before he too is incapacitated. You leave their forms where they fall, as they are dissolving into ink. Evidence dissipating in a slick puddle.

With the immediate area clear, you scan for your next route. A gutter runs along the wall, a perfect access point to the balcony above.

Go up.

Stop.

Go left.

You can make it.

Jump.

Perfect landing.

...

Approach the door and engage the scrambler. It clicks open with a satisfying click and electric crackle.

No need to crouch; the hallway ahead is clear. Signs on the walls direct you toward the control room.

The control room comes into view. The doors are unlocked. You peek inside.

Inside, a handful of troops are gathered, their attention focused elsewhere. On a desk, a tool lies waiting. Monitors flicker with camera feeds, and recording systems hum quietly.

You slip in, moving swiftly to grab the baton. Target the soldier watching the screens—dispatch her silently. Another guard stands right in front of her, caught off-guard as you strike. 

In the corner, a soldier sleeps, oblivious. You throw the baton with precision, hitting him squarely in the face.

No witnesses.

Unlikely anyone will enter this room for hours. You collect the keycard from one of the fallen bodies.

Next, you destroy the CCTV recorder systems—wires snap and sparks fly, eliminating any trace of your presence.

Excellent.

Exit the room through the door on your right. Move ten meters, then turn right again. Continue forward until you reach the yellow door. Use the stolen keycard to access it.

Zapfish located. Excellent.

You press the button beneath its holding cell. The mechanism hums to life, but you’ll retrieve the Zapfish on your way out.

Proceed up the stairs on your left. You throw a coin into the far corner to draw attention. 

Move quickly toward the door ahead; it swings open silently.

Inside, a guard stands distracted. Kick her in the knees, sending her to the ground, then dispatch her.

You leave her body in plain sight, no need to hide it. The room won't be visited by anyone for a couple of hours.

Exit. Left. Right. Right. Straight ahead.

"Intelligencia Central Overseer" it reads on the sign above a red door. No one is present inside.

Walk in. Grab the files and flash drives. Walk out.

Make your way to the—

Target spotted.

Colonel Nocturne Mortuus.

Height 1,7m. Pale bluish-gray skin with luminescent markings on forearms. Lean, athletic build.

No weapons present.

No guards following her.

Alert, focused demeanor; exhibits signs of experience in combat.

Located near an UFO. Is consulting with soldiers.

UFO looks half-built. An accident waiting to happen.

Perfect.

Opportunity awaits.

Merces Letifer.

Change of plans. You move quicker than before, into a workshop of some kinds. Few octolings present inside, though no one notices you, as you hide behind the workbenches. You silently grab one of the screwdrivers and wrenches, and walk back out.

Accident. Waiting to happen.

"—No, ma'am. Our production line's only gotten thinner. Cuts followed after that incident, and now we're stuck with this. "

The young engineer pointed to the pitiful-looking Octoflier. Its engines were exposed, cables sticking out everywhere like exposed veins, and the once-vibrant paint job had faded into a dull, mottled grey. The aircraft sat listless in the hangar, a shadow of its former self, rust speckling its frame.

The Colonel furrowed her brow, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"This is pathetic. We need these operational, and we need them now. The tensions are getting hot, and I can't have our forces relying on—this." She gestured dismissively at the half-finished craft.

"Ma'am." the engineer continued, desperation creeping into his voice,

"We’re running on a skeleton crew. The budget cuts have stripped us of resources. We can’t even source proper materials anymore. We’re improvising just to keep things together."

A tense silence settled over the room. The Colonel’s expression hardened as she surveyed the disarray around her. The once-bustling workshop now felt like a graveyard of failed projects, abandoned dreams echoing in the hollow space. 

"We need to show strength." she said, her voice low and softer.

"If we can't present a united front, the others will question our authority. I won't have my command reduced to whispers and doubts."

The engineer swallowed hard, sensing the weight of her words.

"I can try to cobble together a couple of functional models, but I can't promise they'll be ready for deployment any time soon. The materials we have left are barely adequate."

"Make it work," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument.

"If I have to take the field myself, I will. But I expect results, and I expect them quickly."

With that, she turned on her heel, the sharp click of her boots echoing in the cavernous hangar. As she strode toward the exit, the engineer's gaze lingered on the Octoflier, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. He could feel the pressure mounting, a storm brewing on the horizon, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the Colonel's resolve would be tested—along with their tattered machinery. 

He glanced at the blueprints scattered across his workstation. There had to be a way to salvage this, to turn their misfortune into an advantage. A flicker of determination ignited within him as he bent over the designs, ready to push the limits of what they could achieve. Failure was not an option—not with the stakes so high.

He knew what awaited him if he didn't finish this at time. Deportation to lower levels at best or...

He gulped. Dared not to think about it too much. He should focus on his work. His parents worked harder than he ever will to get him to where he was. He thanked them every day the telephones were available. 

"Right...how can we make this work..."

He leaned closer to the blueprints, running a finger over the schematics. The Octoflier needed a complete overhaul, starting with the propulsion system. The original engines had been designed for speed, but with the resources at his disposal, he’d have to optimize them for efficiency instead. 

"Let’s see," he muttered to himself, flipping through a worn manual on advanced Octarian aerospace mechanics.

"If I can modify the current fuel injectors and retrofit them with the polymer composites from the old models, we might just increase the TW ratio." His mind raced, adrenaline coursing through him as he scribbled notes on the side of the blueprint. 

But doubts crept in like shadows. Would it be enough? The Colonel's demand for results hung heavy in the air. He could picture her glare, the disappointment etched into her features if he failed. It felt as if the walls of the hangar were closing in, the weight of expectation pressing down on his shoulders. 

He paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Images of his parents flickered through his mind—his father, who labored in the depths of the machinery factories every day, always coming home with soot-stained hands and a smile that masked his exhaustion. His mother, always reminding him that every drop of sweat he poured into his work was a step toward a better life. 

Cod he missed them so much.

"Can' let 'em down." he whispered, feeling a surge of resolve. He inhaled deeply, letting the faint scent of oil and metal fill his lungs, grounding him.

"Focus."

He turned back to the schematics, tracing the lines with renewed purpose.

“Reinforce the fuselage with the carbon-fiber matrix... and if we redirect the airflow through the stabilizers—yes! That could improve maneuverability.” 

The ideas poured out of him, faster than he could write them down. His heart raced with the thrill of innovation and the dread of impending failure. He grabbed a wrench and headed to the nearest Octoflier, lifting the panel to expose the inner workings. The engine layout was a tangled mess, but he could work with it. 

He could almost hear the rhythmic thrum of machinery in his mind, a comforting melody against the backdrop of his anxiety. As he tightened bolts and re-routed cables, he felt the stress begin to ebb, replaced by a familiar sense of determination. 

But with every adjustment, the pressure returned, whispering in his ear that time was running out. He glanced at the digital clock on the wall, its numbers blinking ominously. The Colonel would return soon, and he couldn't afford to face her empty-handed. 

"Just a few more hours...or days..." He said under his breath, pushing the fatigue aside.

"Just a little longer..."

His hands worked mechanically, guided by instinct and desperation. Each piece he fitted together felt like a lifeline, a reminder that he still had the power to change his fate. The Octoflier might not be perfect, but it would have to suffice. 

With the final adjustments made, he stepped back, surveying his work with a mix of pride and trepidation. The aircraft was still a shadow of its former self, but it looked far more formidable than it had just hours before. 

As he wiped his brow, a sense of urgency surged within him. He had to deliver—no matter the cost.

"NIRA! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE AND HELP ME WITH THE ENGINES!" he shouted across the expansive hangar, his voice echoing off the metal walls.

A panicked-looking Octoling girl emerged from the upper level, her tentacles flailing as she scanned the chaotic workspace.

"NO CAN DO, BOSS! BUSY WITH THE POWER MAINTENANCE!" she shouted back, before sprinting off, her voice trailing behind her as she vanished into the shadows.

"Great. Just great." He muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He turned back to the haphazardly assembled Octoflier, its once sleek form now a patchwork of improvised repairs and makeshift parts. The engines needed a team effort, but with Nira tied up, it was all on him.

The engineering team had always been the priority of the Octarian Army, since they're the ones making all of Octavio's shiny metal sex toys, and the equipment for the military. But no~~~They demand more and more each quarter, while cutting more and more of their spending each time they fail to deliver the unrealistically high expectations. The fucks at the command think everything in this world could be solved with patriotism. Fucking out-of-touch boomers demanding the impossible.

HOW ARE THEY EVEN SUPPOSED TO WORK, WHEN THE POWER GETS CUT OFF EVERY FUCKING DAY.

One of the janitors started eyeing him strangely.

"Focus. Breath in. Breath out. No need to be hasty." He shakily grabbed a tool and threw himself back into the fray, the metallic clangs echoing in rhythm with his racing heart. The seconds ticked away like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass, each one bringing him closer to the Colonel's inevitable wrath. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, the weight of judgment hanging heavy in the air.

He stepped closer to the engines, feeling the heat radiate from the exposed machinery.

"Focus." He whispered to himself, gripping the wrench tighter.

"You’ve done worse."

With Nira preoccupied, he had to tackle the wiring alone. He crouched down, inspecting the frayed cables that snaked out from the engine housing.

"This. Is a mess..." He thought, cringing at the sight of corroded connectors. The previous engineer's oversight was going to cost him time—and possibly his job–and his life...

“Okay. Okay...time to improvise." He muttered, rummaging through a nearby toolbox. He pulled out some spare connectors and began splicing wires together, sweat beading on his forehead. Each twist and turn of the wire felt like a gamble, a decision that could lead to either success or disaster.

Suddenly, he heard the sharp crack of boots against the metal floor. He glanced up to see a tall figure silhouetted in the doorway—the Colonel. She strode into the hangar with a commanding presence, her eyes scanning the area with cold precision.

He glanced at a clock nearby him. An hour passed already, yet it felt like five minutes passed instead. 

“Report." She ordered, her voice slicing through the air like a knife.

His heart raced. "The engines are—uh, they’re coming along, ma'am. Just a few adjustments needed–" He stammered, trying to maintain eye contact while avoiding the icy gaze that threatened to freeze him in place.

“Just a few?” she echoed, her brow furrowing in disapproval.

“I expect results, engineer. This facility ain't no playground.”

The pressure in the room thickened, his throat tightening as he felt her scrutiny.

“Y-yes, ma’am. I’m on it,” he replied, forcing himself to meet her gaze.

“Get it done." She snapped, turning on her heel and striding out, leaving him to grapple with his racing thoughts and the daunting task ahead.

With renewed urgency, he dove back into the work, hands moving mechanically as he fought against the creeping doubt. He couldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t.

"Come on Nira—Hurry the fuck up..." He mumbled, knowing he’d need her expertise soon if they were going to salvage this mission. Every second felt like an eternity as he pushed through, praying for a spark of luck amidst the chaos.

As he continued to wrestle with the wiring, a glint of metal caught his eye from a nearby workbench, drawing his attention away from the chaos unfolding in his mind. He stepped closer, heart pounding with desperation. There it was: the missing connector, a critical component that could stabilize the Octoflier's engine systems. 

He picked it up, its surface cold and slick under his fingers. It was a bit larger than what he was used to, but with some adjustments, it could fit. “This is it! This will hold us together,” he murmured, relief flooding through him. 

Without a second thought, he hustled back to the Octoflier, cradling the part like a lifeline. He slipped it into place, twisting it tight with the same wrench he had been using.

“Just a few more tweaks." He said to himself, adrenaline fueling his movements. 

He was so focused on securing the component that he missed the slight shimmer of something unusual on its surface, a subtle hint of the modifications. The engines hummed with potential as he stepped back to assess his work, a moment of pride swelling within him. 

"Tis' gonna work. Just need to finish the last adjustments." He thought, unaware of the precarious nature of what he had just integrated into the machine. 

As he tightened the last bolt, the weight of his parents’ sacrifices echoed in his mind, urging him to push forward.

"Can't let em' down. CAN'T LET EM' DOWN." He whispered repeatedly, a fierce determination igniting within him.

With the Octoflier now partially repaired, he took a step back, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Time to get this bird off the ground.” he said, glancing nervously toward the door where the Colonel had vanished moments before. 

Marie sat back in her chair, the weight of the day settling on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. Managing endless calls, rescheduling some more events, arguing with the angry management, and coordinating logistics for her new recruit—Agent 47—was more exhausting than she'd anticipated. The man was definitely something else. Poisons, fake passports, throwing knives, fiber wire, and even a rubber ducky? What did this guy need that squit for? It was baffling.

But no matter the reason, she had to order it all. He insisted it was crucial, and she couldn't afford to question him if she ever wanted to bring her cousin back. The stakes were too high, and time was slipping through her fingers like water.

"Cod." She muttered, resting her head in her hands.

“If only she were here…” Her gaze drifted to the monitor displaying 47’s current camera feed, her heart heavy with worry.

What he was doing at that moment was, well, questionable at best. She watched as he casually slipped explosives into random components of an Octoflier, handing them over to a young engineer who looked completely oblivious to the danger he was accepting. Marie knew where this was heading. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

With a resigned sigh, she leaned forward, her fingers tapping anxiously against the desk.

“Great, just great. He’s going to blow something up, isn’t he?” She cursed the Cods for sending her a maniac as an agent, but beneath the irritation lay a flicker of admiration. He was relentless, after all. Maybe a bit too much.

“Whatever happens next is on him,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

As she settled back, her thoughts wandered to Callie and Cuttlefish, both of whom were counting on her to make the right decisions. She couldn’t let them down. Not now. Not when hope was so close, yet felt so far away. 47 might be a loose cannon, but perhaps that unpredictability was what they needed to navigate this treacherous landscape of Octarian intrigue. 

Marie’s thoughts began to drift as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone, the blue light illuminating her tired face. She felt a growing unease in her stomach, a heavy sensation that lingered like a cloud over her heart. Watching 47 was becoming unbearable. The potential for violence, the impending chaos—it gnawed at her insides. 

"I can't watch this anymore..." She whispered, swiping through messages and notifications, trying to distract herself from the weight of reality. Her thumb paused over a photo of her and Callie at a concert, laughter frozen in time, a moment of joy that felt impossibly distant now. She smiled for a moment.

Just then, the atmosphere in the room shifted violently. The feed from 47’s camera erupted into chaos, and an explosion rippled across the screen, sending shockwaves that rattled the very core of her being. The blaring sound of the blast resonated in her ears, followed by a cacophony of screams and moans—a symphony of panic and despair. 

She jerked upright, eyes wide as the images flashed before her. Flames licked at the edges of the frame, and shadows danced in the aftermath of destruction.

“Oh no…no, no, no!” Marie gasped, her heart racing as she gripped the edge of her desk, knuckles white.

“47!” she shouted, panic clawing at her throat as she leaned closer to the monitor, desperate for clarity. Was he okay? What had he done? 

The sound of chaos continued to flood her senses as she watched him calmly move on to his next objective, seemingly unfazed by the carnage left in his wake. His silhouette moved almost casually, a stark contrast to the horror that unfolded around him. She felt a surge of anger mixed with dread. How could he act so coldly while lives were being lost?

Marie’s breath quickened as she tried to process what was happening.

"Is this really, really necessary?" She whispered, frustration bubbling to the surface. She didn’t want to witness the aftermath of his actions, the lives extinguished in the pursuit of his mission. But here she was, anchored to the screen, unable to turn away from the unfolding nightmare. 

With her heart pounding, she wondered if she had unleashed a monster, one that was now free to wreak havoc in a world that had already taken so much from her. She needed to focus, to regain control.

“C'mon, Marie, think.” she urged herself, trying to drown out the sounds of anguish echoing in her ears. If she couldn’t look away, she at least needed to ensure that 47 remained on track to finish what they had started—bringing Callie back, no matter the cost.

No matter the cost.

No matter the cost.

Chapter Text

Marie sank deeper into the plush couch, savoring the comfort and the cold sip of beer as she watched the highlights of the semi-finals on the TV. The soft, warm lights in the room made the space feel almost cocoon-like, wrapping her in a momentary escape from her duties. 

On-screen, Pearl’s voice burst through with unrestrained excitement, nearly damaging her ears, causing her to lower the volume a bit in a panic.

“AND— With that play! the Blue Team scores another victory, which will lead them into the finals to compete against the X-Team! What a brilliant match!” The energy was palpable, even through the screen, and Marie couldn’t help but smirk.

“She’s older than me, yet she’s lively as a teenager…” Marie muttered to herself, leaning back with a sigh.

“Wonder what devil she made a contract with to keep that kind of energy.” She said, with a bit of jealousy in her tone, as she sipped on her beer.

Her mind wandered, drifting along with the low hum of the broadcast. How did they do it? The constant commentary of Turf War matches, the late nights, the rehearsals, and then back to their concerts, barely a day to breathe. Where did they find the time?

"The schedule must be an absolute nightmare." She whispered, a pang of respect for the hustle that went far beyond mere performance.

Absent-mindedly, she reached for her phone and started flicking through her feed. Squiddit, YouTuna, Inkstagram—whatever app her thumb landed on next. It was all the same brainrot. Hundreds of posts filled with dumb kids bickering about politics, conspiracy videos spiraling into nonsense, hour-long essays about the most random squit imaginable, miserable tweets from people ranting about their miserable lives, and—of course—down-bad posts thirsting after Off the Hook. She was somehow both relieved, and a bit envious, that there weren't as much thirst posts about her.

The usual internet idiocy, a digital ocean of pointless noise. She told herself she was glad she didn’t participate in it—well, not really, anyway. Though, as her finger continued to scroll, she had to wonder if just being here, indulging in this mind-numbing ritual, made her part of the same hivemind.

“Mhm…cute…” She murmured, as yet another picture of Judd had appeared on her timeline. It must’ve been the billionth one she’d seen, and yet she found herself tapping the like button without a second thought every single time. That little fluffball seemed to be one of the few constants in this sleepless city—and she wasn’t about to pass up a moment of wholesome distraction, as she scrolled further.

“What—!? That’s bullsquit.” Her eyes widened as she stared at the headline of an article that had somehow popped up on her feed. It claimed to reveal details of her “secret affairs", though the content read more like a badly written fanfic than any actual journalism. She skimmed through the rambling nonsense, each sentence more absurd than the last.

"Who even publishes this garbage?" she muttered, shaking her head. The article felt almost satirical, as if some tabloid hack had thrown professionalism out the window in favor of fantasy.

“Oh. They get paid per click. That makes perfect sense now." She scoffed, rolling her eyes. She’d read somewhere about how the yellow press thrived on clicks, twisting headlines into the wildest clickbait to keep the money flowing. It was almost impressive how low they’d stoop for a few extra views—though that didn’t make it any less annoying.

“Mhm…” She mumbled, scrolling on autopilot as one quick media check turned into an endless loop of random TideToks. One clip led to another—pet videos, cooking hacks, memes—and time slipped away like ink in water.

"Hmm...Huh!?" She snapped back to reality, glancing at the clock and realizing she’d lost a whole hour. An entire hour, gone, as if it had been five minutes. A wave of emptiness washed over her, like something in her soul had quietly withered from that revelation.

"Okay. Just five more minutes—OOF" She exhaled, stretching her arms over her head, only to settle right back into her doomscrolling. A fool’s mistake, made twice without a second thought.

Her eyes glazed over as the endless feed refreshed, new posts flowing in like a ceaseless tide.

“Hmm…yes…” She muttered, lulled by the hypnotic rhythm, until something unusual snagged her attention.

"Mm? What's this?" Her brows knit as she tapped on a Squiddit thread titled "Mysterious Lurker in the Shadows?",  Normally, she’d have dismissed it as just another “creepy-pasta”—or whatever the kids called it these days—but the blurry image attached below stopped her cold. 

A tall, fit, bald man, dressed in a suit with a distinctive red tie. Just like her newly recruited agent…

“Uh oh…this could spell trouble.” Marie sat up, staring at the screen as her mind spun with the implications. Agent 47 hadn’t exactly been transparent with her about his past—if anything, he was all mystery, she knew practically nothing about him. She didn't who he is, even what he is. And the last time she saw him up close, he was definetly an alien or something.

"Now that I think about it..." Round ears, no mask, no tentacles whatsoever, his unwillingness to transform into his squid form...it's almost like he is a...

"No...is...is he a..." She gasped.

...

"An Octoling?"

Today was a bad day.

Today was a terrible day.

Today was an absolute nightmare.

Nira sprinted through the crowded halls of Suction-Cup Lookout BDA-02, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as panic overtook her. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her recruiter had promised a cozy, backline position—a low-stakes gig well away from the frontlines. And now here she was, running from explosions and the sounds of agonized screams echoing through the metal corridors.

“I’m gonna die here. Cod, I’m actually gonna die here.” Her mind raced as fast as her legs, the terrible reality sinking in. Why did she enlist? Why did she get assigned to this base? Every decision she’d made to get here felt like a string of awful mistakes coming back to haunt her all at once.

“COMMANDER, WHAT’S HAPPENING?” she shouted at an officer rushing past, but the woman barely glanced her way before disappearing into the chaos with a cluster of other soldiers. Nira felt the sting of helplessness wash over her.

All around her, the base was crumbling. The warning alarms blared above the screaming voices, but no one seemed to know what was going on.

She weaved and dodged, ducking under frantic arms and shoving past soldiers scrambling in every direction, her eyes darting for any shred of safety—anything that would make her feel even a little less helpless. Her vision blurred as tears welled up, and the lump in her throat grew tighter with every step, each sob barely choked down as she forced herself to keep moving. 

A doorway—no, blocked. A corner—filled with soldiers, equally lost, equally terrified. There was nowhere to go that wasn’t engulfed in chaos. Her heart pounded in her chest like a relentless drum, a countdown ticking toward something she couldn’t see, couldn’t understand, and didn’t want to face.

But it was no use. Rational thoughts felt slippery, vanishing the moment she grasped at them. All she knew was that she had to keep moving, had to keep looking—before whatever nightmare was tearing through the base found her, too.

"NIRA!" The voice rang out, sharp and commanding. She stopped dead, heart hammering as she locked eyes with a harried officer across the hallway.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, ENGINEER!? GET BACK TO THE RECONSTITUTION WORKHOUSE AND FIX THE DAMN THINGS!”

It took only a split second for his order to register before she spun on her heel, legs pumping as she bolted toward the Reconstitution Workhouse. She never thought she’d be grateful for a CO barking orders at her, but right now, it was like a raft thrown to her as she was drowning. The path cleared as she sprinted toward the Workhouse, the faint glimmer of purpose steadying her nerves. A sense of order had been constructed in her mind, as her training finally kicked in, with adrenaline going down from her system.

Right. Left. Straight. Here it is.

She reached for the doors, but her hands, trembling with panic, slipped off the handle. With a frustrated push, she stumbled inside, eyes immediately drawn to the center of the room.

Three large metal circle pads lay embedded in the floor, each one surrounded by a mess of machinery, workbenches, tool racks, and shelves. The pads, sleek and complex, were the heart of the Reconstitution Workhouse, marvels of engineering that had redefined what it meant to fight, what it meant to survive. These were the respawning devices—the technology that made her and everyone else here effectively invincible in battlefield.

Only...uh...why weren’t they online?

Her heart plummeted as her gaze landed on the pads’ indicator lights.

Red.

Every last one.

She fumbled for her diagnostic tool, a small handheld device linked directly to the respawners. The screen blinked back at her, confirming the worst: a glaring red alert across all channels.

They were mortal. 

The realization struck like ice down her spine. No safety net, no second chances. If she died now, there would be no respawning to bring her back. Her breaths came faster, shallow and frantic as the weight of it all pressed down on her.

“Sure—Surely this must be some kind of...coincidence, right?” She muttered aloud, her voice strained but hopeful. It wasn’t unheard of for the respawners to flicker offline now and then; it had even became something of a running joke among the engineering circles. A technical hiccup, a glitch—just a bit of bad luck. This, too, had to be just an error. Something manageable, nothing she couldn’t fix.

Fix. Right. That was her job, after all. 

She took a shaky breath, grounding herself as she scanned the room for what she needed. Screwdrivers, power tools, wrenches—anything she might need to troubleshoot the mess in front of her. She stuffed her belt with tools, muttering softly to herself.

“Don’t worry, this, is what you trained for. Four years at Main Dome Uni' ain’t going to go to waste tonight...” The words had a calming effect, but they didn’t drown out the frantic beat of her pulse.

She remembered the endless drills in high school and university, the state-mandated programs that forced every student through emergency procedures. They’d been long, dry hours, teachers hammering worst-case scenarios into their heads over and over, insisting they’d one day save their lives. Back then, she’d rolled her eyes, dismissing it all as overkill. Now, though? She would’ve given anything to thank those teachers, each one of them, and hear an exasperated, “Told you so".

Nira gulped, steeling herself as she approached the respawn pads. Her old math teacher’s voice echoed in her mind—“Triple-check your calculations, or they’ll come back to haunt you". She almost laughed, imagining that old grump scowling over her shoulder.

She crouched by the first pad, inspecting the diagnostic panel. Red error codes filled the screen, flickering erratically.

"Probably a wiring issue" she told herself, pulling out a spanner and prying open the access panel. Inside, she saw the circuitry sprawled out like veins—typically neat and pristine, but now, wires lay severed, some twisted out of alignment, even burnt.

“What the…” she whispered, eyebrows knitting together.

A quick scan of the capacitor bank showed significant leakage—capacitors dislodged, corrosion around their bases, two of them completely missing. A chill ran down her spine as she moved on to the cooling system, only to find cracked tubing and signs of tampering. Whoever had done this hadn’t just been trying to disable the pads—they’d aimed to destroy them entirely.

She reached into the mainboard, attempting to reroute power, but the processors were fried, several circuits blown. Sabotage, plain as day.

“Oh dear…” she breathed. It wasn’t a glitch, wasn’t some minor error. The damage was methodical, precise, leaving the pads irreparable in the heat of battle.

"Cod...what's tha—" THUD.

A sudden, blinding pain blossomed across the back of her head, and her vision swam. She reached up instinctively, but her arms felt like they were moving through water. The ground tilted, spinning wildly around her, and her legs buckled.

Her head spun, the world tilting as darkness crept in at the edges of her vision. That shadow—she could’ve sworn it hadn’t been there before. Her mind struggled to grasp at thoughts, but they slipped through her fingers like water.

Something… someone…was here.

The room dimmed further, as if reality itself were dissolving, and she felt a rush of air as she fell to the cold, hard floor. She didn’t even register the impact. Her limbs felt distant, her thoughts dull, fading…

Her thoughts flitted, scattered and incoherent. 

This…this wasn’t supposed to happen…the respawn pads…I’m supposed to be fixing…

But the darkness closed in, stealing the last of her awareness.

And the world, continued to spin.

Agent 47 stood motionless above the unconscious Octoling, her body sprawled unceremoniously where it fell, the wrench lying nearby. She’d barely had time to react—a moment’s hesitation, a flicker of recognition—before the heavy tool found its mark. Clean, efficient, and almost silent. He moved her limp form quickly, tucking her between stacks of crates and spare equipment. 

Close. Too close.

These "reconstitution pads" were perhaps the most significant threat he’d encountered so far. The fish people had perfected a way to cheat death, resurrecting themselves instantly after a lethal blow. But like any machine, they were vulnerable to the right type of interference, and 47 had found their flaw almost disappointingly easy to exploit. A few key adjustments, some rewired circuitry, and the system’s resilience crumbled. 

The only thing that nearly derailed Agent 47's mission was the Colonel herself. Shortly after he detonated the hidden explosive device embedded in one of the parts the engineer had hastily installed, she had reappeared, resurrected and alert. His instincts flared, a primal warning that he could almost taste in the air. If she had remained alive for even a fleeting moment after her resurrection, he knew he would've had to eliminate every living soul in this base.

Yet, as fate would have it, the reconstitution pads were merely a short walk away. He had the upper hand, and it was almost too easy. With a single shot from his silenced pistol, he had put her down again, her brief resurgence snuffed out in an instant. The eerie sound of the shot, and splashing of ink, seemed to ripple through the stillness of the room. No need to hide her body, as the lethal shot to her head instantly vaporized her into a puddle of ink.

The transition from her furious shouts and hisses to a terrified silence was almost unnerving. He could see the confusion in her eyes, the realization dawning as she confronted her own mortality. In that moment, she was no longer a Colonel or a figure of authority; she was just another target, stripped of the bravado that had once defined her. It was a discomforting experience, witnessing the shift from aggression to vulnerability, but it was a necessary part of the job. 

He spared a passing glance at the disabled devices, mildly curious. Semi-immortality, undone by a few broken circuits. The irony almost amused him. Satisfied, he turned away and melted into the shadows, blending back into his surroundings as he prepared to move on to collecting the intel and the zapfish.

One, two, three. 

One guard down, the other two distracted, three more moving away—perfect window for escape. The fluidity of the moment felt almost instinctual, as if his body knew what to do before his mind even had a chance to process it. Each movement calculated, each decision made in fractions of a second, no room for error.

Completing the secondary objectives had proven to be relatively easy. Although alerted guards forced him to play more carefully, it was still as simple as stealing bubblegum from a child. 

The zapfish that nestled against his shoulder seemed to disagree though, as it pulsed with energy, sending a faint jolt through him. What were these things anyway?

Questions like these were better suited for scientists—his focus had to remain on the mission. He had no time for distractions. The escape route unfolded before him, oddly straightforward given the chaos that had erupted just moments ago. Climbing the surreal towers that jutted from the ground was like navigating an obstacle course designed by an artist with an affinity for the bizarre. Each jump, each careful grip on the jagged edges, took him higher, drawing him closer to his exfiltration point. 

The view from the top was jarring; the chaos below seemed almost serene from this height, the frantic movements of soldiers reduced to mere specks against the backdrop of vibrant colors and shifting shadows.

He steadied himself, gauging the distance to his exit. With a deep breath, he leaped into the unknown, trusting his instincts to guide him safely through the air and into the exfiltration mark point.

MISSION COMPLETE.

SILENT ASSASSIN.

MALUS NECESSARIUM.

Marie’s mind raced, piecing together details that she could no longer ignore. The rounded ears, the bare pale face without an eye mask, the unsettling way he carried himself—these were things she’d noticed but hadn’t let herself question too deeply. And she’d wanted to dismiss his ruthless methods as just quirks of his training, who knows what they teach at the intelligence academies, but after seeing him execute the Colonel with such detached reaction, it was impossible to brush aside the feeling any longer. He had the skills, he had the knowledge unlike any other person in the whole of Inkopolis, she knew that no doctrine in the Inkadian military could or would train with such methods.

"Could he be an Octarian spy?" The thought sent a chill down her spine. She’d handed him mission intel, practically welcomed him into her circle—trusting him, believing he shared her goal. But what if he was a plant? Someone sent to disrupt, maybe even sabotage, the NSS from within? She felt nauseous. Callie's safety. Inkopolis. Everything. 

But if he was a spy, she had to tread carefully. Making any reckless move might tip him off, and then he’d disappear—or worse. She’d have to play it smart, keep him close while she observed him, testing him subtly and quietly, looking for any crack that might reveal his true loyalties. And if she could find just a single shred of proof, it would be enough to turn the tables.

Marie took a deep breath, steeling herself. This was her mission. And if she had to, she would protect Callie—and all of Inkadia—even if it meant dealing with Agent 47.

She sat at her chair, in front of a group of monitors haphazardly thrown together with a mess of cables sticking out everywhere, Sheldon would be furious if he saw the setup.

She turned on the amalgation with a click of a button on the PC, and all six monitors lighted up with an unnatural glow, illuminating her face in the poorly-litten room she was in. Originally, this was used to monitor CCTV footage for some mall shop in Inkopolis Plaza, but now, it serves as the makeshift base of operations of the NSS. 

Right now, only two monitors displayed useful information, the rest were used to monitor the perimeter of the Tentakeel Outpost. The two monitors showed what appeared to be a standard desktop on the first one, and the command query on the second one.

Marie cracked (not really) her knuckles, and began typing on the keyboard. 

First, she'd check where she left off yesterday, right after 47 had blew up the Colonel, then...

Hm...She didn't actually know what to do then...oh well, she'll figure it out anyway.

Booting up...

Initializing hardware components...

Checking system memory...

Memory test successful.

Loading BIOS...

BIOS version 1.03

Copyright (C) 1990 Cuttlegear Co.

Detecting drives...

Primary HDD: [OK]

Secondary HDD: [Not Detected]

Floppy Drive: [OK]

CD-ROM Drive: [OK]

Boot sequence initiated...

Searching for bootable devices...

Bootable device found: Primary HDD

Loading operating system...

Inkdomes 95 Starting...

Configuring settings...

Welcome to Inkdomes 95

Initializing user interface...

Loading desktop environment...

Please wait...

[Desktop loaded]

Icons: My Computer, Recycle Bin, Network Neighborhood, Programs

Ready for user input: _

> unlock_view

ACCESS CODE REQUIRED: _

> ********

ACCESS CODE ACCEPTED.

AVAILABLE COMMANDS:

- cctv_view : Access CCTV footage from specified camera.

- list_cameras : List all active camera feeds.

- log_activity : View recent activity logs.

- system_status : Display system health and error reports.

ENTER COMMAND:

> cctv_view /camera=8 /date=2015-10-30 /time=14:00 /duration=30min

LOADING FOOTAGE FROM CAMERA 8... DATE: 2015-10-30, TIME: 14:00

[████████████████████] 100%

PLAYBACK INITIATED.

Marie watched, her heart pounding, as the footage slowly loaded in and began to play. It started from where she had left off, capturing the moment 47 blew up the Colonel. The ensuing screams echoed through the hallways, the alarms blaring, making her flinch as the chaotic sounds assaulted her ears.

But what followed was beyond anything she could have imagined, something that would haunt her for nights to come. 

47 approached a door, opened it, and confronted the very same Colonel, who, much to Marie’s relief, had respawned at the pads. Yet, that relief was short-lived. 47 pulled out a weapon that resembled an N-Zap but was black, bulkier, and sported a strange attachment at the end of its barrel. Marie’s breath hitched as he aimed and fired. Instead of ink, a terrifying burst of energy erupted, and the Colonel was vaporized instantly, as if struck by a stinger shot. What kinds of weapons did he have?

But that unknown weapon would be the least of her worries. A cold wave of horror washed over her as she watched 47 approach the respawn pads.

Her heart stopped for a moment as she realized what was about to happen next. 

"No! No! NO!"

"THAT IS A WAR CRIME, STOP!"

No side had dared to commit such an atrocity, even during the Great Turf War, and here he was, methodically sabotaging the only means of survival for those soldiers. He wasn’t just eliminating a target; he was erasing lives, nullifying the very essence of the conflict.

The implications crashed over her like a tidal wave. She knew what this meant for her, for everyone. Turning off the computer, she stared at the blank screen, her mind racing to process what she had just witnessed. A war crime. The words echoed in her thoughts like a relentless drumbeat. 

Was she, too, now a complicit war criminal by proxy? The weight of that realization pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. A sickening churn in her stomach left her feeling hollow. She had sought to uncover the truth, to protect those she loved, but now she was confronted with the reality that the person she had entrusted with their safety was a ruthless killer. 

Doubt gnawed at her, threatening to consume her resolve. How could she continue to work with him? What if he turned on her next? Tears stung her eyes as she fought to push back the panic. She needed to think, to strategize. Marie wasn’t just a bystander anymore; she was embroiled in something far greater than herself. And now, the stakes were higher than ever.

The only thing she was certain in now, is that 47 was no Octarian or Inkling. He was a Killer.

Chapter Text

Four figures were seen entering a well-kept suburban house. One of them carried a backpack full of wet electronics and wore a clearly unhappy expression. The journey to here from the main plaza was...nauseating for the lack of better words. They all were thankful, that atleast the cab driver didn't ask any questions about the bag, though did wish he paid more attention to the rode. Aren't jellyfish folk supposed to be omniscient? She'll have to check in with the textbooks, haven't read one since she made it to the surface.

“This doesn't feel safe; feels like it'll explode any second now." Vin exclaimed as they stepped inside. The interior looked tidy, but it was evident that no one had lived there for at least a few weeks. Ria knew this place like the backhand of her tentacles. Her first actual living space in Inkopolis after all. She was surprised it wasn't robbed after all that time 

“Unattached, out-of-order electronics don't just explode spontaneously. Stop talking heresy." Ria rolled her eyes, following the group from behind. She understood where his concerns came from, but seriously, some people just don't know how computers or electronics in general work, the sheer ignorance was almost insulting, those wet fart junk parts can't even produce sparks no more, let alone explode.

“Yeah, I wish it did, though." Kaz remarked offhandedly, causing Nyla to let out a chuckle. Ria appreciated the comment, and spaced out for a second imagining if it did explode, before immediatly dismissing the thought as heresy.

The group cautiously (except for Ria, she just waltzed in casually) made their way through the dimly lit living room, dust motes floating in the low, warm sunlight of the dusk streaming through the half-drawn curtains. The furniture was neatly arranged, though a thin layer of dust covered everything, hinting at the house's abandonment.

Vin dropped his backpack onto the floor with a soft thud, wincing slightly at the sound. “I swear, if these electronics really do explode, I’m blaming all of you.” He winced again, as one of the motherboards faintly zapped with electricity. Well that's surprising. Turns out these aren't completely dead.

“Maybe it’s just your bad luck." Kaz joked, glancing over his shoulder with a teasing grin. “You know how you always end up in deep shit." Ria cringed, as she remembered Vin trying to cheat in ranked matches and failing miserably. Almost got them banned from the league.

“Yeah, but this time it’s different. We’re in an abandoned house with random junk." Vin retorted, crossing his arms as he eyed the dark corners suspiciously. “What if someone comes back and finds us here with this?” Ridiculous. She lived here for almost two years, and nobody bothered to check the place. Well, except for some teenage wanderers.

“Then we’ll just tell them we’re here to inspect their surveillance equipment or whatever” Ria said with a smirk, pretending to adjust imaginary glasses. “It’s all about how you present it. Those rich kids eat up any lie, as long as you can keep up a confident smile." She confidently smiled, being weirdly more energetic than before. Others guessed it was because of her passion for crime and computers showing up again.

Nyla chuckled again, shaking her head as she moved further into the house. “Alright, let’s just focus on what we came here for. Ria, can you identify anything specific about the electronics?”

Ria sighed but moved to her backpack, unzipping it carefully.

“Yeah, give me a second." She said, pulling out a few damp pieces and laying them out on a nearby coffee table. “These look like parts from some old surveillance cameras. Cuttlegear Co. made these. I’ve seen some around in stores, but I didn’t think they were used for anything serious.” In her four years in the Octarian engineering college, she haven't seen something as stupidly complicated as the Cuttlegear products. Those designs didn't look like anything she'd seen not only in the Domes, but also in the whole of Inkopolis. As if some aliens made it.

“What’s that brand again?” Vin asked, leaning in closer. “The one that had the weird logo?”

“Cuttlegear Co.” Ria repeated, her brow furrowing. “I’ve heard rumors that they’re involved in some shady business. If we can figure out what these parts are doing here, it might give us a clue about that Mr.Mysterio.”

Kaz leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Okay, but how are we supposed to find out more? We aren't experts in electronics or engineering or whatever, and we certainly don't have the equipment for it."

Ria turned back to the group, after briefly inspecting the parts again. "Alright, listen up. These things are toast, these parts are soaked." She ponted from one random part to another. "Unless you want a tsunami of sparks, we’re not getting anything out of them. But." She paused for dramatic effect. "The hard drive's might still be salvageable if we’re lucky."

Nyla leaned over, picking up a circuit board. "So, you’re saying there’s a chance? Like, a one-in-a-million chance?"

"More like one-in-a-thousand," Ria said, scanning the damaged electronics. "The rain probably shorted out most of the components. We’ll need to clean the drive and see if it’ll boot. If it doesn’t, we’re looking at a glorified paperweight."

"Yeah, I didn’t sign up for a tech graveyard tour." Vin quipped, kicking the backpack lightly. "I came here to hang out with pizzas and squit..."

Nyla grinned, “And to watch Ria geek out. Come on, show us your magic, engi' girl.”

Ria let out a nervous laugh. "Magic, huh? More like witchcraft. Give me a sec." She grabbed her toolkit and began to carefully work on the hard drive, muttering under her breath about how her college professors would be proud. "They should’ve warned me that half the fun of engineering was cleaning up after the rain."

Kaz raised an eyebrow. "You mean you didn’t think rainy days could be so...electrifying?" 

"Shut up." Ria said, suppressing a smile despite herself. After some tinkering, she stepped back, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Alright, enough of that, all I need to do now is..." She sighed heavily, her shoulders dropped, upon realizing the enormity of the task she set out to do. This'll take atleast a few weeks of work without special equipment...

"You know what? You should definitely blow off steam for a bit. Play some games." Nyla suggested, smirking.

"Hm? Ah. Right, I forgot you guys were here to have fun. I guess I too, need a break before I start talking to these parts like they’re my kids," Ria replied, as she put her tools on the table, before making her way to the couch where Kaz was already setting up the console. Sometimes Ria would forget things, it was like a trivia among her friends.

"Anyone down for some card games? Or we could binge some TideToks." Vin offered, plopping down next to them. "I’m kinda craving a pizza too. Just saying". Now that Ria thought about it, she hadn't eaten anything today, except for bread with few pieces of ham and cheese. Sometimes, she would just forget things.

"Pizza? At this hour? Are you trying to kill us?" Kaz laughed, glancing at him. 

Nyla shrugged. "Who cares? We can pretend it’s a study break. Besides, we’re all starving, right?"

"Fine, but if they call the cops, y'all are to blame." Kaz said, already pulling out his phone to order. The conversation had confused Ria a bit, before she remembered that deliveries existed, and that they didn't have to go to the nearest pizzeria.

"Let’s just make sure it’s not from that weird place you ordered from last time." Ria cautioned, playfully shoving Kaz. 

"Not my fault their delivery was slower than Vin with a roller." He shot back, laughing as he punched in the order.  Ria shook her head, but couldn’t help grinning as they settled in for a night of gaming, the earlier tension slipping away as they reveled in their usual antics.

The muted game sounds and the rhythmic flicker of the screen seemed to wrap Ria in a familiar comfort. Kaz and Nyla were lost in some kind of a fighting genre game, the older type too, occasional sound effects and cheesy voicelines breaking the quiet hum that filled the room. It was the type of night they’d shared a dozen times over, yet something about the peace after their earlier conversation felt different—a little heavier.

Ria’s eyes started to droop, her brain riding that comfortable edge of rest. Nights like these had a sort of unspoken rhythm to them: friends sprawled out, the buzz of some random game, and just enough energy to keep going. She let herself sink into the couch, thinking back to the old electronics on the table, temporarily forgotten as they basked in their own little sanctuary.

Just as she felt herself slipping further into that half-sleep, a loud laugh from Nyla jolted her awake, and she cracked an eye open, smirking at whatever absurd move Kaz had pulled, before silence took place again.

“Do you guys ever wonder,” Vin started, breaking the spell of near-silence. “If we’re investigating a serial killer?" His voice lower than usual.

Nyla snorted. “Eh. Unlikely, though that guy's definetly a creep. Also there haven't been any mass murderers in the last, what, thirty years? Which is kinda boring, but understandable."

Kaz raised an eyebrow, not looking away from the screen. “Boring? Really, Nyla? That’s what we’re going with?”

Nyla shrugged, tossing her controller to the side as she leaned back. “I mean, come on. You think anyone that’d show up around here is capable of anything beyond keying a car or shoplifting from a corner shop?”

Ria chuckled, nudging Vin with her elbow. “Guess that means you can breathe easy, Vin. We ain't tracking down some axe-wielding maniac.” Her voice a little strained.

Vin shot her a look, half-skeptical, half-relieved. “Still, the dude left surveillance parts in a trash can. That’s not normal—pretty sure most people don’t just ditch gear like that.” 

Kaz gave a lazy shrug. “True. I’ll give you that. But serial killer? More like wannabe spy or, I dunno, some weirdo collecting broken tech for kicks.”

They all fell into a comfortable silence for a beat, and Nyla smirked. “I’m just saying, maybe we get lucky and it turns out we’re in the middle of some true crime special. Little fame, little fortune?”

Ria sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “You know, for someone who says she’s bored, you sure love blowing things out of proportion.”

Nyla tossed a pillow at her. “And you love it.” 

Ria rolled her eyes, but deep down, she couldn’t deny it.

Ria closed her eyes again, her mind drifting in and out of consciousness as the game sounds and chatter blended together. A typical night, and yet, it felt like the calm before something bigger, something none of them were quite ready for yet.

But that was a matter for tomorrow's day. Tomorrow, when they'll do something, like...

Her mind, strained to process the thought.

She liked to think she was the smart one of the group, but sometimes, she felt little. Out of place, irrelevant.

The thought haunted her, before being forcibly subjugated.

She wasn't useless.

She wasn't a drag, not a dead weight.

Her friends loved her, and she loved them. She's past this. She'll never return to where she once was. Tomorrow will be a great day. Tomorrow is something to look ahead for. Nyla shot her a glance, clearly concerned with the expression she was making. Ria faintly smiled at her in response. That calmed her friend.

Nyla sat cross-legged on the couch, leaning back as she resumed watching the game’s lights flicker across the dim room.

Nyla was always the quiet type. Clever, calm, collected, even elegant. Someone who knew how to read a room, someone she knew wouldn't betray her. Someone, with principles. 

Ria found herself watching her, in part to see if she noticed her looking. She didn’t feel out of place with her friends often, but something about Nyla’s presence sometimes made her feel…what, less polished? More raw, somehow. It was stupid—Ria knew she didn’t have to be anyone else here, but still, sometimes it felt like Nyla had everything figured out in life, all put together in a composed manner, and that made her feel like she was stumbling through it all by comparison.

"You zoning out on us, or what?" Nyla’s voice cut through her thoughts, eyebrow raised as she caught Ria staring.

"Just…thinking 'bout stuff” Ria replied, feigning an easy grin. “Trying to figure out what I’d have to pay you to actually lose at something."

Nyla smirked, rolling her eyes. “Pretty sure you can’t afford it, babe.”

Kaz snorted from across the room. "What a lesson in economics.” He stretched out, feet propped up on the cluttered coffee table. “Although if you’re that confident, why don’t we make it interesting, Nyla? Loser has to clean up this dump.”

Nyla’s smirk didn’t falter. “You’re welcome to try, but I like seeing you suffer.”

Ria chuckled, feeling herself relax as their banter carried on around her. Pushing her thoughts aside, she let the quiet comfort of the room settle over her. Her friends were here—her messy, reckless, sarcastic, sometimes dumb friends—and she knew they’d always have her back. No matter what tomorrow held, they’d be facing it together. 

She shook off that moment with a little smile again. Tomorrow, they’d follow whatever leads they could, maybe track down this strange tech, maybe even stir up a bit of trouble. And if things got weird, or messy, well, they’d figure it out. They always did. And they'll always do.

For now, though, she’d let herself just enjoy this—her friends, the games, and the low hum of laughter in the air. The future could wait.

Tentakeel Outpost. Cuttlefish Cabin. 14:47 IST.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Marie slumped into the worn armchair, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the dusty old clock as it ticked and tocked with an indifferent rhythm. Its steady beat filled the silence, marking each second that dragged by, every tick amplifying her impatience. She wished she could tune it out as easily as Grandpa Cuttlefish used to tell her to, but each passing moment only made her more aware of the gnawing uncertainty.

She had to thank him for that lesson yet again, assuming he would actually make it back safely someday.

It felt like ages since she’d heard from him, and though she'd taught herself not to worry over every little thing, the habit was harder to break with him gone. She ran a hand through her hair, glancing around the cluttered cabin, each familiar item feeling oddly foreign now. It was as though the place held its breath along with her, waiting for something—anything—to break the stillness. 

But nothing did. Just that old, faithful ticking.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Marie’s finger scrolled mindlessly through her feed, eyes glazing over headlines, memes, and random posts without truly reading a single one. Outside, she might look bored, maybe a little unfazed, but inside, her mind was spinning like a turbine. She knew this habit didn’t help—the endless scrolling, grasping for anything to slow down the anxiety that was burning through her chest. But at least it kept her hands busy. She had to appear calm when he showed up, not like she was pacing a hole in the floor waiting for him.

“What...what in the world do I even say to him?” she muttered, her voice low and tight. 47 was good—good enough to accomplish nearly any mission with absolute precision—but he was also a black hole for information. The kind of guy who gave nothing more than what was needed and never a word more. And whatever this “detour” was that he mentioned, she had a feeling it was more than some minor sideline task. Never answering any more questions than what was needed. It kinda annoyed and interested her at the same time.

Curiosity kills the Judd.

It wasn't lost on her that getting him to talk about it would take some careful maneuvering. “Subtly interrogate” was the plan, but she knew he’d see through any direct questions. No, she’d have to lean on that natural rhythm they’d started to build, piece together hints, and let him drop details on his own. 

The hours stretched, leaving her to rehearse, rework, and dismiss her approach again and again.

"Hm…if I mention the Colonel, he’d probably know I’m fishing…so, what if I just ask about the…no, he’d still catch on." Marie bit her lip, thumb hovering over the home screen. Every option ran into a wall, each new angle she imagined ending with his steely, unreadable stare. Just once, it would be nice if he was a little more talkative, or at least hinted at what he was up to.

"But what if I just…" Her voice trailed off as she reconsidered a dozen approaches, all leading to the same conclusion. She didn't want to push him too far—who knows, if he would just quit, or Cod worse, decide to eliminate her. She had to approach this issue strategically, diplomatically, holistically, or else, her, and her cousins head would be on the silver plate.

With a frustrated sigh, she tossed her phone aside and slouched back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. She was grasping at straws, and she knew it.

"Okay, let’s keep it simple. Just…ask him about the mission details," Marie thought, catching herself as she almost cringed. This felt off, like she was being a little too careful, a bit too "business-mode" about it. It was usually a matter of subtly digging in with good ol' charm and keeping her questions vague—tricks she'd picked up after years of dealing with interviews and managers. She knew how to work around egos and tight-lipped executives. But him? He didn't seem to exactly one to care for smiles or play the game.

So, as she tapped her fingers against the table, she rehearsed it. 

"Alright. 'Hey, Agent, so about that mission...is there anything I should know about what went down?'." She paused, imagining his blank expression, that stare he gave like he was reading her too closely for comfort. "Or, no, too suspicious. How about...‘Hope everything went smoothly out there. Anything noteworthy?' That’s...yeah, that’s better."

If it still didn’t work? She’d just have to take a little bit of her idol charm up a notch. She might be nervous now, but she’d dealt with tougher interviews than a secretive agent. She could manage this.

The images of her having to interact with hordes of entertainment related people right after soul-sucking two hours show on stage, made her slightly tremble. Lawyers, producers, representatives, anyone related in the business side of her job piled on top of her already exhausted mind. She was surprised she didn't collapse that day, and even more so, that she kept a straight face after hearing all of that trash talk about her and her cousin hidden beneath a smile and corporate talk.

Just the memory made her jaw tighten. She could still feel the weight of it—the lights and cheers fading only to be replaced by that suffocating boardroom buzz. There, behind closed doors, it wasn’t just her talent or hard work under scrutiny but her very personality, her relationships, even her loyalty to Callie. After hours on stage, giving everything, she’d sit through endless meetings where people who didn’t know her threw around “concerns” as if her whole life was just a product to manage. 

The talk about Callie cut the deepest, wrapped up in rehearsed corporate sterile jargon, with fake smiles meant to look like empathy. They were ready to pit her and Callie against each other, push some “rivalry angle” if they thought it’d sell. The fucking Audacity. She had to fight the impulse to snap back, bite her tongue and bury the disgust, keep her idol face intact. Those were the days she wondered if she’d ever reach her breaking point—but she hadn’t. Somehow, she’d learned to weather it all, keep her calm.

If she could keep her cool through that, she could handle whatever Agent 47 threw her way. No matter how uncomfortable it got, she knew she could mask it, ask her questions, and keep her guard up. If anything, she was the professional at this kind of game—now she just had to remind herself of that, no matter how bizarre things had gotten.

Marie pinches the bridge of her nose, "Okay, let's just go over—"

"Over what?" Marie jumped back with surprise, almost falling.

Agent 47, stands in the middle of the room, his expression although neutral as ever, holds elements of amused curiosity.

Marie’s heart skips a beat as she steadies herself, trying to mask her surprise with a quick recovery. She lets out a small, almost nervous laugh.

“Oh! Didn’t see you there." She mutters, a little sharper than intended. “Guess all those years on stage didn’t train me to sense, uh...shadows.”

She quickly crosses her arms, straightening up and giving him a once-over. His stance is unnervingly calm, and she catches that hint of curiosity in his eyes. The man is practically a blank slate, yet she senses a quiet intensity that puts her nerves on edge.

She decides to try something straightforward—keep it casual but still slightly probing.

“So, Agent…mission went well?” She lets her eyes linger on his for a fraction longer than normal, trying to read any hint of emotion, though she already knows what she’s dealing with.

He nods, his reply as dry as sand. “Efficient and effective. As expected.”

Marie presses her lips together, feigning a relaxed expression while her mind races. Not one detail more than he has to give. Alright, then.

“Efficient, huh?” She arches an eyebrow. “Glad it worked out. Though…some of the things you did out there, they seemed a bit, well—creative. I mean, I’ve seen some daring stunts during previous missions, but nothing quite like yours.” She keeps her tone light, watching to see if her words prompt any reaction.

47’s face remains unreadable, but she catches a faint flicker in his eyes. “Adaptability is key in uncertain environments.”

Marie rolls her eyes, not bothering to hide her frustration. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll adapt to being in the dark then.” She shrugs, casting him a look that’s half-sincere, half-rehearsed. “I just… I want to make sure we’re on the same page. And as your, y’know, teammate—it’d help if you kept me in the loop.”

He gives a slow nod, but his response is even-keeled as ever. “Understood.”

“Understood,” she repeats, suppressing an eyeroll. She knows he’s withholding something. She isn’t sure if he’s doing it out of habit or calculation, but she isn’t ready to let it slide.

“Okay, let’s just keep things simple.” She adjusts her posture, fixing him with a professional smile. “If there’s anything… unconventional in the future, let’s talk it over, yeah?”

47 holds her gaze, his face as inscrutable as ever, and after a beat, he simply nods once more. Marie feels an uneasy weight settle in her chest, realizing she might be in for more than she bargained with him.

"Right...let's just go over to the table, take a sit if you'd like." She motioned him to follow her into the kitchen, where a large wooden table and several chairs waited for them.

As they moved, she couldn't help but feel like this would be like a mind game, from those science shows she watched. Each word, like a piece on a chess board. Each move, made consciously and cautiously. Stakes were high, that was for sure.

Marie led the way, feeling the weight of every step, as though she were setting the stage for some tense scene in a crime drama. She motioned to one of the chairs around the table, noticing how he moved without hesitation, his steps somehow all silent. Like he was sizing up every angle of the room. She sat across from him, her mind racing with questions she had rehearsed, but now, face-to-face, all those scripted lines seemed to slip away. She had to improvise on the move, something, that was thankfully ingrained into her brain the moment she entered show business.

“So." She started, leaning back in her chair, trying to project confidence. “I’d like to go over the mission. You know, compare notes. I mean, I get the end result was a success, but…” She let her voice trail, giving him an opening.

47 met her gaze, his expression impassive but focused. “What, specifically, would you like to know?” His tone was polite, almost too polite—he was putting on a performance of his own, she realized.

She cleared her throat, deciding to start off easy. “You mentioned you’d take a…detour before you got back here. I just want to be clear on what exactly that entailed. You know, so I can plan accordingly in the future.” She knew her choice of words sounded a little stiff, but she hoped it would let her stay on neutral ground.

47 tilted his head slightly, as if considering whether her question warranted an answer at all. “I required additional information to ensure no loose ends remained. The target’s intel source wasn’t disclosed beforehand.”

“Loose ends?” She repeated, a hint of disbelief in her voice, before she caught herself. That word choice set her nerves alight—did he mean “people”?

She took a breath, forcing herself to keep the façade up. “Right. Loose ends.” She leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. “I understand the need for thoroughness. But maybe in the future, let’s… strategize those last-minute changes together? I’d hate for either of us to be left in the dark.”

He nodded, and for a second, she thought she saw a flicker of understanding cross his expression, but it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

“Of course.”

“Good." She replied, though her tone was tense. “We’re on the same page, then.” She kept her gaze steady, almost daring him to challenge her.

Silence settled between them, and Marie fought the urge to look away. The kitchen clock ticked away in the background, but she remained focused on him, determined to keep her ground. She felt like she was pushing against an invisible wall he’d built around himself.

Marie steadied herself, letting a small pause stretch before she brought up the next topic. She had to phrase this carefully—too much pressure, and he’d give nothing away. She decided to take a slightly indirect route.

“I went over the footage." She started, watching for his reaction. “You handled the officer with...extreme precision. I appreciate that, especially under such hostile conditions.” She paused, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. “But there was something I couldn’t quite…wrap my head around.”

47’s expression remained unreadable, but she thought she saw the faintest shift in his posture, a near-imperceptible tightening, almost like he knew where she was heading.

“After you eliminated the officer.” She continued slowly, “I noticed you did something to the respawn pads.” She leaned forward, keeping her voice calm, but with hints of anger. “Sabotaging them like that—do you realize what it would mean? What it would…deny?”

His gaze didn’t waver, but there was a pause before he responded. “I recognized that the pads were critical to maintaining their operational resilience. With them active, any target could simply, return.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Taking out the respawn pads is considered…Severe, to say the least. We don’t interfere with those, like, ever. I think you know that.”

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her point, remaining impassive. “Necessary,” he replied. “I don’t make these decisions without reason.”

“So…you just thought it was necessary to stop them from coming back?” She pressed, letting a hint of exasperation creep into her voice.

“Put simply." He said, his tone measured. “They represented a risk. My purpose is to eliminate risks. Permanently.”

A chill ran through her, but she kept her composure. “Permanently.” She echoed, letting the word hang between them. She had hoped for some hint of remorse, maybe an acknowledgment that this was different from anything the NSS would typically sanction, but he remained as composed as ever.

“Did you ever think." She ventured, her voice softening in a way she hadn’t planned. "That it might…well, cross a line?” She tilted her head, trying to read even the slightest change in his expression.

47 looked at her, his eyes giving nothing away. "Lines are relative, Ms.Cuttlefish. To finish the mission, some must be crossed." 

Marie’s mind raced, trying to find a crack in his logic, a way to press further without outright confrontation. But with him, every word was deliberate, every answer a wall she couldn’t seem to break through. Finally, she let out a slow breath, forcing herself to lean back, breaking the tension in her own posture.

“Right.” She kept her tone neutral, though her mind churned with questions. “I get it. Thanks for the insight. For now, just keep me in the loop if you decide on any other ‘last-minute changes'.”

47 nodded, his face betrayed no reaction, just that unyielding professionalism that somehow left her feeling like she was the one who’d revealed too much.

"I believe that is all." Marie watched him get up from his seat, and push the chair into the table.

"Have a good evening, Agent." She said nonchalantly as she watched him leave. But before exiting, he stopped and turned around to face her.

"Have a good evening too, Ms.Cuttlefish. But, I would also like to advice you to rehearse your plans in your mind. Watching you repeat your lines was quite amusing, to say the least." Marie’s eyes widened, as he left the room without a noise.

"I—Whu—" Her words stumbled onto one another, struggling to formulate a thought, as her cheeks and ears reddened.

But the Agent was now long gone, leaving her in the kitchen embarrassed and alone.

"Did...did he eavesdrop on me...?"