Work Text:
Order
684 is.
684 is not in the place 684 is used to being.
684 is in a white place.
White buildings. White coral. White drone with black eyes that swoops in front of 684.
684 blinks.
"Yo, wassup! I'm Pearl, you?"
684 has not been given an order.
"Not up to talkin' yet, huh? That's fine, I can talk for both of us!" The drone does a spin. "Look, you're here cause you got sanitized. This is all VR, computer world, nothing's real so we can try again and again and nothin can go wrong. Rina says we're in the second round of beta testing, so we can only help one sanitized octoling at a time, and you're the first! Great, isn't it?"
684 has not been given an order.
"That's all right. So, what do you want to do? Would you like to start climbing the tower to get your memories back, or look around here for a bit, or something else?"
684 has not been given an order.
684 waits for an order.
"You have to choose. This is your choice."
684 has been ordered to choose.
"Parameters unclear," 684 says. "What is the order?"
"Geeze, Rina wasn't kidding when she said you fully sanitized folks might be hard to get started," Drone says. "You're ordered to choose what you want to do."
684 is perfect. There are no wants in perfection.
"Aight, how about I tell you to do one of two things, and you do it? You either look around here and explore or you start fighting your way up the tower, which'll let you be free and you again when you get to the top. You ain't gettin outta here til you've climbed it, but you don't have to right now. We can just chill."
Objective understood.
684 moves to the tower.
In the lobby, the drone following 684 pauses. "Guess it won't happen til the second run," Drone says. "Hey, this time, use these!"
Drone hovers in front of 684. Dualies appear. Command: use these. 684 takes one in each hand.
"Practice a bit, get the feel of them! You're supposed to have your own, but if you don't yet, that's fine. We'll find your palette, and until then, you can borrow mine!"
684 shoots. The movement is familiar, distant, a dream.
684 doesn't dream.
"When you're ready, we can get in the elevator and start for the top!"
684 obeys all commands. 684 gets in the elevator. The door closes.
The drone projects three images before 684. "We've got three challenges and three chips. We ain't movin' 'til you've chosen, dude."
684 stands there.
The drone hovers.
684 stands there.
The drone hovers.
"684 doesn't choose," 684 says at last. "684 does what 684 is told."
"You used to," the drone says. "Now you get to choose. And I'll wait as long as it takes."
~~~
684 does not like dualies.
684 does not like the shooting. Does not like the rolling. Does not like how the two guns merge when 684 rolls.
At the tenth floor, a not-choice, 684 stares at the giant ball, tossing small bombs in front of it, and
like. Not like.
When did 684 last not-like?
"Hey buddy, you can stand there forever, but I can't take this thing by myself!" The drone moves in a circle around 684's head. "What's the hold up?"
"684 does not like dualies," 684 says.
"That a memory, or a new discovery?"
684 does not know.
And the giant ball splats 684.
~~~
684 moves to the tower. 684's purpose, 684's order, is to get to the top. In the lobby, the drone swings in front of 684. "Got a weapon of your own this time?"
684 holds out 684's hands, but no weapon appears.
"That's all right," says the drone. "A couple other people left behind pallets for people to try, the ones who haven't found their own yet. Wanna try Rina's, or Four's, or Marie's?"
Four is a number. 684 is a number. Maybe that will be familiar. "Four."
"Hey, your fastest choice yet!" The drone does a little loop and drops a shooter in front of 684. 684 picks it up. It slots into 684's hand [cleaning and repairing brushes rollers hoses of air pry off the top clean the fittings] and 684 moves without thought [always warm up first practice your aim] in a drill that feels
684 drops the shooter. There is wetness on 684's face.
The drone drops to the floor and shimmers. The drone becomes a girl [inkling enemy enemy enemy] who puts an arm around 684's back. "Talk to me."
"684 does not," 684's voice shakes. 684 gasps. 684 puts hands over 684's eyes. "684 does, 684—68—6—six—I DON'T KNOW."
"It's all right," the not-drone says. She wraps 684 in a hug [comfort warm squad family] and 684 leans into it.
684 doesn't like crying. Even dualies are better.
~~~
684's shooter jams. 684 finishes floor twelve with a bomb, then kneels on the floor of the elevator. 684 reaches in a pocket for tools, for a toolkit, for the toolkit 684 used every day in the domes [it's a real toolkit with brushes and five different screwdrivers and everything, Dad, not just the things we improvised from broken octobrushes and string] and everything is right where it should be.
The screwdriver gently levers open the side, and the other screwdriver undoes the connection. Of course; dirt in the connectors. 684's always found using his tentacle better for this, and he grabs the tiny scraper. The aiming spiral is gunked up, of course it is, he must've scraped dirt out of those a million times, he can't count how many times he told—he told—he—he—684 drops the tools, dirt scraped out.
Who did 684 tell? When did 684 do this?
"Must've got a bit back then!" the drone shouts, and 684 looks up. The drone lands beside him but doesn't become an inkling. "I like your new duds."
684 looks at himself. Overalls, tough and battered and dirt ground in the knees, under a splotched apron. The apron's sturdy. Covered in pockets.
He swallows hard, a lump in his throat. 684 picks the tools back up and finishes checking over his [not his he hates shooters so unreliable for his test he chose] shooter, puts it back together.
The toolkit slides back into his pocket, right where it belongs, and he buttons it closed. Secure and right where it should be.
The shooter jams again on the nineteenth floor and 684 gets splatted.
~~~
684 doesn't go for the tower again. He sits down, his back against one of the empty shops, and checks his pockets.
Here, the pocket blowtorch he and his dad spent ages on, finding the parts and testing it and taking it apart and putting it back together, his graduation gift from his father. There's the ancient human coin, scratched and tarnished, a good-luck charm from his squa—from Eleanor. Eleanor worked beside him, both of them hoping to be chosen for the Wasabi Unit someday, and she gave him her lucky coin and he gave her the pocket blowtorch he has now, because none of this is real it's all programmed to bring back memories.
"Droney?"
"It's Pearl, yo."
"What happened to Eleanor?"
They never made it it to the Wasabi Unit but they were the back-ups. They were at the concert, repairing Octotrooper rides and launch balls as fast as they came in, when the speakers broke and a new song came.
They ran away together. Away from the concert, away from the squad, away from a world that wouldn't let them be together until they finished their eight years of service and maybe not until after another eight or another. Octaria needs soldiers, needs mechanics, and they were near the best.
"I don't know, dude." Droney never calls him 684. Tells him she wants to know his name, his real name. "Maybe she got sanitized, too. If you remember her number, we'll try to do her next."
684 would like that.
~~~
When he enters the tower and holds out his hand, light swirls and shapes and he closes his hands around the handle of a standard octoroller. Just like the one he used when he first started out. Droney booyah's and does a full spinning circle around his head. "Roller user! I know some awesome roller users, dude. We've totally got it this time!"
684 tests the roller, flicking it, pushing it at dummies. It's not his, not quite, but he can't remember what his was like.
But he can do it this time.
For Eleanor.
~~~
After the eighth floor, 684 gets out his tools, takes apart his roller, and adjusts the tubing to be more flexible. Better for flicks, not as great for rolling. He has to weight it a bit more to compensate, but he has the things for that in his apron, too.
After the fifteenth floor, 684 finds his roller covered in scratches and marks, the handle fits his hand perfectly. It moves like it's part of him. It's turned black [silent dark don't catch the light] but he can't shark against these irritating not-fish [black salmonids, they remind him of black salmonids, not that different from the ones he demonstrated how to fix scrappers and flyfish cannons] so he's gotta change it up a bit. Ellie always said—
Alex misses his swing and only Pearl's bomb keeps him from being splatted.
What did Ellie always say? 684 doesn't remember.
He remembers on the twenty-first floor. She said he has to change if he wants to get out, and the memories are swarming him then, every few seconds. He hates being called Alexander. His dad was so proud when he became a mechanic.
He and Ellie got caught eight days out. They ran in separate directions. Ellie's idea. She went up. He went down.
When he beats the giant Overlorder, the drone celebrates. "You did it!" she says. "You're not sanitized anymore—I mean, you may still be green, we haven't figured that part out yet. Oh! You can totally stay at my place until you're on your feet."
"Thanks, Pearl," Alex says. He even means it. But he'll only stay a little while.
He has to find Ellie.