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Through my shuddering breaths of panic and the caustic laughter of the one who deceived me, all of my mind, memories, and soul are plucked and consumed like a succulent fruit— with it, a horrid plot shall be fed. My lungs and mind drown in unnatural ink. Ink of which holds the horrifying screams of the lost and broken. Hear me! Before I become a shell with languid eyes and sickly skin— I beg of you— beware of my story. I am grateful that my memories leading up to this moment are currently clear, but I cannot promise the same clarity for visions of my past.
The tests had brought me here. They started simply at first. I delighted myself with my skills and knowledge which showed that I was nothing less than exceptional. Despite the rise in difficulty of each challenge along the metro lines, I persevered. I was trained in the Octarian army, forged in ink and pride. I attacked my foes masterfully— like a shark with fiendish jaws and wild ferocity— but I did not ignore how my enemies bore the face of friends and family. They were my people— not Inklings— not other sea creatures— Octarians. Even high-ranked Octolings faced me with such empty, mindless hatred. It was the start of my revelations once I came face to face with my first challenge. Their eyes were dark, cold, and carried profound nothingness. Still, I launched myself forward with the so-called Rainmaker in my grasp. I had known that this golden idol of an ancient tale was tossed around in some kind of sport meant to mimic the horrors of the Turf War. Little did I know it was also a weapon!
As Octolings descended upon me from the ink and sky, I blasted them with a powerful whirlwind, obliterating their evolved forms into nothing but oozing biology. Unlike moments in battle where the same fate befell my fellow soldiers, my Octoling foes never flinched at the sight. There was no sense of remorse or vengeance. They were nothing but husks whose eyes resembled a great abyss, and within it, a soul missing from a freezing coffin.
Still, I continued. I fought foes of all shapes and sizes, shielded myself from showers of teal, and found balance along electrifying streams of ink. I traversed further down the deep, dark metro to ascend into the Promised Land's light. I was soothed by the sweet words spoken by a faceless god behind telephone lines. A small sea slug, his servant. I, his disciple.
Oh, how I failed to be a valuable disciple! Now my memory begins to fail me. The results of that final test— did I pass or fail? I must have failed. Why else would I be subjected to such torment— why else would my consciousness be cleansed, and my soul destroyed? The laughter that accompanied my plunge has since been drowned inside the cold tank, and my senses can only hear the churning of ooze that swirls around my coffin— oh, the smell of fresh soap and bleach— once it meant cleanliness, but now, it only means the death of self.
When I stepped into that wretched container— now a horrid womb— his voice spoke with such splendor and delight. “You’ve proved yourself to be ready for what’s next. That’s right! Now it’s time to join your friends in sanitation!”
That was when he laughed. All of his other words faded away whilst the pool enveloped me. Then, invisible appendages wrapped themselves around my body. They twisted and tugged at my mind. They wanted to rip me apart until I was nothing but goo— even now, they continue to poke and prod like a parasite. Now, as I try to justify this punishment, to remember what he said, my mind only repeats the word “salvation.” Salvation of the Promised Land. Salvation instead of sanitation. Was sanitation, indeed, salvation? Salvation. SALVATION! Curse the word! Curse the mere idea of it!
I have heard something before— a false promise. You may think me a fool for not realizing it sooner, but you must understand how dizzying of a dream the Promised Land was to me. I heard it when I was in the army. I was younger then, both in age and rank. I’m afraid to say that I cannot even remember my position— see what this machine does to me! How dare I praise myself with such pride while I cannot even remember the source of my skill- damn it all! All that remains is the following exchange.
It was my greatest regret, the dreaded Inkantation— a harmonious symphony that showed the light above— above the kettles and the screams— above the darkness and strife— I knew that I was destined for something greater. My senses alighted with a purpose that I had never known. The land of the sun and the Inklings. At that moment, it all felt so closely within my reach, but I could not shake the utter feeling of guilt at my jealousy— my betrayal of ethics and morals. “Have you ever heard of anything so beautiful?” a soldier said beside me.
I turned to them with widened eyes. Had he the same thoughts? “I haven’t,” I answered with utmost honesty.
The fellow laughed, but the laughter did not hold any joy, mirth, or even relief at such shared sentiment. He shook his head, the curled tentacle atop his crown swaying to and fro in a sagging motion. “My dear,” he whispered, “This is a horrible day.”
“How is this so?”
The fellow turned his pale, green eyes towards mine. A small gasp escaped from my lips at his gaze— it was hollow and full of pain so intense that my soul could feel its torture. I already knew the answer before he uttered a single word. “Our world has been changed forever,” he spoke. “We can never go back to who we were before.”
I should have heeded his warning. Now, I am here. The consequences of my dreams turned to hubris. I thought I could be like them. They made it look so impossibly effortless. There were two— no, three of them— Perhaps four. Alas, my memory betrays me once more! Just as I have betrayed my kind. I had done so much for them. I was indeed involved in the theft of the Zapfish. I only know this because— in this pool of cyan— I can feel the same hum of energy that I felt holding onto the creature’s smooth skin. Yes, it is true, this action had no intent of treaty or peacekeeping. Yet, it was these so-called “agents” who journey’d into our land, ravaged our resources, destroyed our kind, and reclaimed a singular source of energy we stole from them. Yet, it was these agents who bore the beauty of harmony and burned it into my very being.
Now, all I feel is ink— my ink— cleansed with the soapy froth that swirled outside of my case. The vibrant magenta now turned into toxic sea foam, the very same I was submerged in. I wish I could say that I remember how it used to glimmer under the fluorescent light like a gemstone— beautiful and wholly me— but green and blue now wash over me. Patterns swirl within a delicate dance, and I am enraptured. Whatever fear or regret I had before— now only a whisper that grows fainter by the second. “Oh, wretched ink!” it sighs in my voice, “Cursed ink! Curse the thing that runs through our bodies, tears my mind, and leads us to oppression.”
Then— quietly, ever so quietly— the whispers stop. My mind is clear— no longer am I plagued by these negative thoughts. I don’t feel anything. I am calm, serene, and focused. No longer will I be burdened or betrayed by my mewling psyche. This truly is the Promised Land! No more should ink blind me— should it bind me— yes, let it be cleansed. Let it be sanitized and bring forth a new dawn of evolution.