Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Agent Eight couldn’t sleep.

Not for a lack of trying, but after everything that had happened in the Deepsea Metro, it was hard to properly get some. When sleep eluded her, she would throw on a skirt and her Retro Jersey, make her way outside of Agent Three’s apartment and towards the currently under construction Hammerhead Bridge. There were a few hours before the construction crew came over where she was able to sit down, relax, and watch the ocean in the distance.

At least, that’s the lie she told herself every time she did so.

She really wanted to look over at that thing - the Weapon of Mass Destruction that resembled the head of an extinct species. It laid there, now dormant, after the events of her last mission. But sometimes her sleep-deprived mind played tricks on her, imagining it roaring back to life and opening its mouth to fire its cannon directly at her.

And honestly? She’d welcome the fight.

Not because she wanted to perish- but because if it did reactivate, that would mean another mission to do. She may have defected from the Octarian Army, but she was still a soldier. Back then life was oppressive, but simple- there was always a mission, always an enemy to fight. She had her training to back her up, a squadron to follow her, and an ideology to believe in (even if it was forced upon her).

And now? She had none of it.

She was without any memories. Without any name.

“Agent Eight.”

No. She did have a name. But not one she would have preferred.

Eight lifted her head up from against the wall she was resting it on, and turned towards the source of the familiar gruff sounding voice.

A few feet away from her was the inkling man whose place she had left. He wore a camo-printed hoodie, with beige cargo pants and black boots. Over his neck, he wore a black scarf that seemed out of place for this weather. His long blue tentacles hung over his head and towards the top of his pants. It was a type of hairstyle mostly associated with inkling women.

Eight didn’t know if he was trying to make some sort of fashion statement with his tentacles, but it did a good job of slightly covering the right side of his face. A teal colored burn patch had been left over from his…forced possession that occurred down in the Metro. Even with the black eyepatch covering Agent Three’s right eye, the teal patch was still seeping through.

She tried to hide her frown whenever she looked at it. It reminded her too much of how she was the one that damaged his eye by tearing that goo off.

Agent Three, for his part, didn’t seem to hold it against her. He still let her stay at his place, small as it was. It was a lot nicer than the mansion Pearl and Mari….Dr. Ida had offered to let her stay in.

“Hey.” Agent Three said taking off a pair of earbuds. He seemingly didn’t notice her pained expression. “Huh. I didn’t think I’d run into you here. I thought you were sleeping in my room. What are you doing here?”

Eight hesitated, unsure of how to properly explain herself. “I'm just taking in the sights.”

Agent Three tilted his head up, gazing past the ocean. “By staring at a weapon of mass destruction. Nice.”

Eight rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, I also wanted to escape from your snark too. Is that too much to ask?” She huffed and turned back around, hugging her knees close to herself while “looking” at the ocean.

Although she had wanted to stay with Agent Three, it was pretty tense between them. He was very hospitable - He helped her with food, let her sleep in his room while he used the couch, and even helped with clothing as well. But they rarely talked, and he seemed to always keep things brief, with a dash of sarcasm here or there.

Plus, in Eight's mind, Agent Three was still an enemy. She fought him multiple times back in the Octo Valley, respawning with new hatred for him every time he got past her. But she knew she shouldn't think that way anymore. He was trying to help. But that feeling was the only thing from her past that she couldn't let go, even if she wanted to.

Eight stared at the ocean and at the deactivated weapon again. She tried to ignore how sleepy she was, and hoped that Agent Three would walk away.

“It’s because of my pillows, right?”

Eight blinked and turned back around, surprised at his sudden question. “What?”

Agent Three was stretching his arms while looking at her.

“My pillows.” He repeated. “Back in the Octo Valley, I had to nap on weird spots in between missions. Rocks, hard ground, old sleeping cots... Didn’t get to sleep properly due to the looming energy and weapons of mass destruction crisis. After that operation, there was another one, and another one. Which meant more weird places to sleep on. Then, once I finally got back to my own bed…”

“The pillows are too soft. My head sinks through, and I can’t sleep.” Eight finished, quietly but just loud enough for Agent Three to hear. Even with most of her memories gone, she could still remember the cold hard mattress of her bunk in the Octarian Army base. The slick surface of the Deepsea Metro’s subway seats. Their familiarity brought her comfort, more than any bed could.

Agent Three gave a small confident but understanding smile. He placed his hands inside of his pockets and stared off at the ocean-or maybe even at the weapon.

“I like to come here too. Early in the morning.” He said, his voice lacking the condescending tone of earlier. “I take a look at the weapon, just to make sure nothing happens.”

Eight couldn’t help but smile back. Maybe there were more similarities between them than she thought. “Anything to report, Agent Three?”

Agent Three took out his right hand and rubbed his chin. “Yeah. Been noticing an Octoling woman sitting over by the rails, staring at it. Don’t think she intends to do anything about reactivating it.”

Eight scoffed, recognizing he was joking. “Very funny.”

She could hear Agent Three walk up. As he got closer, he held his hand out to her. Eight stared at it in confusion.

“After a very thorough report, I go to Inkopolis Plaza to grab some breakfast.” Agent Three explained. “There’s a local cafe there that makes really good breakfast. If we hurry, we don’t have to worry about the line.”

We?

Eight looked up at him, staring at his black eyepatch. She could not forget the moment when she grabbed the goo of his eye and pulled it right off. Eight thought that would be the reason why he was being distant to her. So why invite her to breakfast now?

“You want to get breakfast. With me.” Eight said, bluntly.

“I thought I was pretty clear on that.” Agent Three said with a deadpan tone. “This cafe does this amazing Egg, Sausage, and Cheese sandwich on a croissant. The ice coffee they have is perfect too. Perfect meal to help you perk up after only a few hours of sleep.”

His equally blunt response made Eight scoff, but she did have to admit to herself- she was really hungry. She slowly moved her hand towards his.

“Try no hours of sleep.” Eight retorted. “I think your bed is too comfy.”

“Ah.” Agent Three nodded in understanding. “Alright. Then I’ll make your ice coffee a medium.” “Large.” Eight corrected as she grabbed his hand tight.

“Large it is.”

As he pulled her up, Eight suddenly realized what he meant. The Legendary Agent Three- the sworn enemy that General DJ Octavio had warned all of them about, was going to treat her to breakfast. Even though he had taken care of her in the past, it still felt so strange.

She looked back at the ocean, just to get her mind off the topic of their past. Waves still clashed against the former weapon. Its head was still tilting in the same direction while slowly sinking into the ocean

Same as it ever was.

The mission was over. She had won. And now, she had no idea what to do next.

Eight realized she was keeping Agent Three waiting. When she turned her head back, she saw he was looking off at the weapon too, his head tilted slightly upwards, deep in thought. After a moment, he looked right at her.

“Ready to get the hell out of here?” Agent Three asked.

This time, Eight looked past Agent Three, at the city beyond him. A place she hasn't had the chance to properly visit. Despite the memory loss, she still remembered the heavenly melody, the life of oppression, and the moment she decided to leave. She was done running now.

Maybe this is what she should do next.

“Yeah. Let's go.”

“Are you okay with taking the train?”

Agent Three looked back at Eight from the other side of the turnstile. He passed her his subway card, looking at her with raised eyebrows. She looked around the area. It wasn’t the cleanest subway station in the world, but it was brighter than the Metro. It was also more lively, filled with various inklings, octolings, and other creatures making their way past the other turnstiles.

Eight grabbed the card and swiped it on the terminal, same as it ever was, and pushed through the turnstile. “Well…the train itself never did anything bad to me.”

Agent Three let out a laugh, walking ahead towards a set of stairs that went upwards. “Honestly, the trains down in the Metro might be better than the ones here.”

He led Eight upstairs, onto a raised subway platform. She watched him glance up at a television screen that showed the next train would arrive in about 13 minutes.

“Jogging probably would have been faster.” He snarked to himself before leaning up against the wall. Eight stood a good distance away from him, putting her hands inside her Retro Jersey jacket, and looked around.

A few minutes passed by, and once again they were silent with each other. Eight looked off at the subway tracks, wondering when they would arrive.

“How are you holding up?” Agent Three suddenly asked. Eight looked back at him. He was tilting his head to look at her.

“In what way?” Eight asked back. There was a lot to consider, and she didn’t want to give a broad answer.

Agent Three pointed at his head-his brain. “Your memories. Has anything come back to you?”

Eight closed her eyes, trying to focus. Those Mem Cakes that she was rewarded did help her jog her memory to some degree. She even came up with small poems to remember what each one made her think of. She can remember shadows of other Octolings and events that played out like a VHS on fast forward- but anything specific was lost to her.

She opened her eyes, and looked over at Agent Three, who was staring at her with a serious expression. Her hearts started thumping. What kind of answer was he expecting?

“Nothing.” Eight said. She wasn’t going to give him too much information yet. After all, there was no telling how he would react to it.

Agent Three just nodded and crossed his arms. “Fair enough.”

He looked away and towards the subway tracks again, his eyepatch facing her. Eight supposed it was her turn to pry. She moved into his line of sight.

“What about you? How’s your eye?” She asked, trying to avoid sounding cocky about it.

Agent Three gave a confident smile, like he didn’t just lose an eye due to an injury equivalent to a muzzle burn directly on it. “It’s fine. I feel a little weird, but it’s not in pain anymore.”

Eight squinted at the “little weird” comment. Agent Three immediately added on. “Weird as in, I feel a bit tingly. That possession crap that AI put me under is gone now.”

He went quiet again, which made Eight retreat back to her previous spot, by his blindside, and scrunch her face up. It was hard to talk to him sometimes. It felt like there was a wall there that he would only put down occasionally when he felt like it. It annoyed her to the point of wanting to leave.

And yet, she didn’t want to.

She knew that she probably should have stayed with Pearl and Dr. Ida, like they offered. But there was a small bit of connection between herself and Agent Three that was keeping them together. Their shared experiences not just in the Metro, but in the Octo Valley, all those years ago. Eight supposed she was trying to see how long that connection would last-and if Agent Three felt the same way.

Before Eight could muster up the courage to ask Agent Three how he felt about her, a low rumble filled the station as the train arrived and slowly stopped in front of them. As the subway door slid open, a short jingle played out.

Eight paused. It was THE song. Calamari Inkantaion The heavenly melody that changed everything.

Her mind flashed back for a second, as she remembered a battlefield, tentacle speakers blaring the song- the sight of Agent Three defeating the Octobot King.

She remembered right after-Running up to Agent Three, fighting him one last time. Shooting at him. Taunting him. Punching him. Ultimately, losing to him again. She remembered him picking her up on her feet, and her asking him-

“What is your name?”

“...Agent Three.”

“No! Not that name. I am not just an Octarian soldier, and you are not Agent Three. We’re people. With names.”

She remembered putting her gun away and gesturing towards herself with a proud smile.

“My name is-”

“Eight.”

Eight snapped back into reality. Agent Three had grabbed a hold of her hand, very gently, and was pulling her onto the train. She stumbled in with him onto a slightly crowded subway car. He let go of her once the door closed. Eight couldn’t help but linger onto his hand for as long as she could, only letting go when his fingers left hers.

“Sorry.” He said. “You were just standing there. Didn’t want to lose you.”

Eight blinked, losing the memory as she looked around. It was still early morning, so there were a few people who were on their way towards a day shift in the city. She looked back at Agent Three, who motioned for her to follow towards the end of the subway car that had two empty seats across from each other.

“It will be about 5 stops until we get there.” Agent Three said as he sat down. There was more sitting room next to him, but there was also a seat across. Eight hesitated for a second before she decided to sit across from him. He made no comment about it. Instead, he shuffled his legs with the added room. He looked at her again.

“Have you talked to Off the…Chain, was it? Pearl and Dr. Ida. Or I guess, Marina.”

So he called Marina “Dr. Ida” too. The name came from her position as Chief Engineer, and the PhD she received from her studies. It was a formal nickname, one that only those in the battlefield would know her as. In the short time Dr. Ida and Eight talked, she had tried to get Eight to call her more informally. “That's not me anymore.” she insisted. Eight had a hard time believing that, seeing the weapons she had built over the years. And she felt guilty for thinking that way.

“They’re called Off the Hook.” Eight said. “And we only chatted…a little bit. Dr. Ida gave me a phone to use, and sometimes we text. But it’s not very easy to keep in touch with them.”

Agent Three nodded. “I get that. I don’t tend to talk to Craig after a mission either. It’s nothing personal. I just need to decompress from everything.”

There was a moment of realization upon his face. He looked at her eyes, intrigued. “Am I right?”

Eight paused. Was this an attempt to connect with her? Or to find out more about a potential enemy? Should she answer and give him full satisfaction?

“Yes.” Eight said, going for a middle ground. “They are too much. I appreciate what they did for me, but…”

She couldn’t help but try to test him now, to see how he would respond. He looked like he wanted to. His mouth opened up, about to speak, while his remaining eye squinted at her. He was studying her.

They were no longer in physical battle, but this certainly felt like a mental one. His stare was still as intense as ever, just like from their last few battles. She remembered still pressing forward when she was forced to fight him-both in the Octo Valley, and in the Metro.

She was tired. Very much so. But the urge to do something about that stare-to leap into action, was propelling her ever so slightly.

She quickly shook her head.

He’s not an enemy.

“I just need to decompress. Like you said.” Eight concluded. There was no need to overcomplicate things. “I chose to stay with you because I think we are genuinely alike. And I like that.”

“Is that so?” Agent Three said, still leaning forward and on guard. “Huh.”

“Do you see that…connection too?” Eight asked, also leaning forward in anticipation.

“Yeah. I do. That’s why we’re hanging out.”

Eight scoffed. The slightly sarcastic way he said that did not make her feel any better at all “You should have told me that.”

Agent Three raised his hands up defensively. “Hey. We’re getting breakfast together, aren’t we?”

Eight wondered why nobody has ever smacked Agent Three yet. Most importantly, why SHE hasn’t done it yet. She chalked it up to being a few feet away from him, and looked out the window.

The train was traveling on high rise rail tracks, allowing the rising sun to shine inside the subway car. The warm sunshine made Eight feel so alive. It was quite different from the fake sun the domes in the Octo Valley had. She yearned for it back then. Having a chance to feel it now was equal parts satisfying and surreal.

She witnessed the city passing them by. She was no stranger to tall buildings, but the contrast with the very real sky and sun made them seem so new. Occasionally, she’ll notice in the window Agent Three’s reflection, who was either looking outside or at her. She didn’t want to turn around and investigate fully.

The train stopped, and the Calamari Inkantation jingle played again. It was louder inside than it was outside, and it echoed throughout the train car.

Eight caught herself smiling. She noticed Agent Three’s reflection smiling too. Unable to help herself, she turned around to face him. The song was bringing them closer together.

“It’s a good song,” Agent Three said softly.

Eight nodded. “A very good song.”

Agent Three leaned forward in his seat. “Do you…remember…” He started, stumbling on his words a bit. “Being there? When that song was playing?”

She remembered her earlier flashback- the question she had asked him. Even before that final fight against the Octobot King, she still remembered bits of numerous other encounters with him. The advice he would give upon beating her…

”Your .52 Gal overheated, didn't it?”

“The Splat Charger can only hold 5 fully charged shots. You fired 5 before, you tried to hold onto a 6th. You have to get a feel for how many you have left.”

“Using a Charger calls for a different offensive style than a Shooter. It's easy to get carried away. There's a hard vibration when you're trying to load on an empty tank.”

“You're forgetting one very important thing. You don’t have what it takes to kill me.”

It was odd that Agent Three, back then an enemy, would want to help her. But she respected that as much as he respected her.

Eight sat up, excited. “Yes…I do remember.” She said, “It was when you fought the Octobot King.”

“We fought that day too.” Agent Three tilted his head up, reminiscing. “You’re pretty good. Actually, we fought a lot before that.”

He closed his eyes and sat back. “Your codename was Unit N-008. You were an Elite Octoling, leading a squadron. They listened to your every word.”

Eight had vague memories of other octolings following her around, in formation. She remembered the heavy feeling in her hearts whenever they were seeking him. They had all met great pain from Agent Three during battle, and it made her feel slightly weak to think about how she was now just casually hanging out with him. What would they think of her?

“They were good. And you beat them up.” Eight said, letting slip a sad tone.

Agent Three, for his part, didn't make any witty remarks.

“It was scary to face them. They were organized and careful. I got splatted a few times too.” He opened his eyes and smiled. “There were some times as well, when you wanted to fight one on one. Those were fun.”

“It…was.” Eight found herself saying, without even thinking. She paused, wondering where that came from. Was this a part of herself that she forgot? She shook her head. “Does fighting make you happy?”

Agent Three, unlike her, didn’t hesitate. He nodded. “Yeah. It’s what I’m good at.”

Eight raised an eyebrow. “Is this how all inklings are? Do you all enjoy that sort of lifestyle?”

For a moment, Agent Three didn’t answer. He looked down, deep in thought, and started speaking slowly.

“I can't speak for everyone. I think a lot of inklings who like Turf War enjoy it as a sport. Most of them wouldn't even think about actually doing the things I do. Probably.”

“So, you're supposed to be different? How come?”

Agent Three didn’t think about the question for a second before he let out a single laugh. “I thought we were trying to figure out your past, Eight.”

“Not much to talk about, I can’t remember most of it.” Eight grimaced. “Where I’m from, the people I know- I can’t recall much of anything. I can’t even remember my own name.”

This time, Agent Three froze. His left eye glanced down at the ground, and his cheeks flushed red. Eight tilted her head to the side, confused at this sudden display.

“Oh.” He said, with the same tone one would say if they had left a stove on at home.

“Oh?”

Agent Three looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I know your name. And you know mine. We told each other about it 2 years ago in the Octo Valley, after my fight with the Octobot King.”

The train lurched to a sudden stop. The announcer made some sort of comment about how there was train traffic ahead, but Eight didn't care.

“You know my name?”

Agent Three looked surprised too, but he slowly recovered as he talked again. “Yeah. After I beat Octavio, you showed up and wanted to have one last fight. You insisted that we shared our names. So we did.”

Eight glared at Agent Three. “But why haven't you called me by my name yet?”

“I just went with what everyone calls you. Eight. Well, Agent Eight is a mouthful, so I shortened it to Eight. I don’t pry when it comes to names.”

That was probably the lamest excuse Eight had ever heard, yet knowing how blunt Agent Three was, it wasn’t surprising. She scrunched her face up.

“But…what about your name? You’re fine with me calling you Agent Three?”

Agent Three was still looking at her with a deadpanned expression. “It’s what I’m called, yeah. You can also just call me Three. It’s no big deal.”

The prospect of standing up to smack him was really tempting. Instead she let out a frustrated sigh.

Agent Three continued. “Do you want to know your name?”

“Of course I-”

No.

Another part of her stopped the words from coming out. She could so easily ask for it, but the prospect of learning her name made her skin crawl.

Names have associations, meaning, and memories. Eight wasn’t so sure if she wanted them all back yet. She woke up without her memories and felt better- was that a bad sign?

If she were to ask, and he were to say it, what would come flooding back? Would it even come flooding back?

Did she want to risk it?

She must have paused for too long. Agent Three spoke up while looking at her.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He whispered. “I understand.”

Did he, though? Eight bit her lip. Part of her wanted to dismiss him, and yet, another part of her wanted to accept that he could understand.

“Thank you.”

So she nodded and looked out the window behind her again, watching the sun rise. The train started to move again, and Eight made sure to mentally recount how many stops were left until they reached Inkopolis Plaza.

A question lingered in her mind. One that she probably had hoped never to ask herself. She had to prepare herself for the possibility, however.

Should we have connected?

“How do you want it?” Agent Three asked in a serious tone.

Eight didn’t bother to look back. How did she want it? Straight and simple? Or maybe she should just accept her current codename, or make a new one? One letter at a time, maybe?

“I don’t know.”

Agent Three shrugged. “It’s fine. I usually get my ice coffee with 3 milk and 2 sugars.”

Ah.

Okay, now she really should smack him.

Chapter Text

Inkopolis Plaza was next to Inkopolis Square, although it seemed to Eight that people nowadays much preferred the latter. There weren’t too many people around the place, besides a few younger teens here and there who were probably visiting for sightseeing. At least, that’s what Agent Three told her as they got off the train.

The small lack of people didn’t take away Eight’s amusement of the place. She glanced around the colorful buildings with her mouth open in awe. The tanuki and fox statues caught her attention as they stared at her, high above everyone. In between them was the giant green tower, where a few other inklings were making their way into. A Great Zapfish was curled up to it, a dopey and relaxed look on its face.

“There’s that living battery you guys liked so much.” Agent Three said from behind her, as he went past the turnstile. “Looks like it's sticking around here today.”

Eight smirked. She can remember fuzzy but warm memories of helping with taking it away from the tower. The repairs to their aircraft took weeks thanks to its struggling. “You know, we DID think it would have been used to power our homes, and not to enhance multiple weapons of destruction.”

“Yeah? I don’t blame you for believing that. Octavio must have quite the way with words, like a politician.”

Eight glared back over at Agent Three. It was true she had left the domes because of his strict rule, but in her hearts, he was still someone worthy of respect. “He’s no politician. He’s a warrior.”

Agent Three gave her a bemused look. He walked ahead, while turning to face her with the same confident grin from earlier. “A lying warrior losing his army. You and Marina are proof of that.”

Eight couldn't exactly argue with that. Still, liar or not, it wasn’t easy to leave him. She found herself frowning at the thought.

Agent Three quickly noticed and gestured behind himself. “But enough about politics. Let's eat.”

He was pointing at a building with a glass window that laid beneath a TV studio, with a raised railing providing some shade. Like the rest of the Plaza, it wasn't entirely filled up, but some other people were inside, casually eating.

“Looks like we beat the morning rush.” Agent Three walked over to the door, putting his hand on the handle. Eight found it hard to imagine what he would consider a morning rush to be in a ghost town like this, but she kept that thought to herself. Agent Three continued on. “You figured out how you want your coffee?”

Eight rubbed her eyes, now fully conscious of how tired she was.

“Black.” She said mid-yawn.

“Damn.” Agent Three immediately laughed. “That's hardcore. I didn't expect that.”

What did you expect? Eight wanted to ask. But again, she found herself not able to muster the courage to ask. So she just shrugged. “We were served coffee as part of our rations in the military. But items such as sugar and cream were a luxury. Most of the time, we used those sugar packets as a form of currency with each other.”

Another smaller memory popped up in her head. A handful of sugar packets in her pocket, trading it with another octoling for help with the current history assignment. Other octolings too would approach Eight with sugar packets to have her clean their weapons. It was a somber time that she found herself missing.

“Consider yourself the richest octoling soldier then.” Agent Three said as he opened the door to the cafe. “Things are different here.”

A cool wind hit Eight's entire body as she stood by the door. Peering inside, she can see that the cafe, while small, was filled with very modern and minimalistic black and brown furniture. It was very clean, and that cold wind-that's air conditioning! It wasn’t damp, or riddled with health violations. Eight almost didn't know where to start after walking in. Agent Three followed behind again, leading her to a nearby counter table attached to the window. He pointed at a menu display left on it.

“Again, my treat.” He said. “Their croissant sandwich is really good, but feel free to grab anything else.”

Eight glanced over the menu. It was, of course, written mostly in Inkling. There were pictures there to help, but the choices began to overwhelm her. There were so many. She thanked her lucky stars that Agent Three was really good at speaking Octoling, or who knows what their conversations would be like.

“I'll just have what you're having.” Eight said.

Agent Three nodded, moving away towards the cashier. Eight rested her hands and head on the table, looking outside of the Plaza to take in the scenery. She had been at the Square, very briefly, but long enough to know that it was quite interesting. And crowded, with inklings and octolings alike. Meanwhile, The Plaza was wider- or maybe it felt that way because of the lack of people around.

If she thought hard about it, while she tapped the beat of Calamari Inkantation with her knuckle on the table, she could remember times where she was sent to the Plaza for recon missions. Spying on the inklings and their culture, figuring out the best COA - Course of Action - to help their aircraft take the Zapfish. Long meetings with other Octolings about their attempts to save their home blurred in her mind. The day when they did take the Great Zapfish was the greatest moment ever. Everyone thought their homes were saved, and they didn't have to live in the dark.

“Pretty cool, right?”

Agent Three had a very uncanny ability to sneak up on people even out of a mission. Eight shot up and turned around, watching as he placed a tray on the counter table. There were two sandwiches, two plastic cups of ice coffee and a heap of sugar packets and packets of cream.

“That's for both of us.” He said as he grabbed a few of the packets, while sitting to the right of her. He started taking off his scarf and placed it on the end of the table. “I know you want yours black, but I thought I'd give you the option.”

Eight watched Agent Three open up his cup of ice coffee, pouring the sugar in casually, stirring it with a spoon, and then unwrapping his meal. Inside was a finely put together croissant sandwich, with a perfectly browned sausage, melted cheese on top, and a layer of scrambled eggs.

Agent Three glanced at her. “Are you okay?”

“Uh…” Eight, flustered, grabbed her sandwich first. ”Sorry. It's a new sight for me. These look amazing.”

Agent Three smiled at her softly. “Enjoy.”

She unwrapped hers and was greeted with the same delightful sandwich. The foil around it was warm in her hands. Cautiously, she took a small bite out of it.

Every day her tastebuds were greeted by a new delight, thanks to Agent Three helping with food. This time was no different. The distinct flavoring of each part of the sandwich immediately perked Eight up, and soon after she swallowed, she took another bite.

As she ate, she looked over at Agent Three. Since he was sitting to her right, she could see his left eye glancing out the window, watching over the Plaza. His face was relaxed, not really focused on anything in particular, but seemingly just the small amount of other people in the area.

Eight felt a little bit at ease, thanks to the food and relaxed atmosphere. She hadn't quite gotten over how stupid it was that Agent Three knew her name and some of her old life and just…never said it. But then again, she was already hesitant to learn everything fully. She disliked how unsure she was regarding her memories. Maybe it was time to start fresh with him.

After all, the past is past, and he's right there.

Eight swallowed her food and looked outside. “Did you use to hang out here a lot?”

Agent Three nodded. He grabbed a straw and handed it over to Eight, before unwrapping his own and putting it in his cup. “Yup.”

There was a long pause. Eight figured that he didn't divulge any further like on the subway. However, after a few seconds of drinking, he slowly continued. “...I did all sorts of Ink Battles here. Turf War and Ranked. Squad battles too. I played …‘profreshsionally’... for a while.”

Maybe the food made it easier for him to talk. Eight tried to search her own shaky memories with something from herself. She shook off anything too upsetting for either of them to hear. “Well, for me, in the military academy, we had mock battles too. But deep in specialised training facilities.”

“Hmm.” Agent Three nodded. “Sounds like it worked out, considering your abilities.”

Eight smiled at the compliment, before stopping herself. Maybe it wasn't a good thing to be happy about her militarized past. “Do you still do these ink battles?”

“Not anymore.” He said. “And you probably know why.”

There was an uneasy silence as they both approached the topic of his “occupation”. She knew what he was talking about. Being Agent Three probably took up a lot of time in his life.

Eight put a straw through her cup, bringing it closer to her mouth. “Oh, I'm sure I do, Agent Three.” She replied with a cocky smile, unable to help herself while taking a sip.

Luckily, Agent Three gave a tiny laugh at her joke. “But just because I'm busy with you-know-what, it doesn't mean we can't take a break together and partake in some Inkling culture. Don't you think so?”

Eight paused. He wants to do more? She didn’t expect that at all. “I barely have any money.”

“So?” Agent Three said. “Like I said earlier, it's my treat.”

He was now looking over at her with a serious expression. Eight frowned slightly, finding his willingness to help rather unnerving.

“...Agent Three. You still haven't told me why you're being nice to me. It's not like the situation down there, where I needed help.” Eight said quietly.

Agent Three's serious look faded away. He looked genuinely surprised at her reaction. “We talked earlier about connections and how we shared them.”

Eight shook her head. It was a weird question to ask, and perhaps he misunderstood. “I mean in general…Why did you choose to help me?”

Agent Three paused- not even stopping to eat. Before Eight could add on, he interrupted.

“I like you.” He suddenly said, “I think we should get along. It's as simple as that.”

Eight shut her mouth quickly. Was it really as simple as that? Then again, it's not like Agent Three was the easiest person to read. She lowered her coffee cup down in her hand, glummily trying to figure out what to say next.

“Is it because we were on different sides in the past?” Agent Three asked. He turned his body towards her, resting his arm on the table.

“...Yes.” Eight said. “We are…no, we WERE enemies. I would think there'd be some resentment from you towards me.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” Agent Three said while stirring his coffee with a straw.

There might be.

After all, this is the same Agent Three that singlehandedly stole back every Zapfish. The same Agent Three that snuck into the domes, defeated her and her squadron every single time, and left without a trace. A part of her felt some resentment, but she wondered if that was something from her old life, trying to resurface.

Because on the other hand, it’s not like she entirely agreed with what DJ Octavio was doing. She remembered thinking they were fighting to defend their homes-but using the Zapfish purely for The Great Octoweapons, without being told about it- was something that made Eight realize things weren’t as black and white as her mind told her it was.

Agent Three continued. “I won't pretend we weren't on other sides. But I also won't pretend we weren't two people doing their jobs.”

A job? Eight didn't think she considered her time in the Octarian Army as a job. The thought of Agent Three thinking of his exploits as such unnerved her.

“Were you forced to be Agent Three?” She asked, somewhat dreading the answer.

“No. I chose it.”

“Why?”

Why did you choose to hurt me and my friends?

No-keep it civil, Eight. He’s not doing anything wrong.

Yet.

Agent Three seemed to realize the conversation could get cold fast. He focused his gaze on her again.

“My … brother… told me something once.” He closed his eyes. “Fighting was the only thing I’m good at. But at least I always fought for what I believed in.”

Eight glared back at him, her words immediately venomous. “Was fighting my friends something to believe in?”

Agent Three immediately shook his head. “What I believed in was that no place should have weapons of mass destruction. Neither the inklings, the Octarians, the Salmonoids…We have a responsibility after all.”

“What responsibility?!” Eight asked, absolutely bewildered.

“To recognize the mistakes we made as a species. To make sure we don’t let people have weapons of mass destruction in their hands. You saw what happened with that ‘human’ weapon.”

Upon hearing the word ‘human’, Eight could already see it in her mind. The speech that AI made towards all of them regarding the failures of their kind. The unsettling noise it made as it prepared to fire its cannon all over the world.

“We need to remember.” Agent Three said slowly. “To spread the word. To fight for change. That’s why I fight as Agent Three.”

Eight squinted at him. Fighting for change was something DJ Octavio was trying to do too. He hailed himself as a hero to his people. “Do you and the rest of your group think of yourself as heroes?”

Agent Three was not disturbed by her barbed questions. He steadfastly stared back at her. “I’m not as arrogant as that. We aren’t even vigilantes. It’s just that ever since I first heard Calamari Inkantation, I realized that we can't let things stay as they were 100 years ago. We shouldn’t.”

There was another long silence between them, with the only sounds being the conversations from the other patrons behind them, paying them no mind. It was Eight who broke the line of sight to Agent Three, out of shame.

It made sense that Agent Three was also affected by the Calamari Inkantation. It was yet another thing they shared. She remembered feeling a similar way too upon first hearing the heavenly melody. It was why she tried to reach out to him and ask for his name afterwards, despite being enemies. She hated this inner conflict with herself. To like him or to hate him-It was easy to split on him, and it wasn't entirely his fault.

She looked back at her half eaten sandwich. It felt wrong to eat it.

“Sorry.” Eight said. “I shouldn't have gotten angry.”

She said that last part more towards herself than towards Agent Three. She listened as he pulling the wrapper off his sandwich.

“It's okay to be angry.” Agent Three said gently. “I hurt you and your friends to get to where we are now. And that was before I fully understood why I was doing so. I did it because Craig needed me to. He was stuck in his old ways. Things changed when I saw that first Octoweapon, and…”

Eight looked back at Agent Three, who was gripping onto his sandwich and staring at it, as if lost in a memory. He leaned forward and took a bite out of it.

“I wanted you to know what the Squidbeak Splatoon stands for now. We're not tools of any one species. Not now, not ever. Not again.”

Eight’s anger had already faded away fully, now replaced with shame towards herself. Even though Agent Three was being a bit snarky, he was still rather kind. Maybe it was the memory loss, but Eight struggled to reconcile with the idea he could be either bad or good. But if she did get all of them back, what would her perception of him be?

Was she setting herself up for an explosive end staying by Agent Three's side?

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of Agent Three balling up the wrapper that his sandwich was in. He was certainly a fast eater. He put it gently on the tray and looked back at Eight.

“Do you remember why you used to fight?” He asked quietly. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

Eight thought about it again. Unfortunately for her, memories of battle were probably the only thing she could remember “clearly”. After hearing Agent Three out, Eight felt it was only fair to try to talk to him.

“I can remember I was forced to fight. A lot of girls my age were.” Eight admitted. Although she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel Agent Three gazing at her. She closed her eyes to search for the memory. “But I think I…enjoyed the chance to prove myself useful to my people. Down there, if you didn’t fight, you weren’t deserving of nice things. And even if you did fight, they loved to make you their weapon. An admired one, sure but…”

She reached her hand forward and grabbed her ice coffee, putting the straw inside her mouth and taking a long sip. After a moment to collect herself, she continued, still trying to find the right words.

“Even things like your real name were taken away when you joined. You were only allowed to use your codename. I thought if I fight for my country-if I could beat you, I could have the right to hear people talk to me properly again.”

Agent Three quickly interjected, leaning forward towards her in a way that caught her off guard. He had an upset look on his face. “Your name is yours from birth. You don’t have to earn it.”

Eight looked back at him with a saddened expression. “That’s just how it was down there. I can’t just unlearn everything just because I’m here now.”

That was probably the most she’s ever opened up about herself to anyone ever. Even Pearl and Marina didn’t get to see this side of her. She thought Marina would get it, but with her status back in the Octo Valley as a high ranking member, she might as well have lived in a different world from Eight. Marina was a hero to the Octolings, and Eight was just Eight. Maybe Eight had passing resentment for Marina too. (Cod, at this point, did she like anybody?)

“We have a saying in our home.” Eight continued, remembering the sight of wasabi in her mind. She couldn’t help but smile somewhat at the memory, even if the words he said weren't so happy. “A name means nothing on the battlefield-”

“-After a week, nobody has a name.”

Eight looked at Agent Three, who was crossing his arms and looking at her with a small smile.

“I'm familiar with the saying.” He said. “Who taught you that?”

“I…It was DJ Octavio. He said he came up with it himself.”

“Really? Because I learned that from Craig, and he said he came up with it himself.”

Eight couldn’t help but laugh slightly. Agent Three’s smile grew wider.

“See? Maybe we shouldn't take too much stock in what old men have to say sometimes.” Agent Three said as he grabbed his cup of ice coffee, now half full, and started to swirl it around in the air.

“Well, you had the choice to ignore your old man. I didn’t.” Eight replied, although she was trying to continue the more jovial tone. “I do appreciate you trying.”

Agent Three gave her a tiny finger salute as he leaned back in his chair. “Happy to help.”

Before Eight could look back out at the window, Agent Three interrupted her train of thought.

“You lived in a society where you had to earn things with your military service. Maybe we can find a way for you to…earn the right to hear your name.”

Eight blinked, not expecting that sort of solution. To other people, it may seem ridiculous, but for her, it was just what she needed to hear at that moment.

“I’d like that, truly.” Eight said. “I’ll let you know if an idea comes up.”

“Good. Although, as always, you can just ask me normally.” Agent Three gestured out the window. “But for now, we should skip any more deep talk and do some shopping to lift the mood.”

Eight smiled back, enjoying the small bravado he was putting up. It certainly made her feel safer. “Sure. I'm intrigued to see what the Legendary Agent Three used to do on a daily basis.”

She said the nickname sarcastically at him. It was one that was tossed around a lot down in the Octo Valley, as a way to show a bit of respect towards how he was able to revolutionize the Octarians.

Agent Three gave her a curious look. “Legendary? That's what you called me down there? I thought you'd have something more derogatory.”

“Oh, we did. You became Legendary after you destroyed the Octobot King. The past insults though were much more derogatory.” Eight grabbed her sandwich and took a few more bites, feeling more comfortable to do so. “Stuff like shithead.”

“You forgot your name but you remember calling me a shithead?” Agent Three nearly busted out laughing. “Shithead might be more accurate anyway. Reality is no match for the legend, I'm afraid.”

Maybe it was because he was being kind to her now, but Eight felt as if that couldn’t be true at all. Her prior annoyance at him was going away, replaced with admiration for the way he acted. Maybe before she was just hungry and tired.

“I don’t believe that.” Eight smiled, hoping it would perk him up. “You're being very nice.”

Agent Three didn’t say anything in response. But he did offer her a small smirk as he grabbed his scarf and started putting it back on.

“So, where to next? We got a good view of Booyah Base here. Lots of stores you can go to. Clothes mostly. See anything you like?”

Eight leaned forward from her seat, staring outside. She scanned the shopping gallery, trying to find something that stuck out. A large poster depicting a red sneaker adorned one shop. Next to it, a banner showing off a set of clothes advertised another. After that one, was a marquee of a crown, probably advertising for hats. She glanced over towards the right of the hat store and immediately smiled at the site of a store with a dilapidated banner and greenery coming out of it.

“I know exactly where to go.”

“I absolutely think you're planning my demise on a subconscious level with one of these guns.” Agent Three said as he watched Eight examine the shelves of weapons.

Eight laughed at his joke. It was pretty silly that, out of all of the places she chose to go to, her first instinct was to go to the gun shop. Sure, she admired the fashion of the inklings, especially those that she found in that magazine in the Metro. She had always wanted to express herself as freely as the inklings in there did, cool poses and all. But in times like these, where she had nothing else to her, familiarity triumphed for now.

Ammo Knights, as the shop was called, reminded her more of home. It was a dull concrete gray compound with shelves of weapons, sub weapons, and canned specials, all neatly organized. Some weapons were hanging on the walls, which were usually displayed models of the latest gear.

“If I am to adjust to this society, I better get used to the gun culture here.” Eight said as she looked back at him. It amazed her how easily accessible it all was.

Agent Three nodded in agreement. He was looking around the store casually himself with his half full ice coffee in hand. “It probably should be more regulated. But that’s just the way of life here.”

Eight’s eyes caught wind of a simple shooter gun on the wall, labeled “Splattershot 2.0.”

“What about this?” She asked, pulling it off from a rack on the wall. She turned towards him. “This is a-”

“A Splattershot, huh? I heard about this new model.” Agent Three said. He quickly finished his cup of iced coffee and tossed it in the nearby trash can without looking. Eight handed it over to him quickly, feeling as if he would have grabbed it off her anyway. He looked over the gun, his eye lighting up. “Incredible…”

“Do you like it?”

Agent Three stood closer to Eight’s left side, till they were shoulder to shoulder. He cradled the Splattershot in his hands like it was a baby and showed it to her.

“The first model Splattershot had an ink tank that fed the stock via a ring that connected both of them. Now they replaced it with a reinforced version that meshes perfectly with the ink tank. The stock’s been iron-welded and scraped down multiple times for maximum precision. The front strap part of the stock has been checkered on all sides to make it dig into the hand better. A new section for a magazine well...the tank’s cap has an easier grip to take off and screw back on…nearly every part of this gun has been expertly crafted and customized, and it's all for mass production.”

Eight was very apologetic that during the whole entire speech he went on, she was looking directly at him rather than at the gun itself. His entire face had lit up in a way she never expected from someone as serious as him. She was glad to be standing on his blind spot-she wouldn’t want him to catch her staring so long.

Agent Three held the model gun down the hallway, aiming down it, and clicking on the trigger.

Click!

He brought it down and looked at it with a proud smile.

“I’ll buy this one.” He said while waving it up in the air. “Sheldon has outdone himself.”

Eight was unable to hold back her smile when he turned to face her.“You really seem to like it.”

Agent Three looked over at the rest of the store, scanning over everything with squinted eyes. His expression returned back to normal as he did so, as if he realized he had gone overboard. “You should buy something too. All of this stuff is really good. ”

Eight shifted her focus away from Agent Three from a moment and towards the wall again. Her eyes finally laid on a set of Splat Dualies that were hanging on a wall display next to the Splattershot Agent Three had picked. While she couldn’t ramble off about all of its details like Agent Three had, she knew deep in her hearts that she loved using them. It proved very helpful in those tests.

She grabbed it off the wall and looked over at it. She appreciated their ease of use and mobility. The way she was able to revolve them around in her hands was nice too.

“Agent Three.” Eight called out to him. “I want these.”

He walked over to her and squinted his eye at them. She half expected him to go on another ramble.

“I got nothing on this.” Agent Three admitted. “All I know about them is that they broke the Dual Squelcher into two as a prototype for these. Personally. I don’t get why you’d wanna use two guns at once.”

Eight smirked at his cluelessness, playfully bumping her shoulder into him. “Well, all the more reason to get it then. I’d have the information advantage against you.”

“Oh please.” Agent Three laughed. “We’d have to see about that. Gimme it, and I’ll check it out for us. Then, we can go to the training range to try it.”

Eight gleefully did so, humming to herself as she made Agent Three turn towards the counter to pay for her. Despite her hesitation, she was beginning to warm up to the idea of Agent Three treating her so nicely. Even if she truly didn’t understand it herself.

As she stood alone with her thoughts, she tried to make peace with a simple idea. She liked him too, just like how he liked her. Probably too much for her own good. She was in a struggle with the remnants of her past self, who reminded her that she had to hate him.

That's right, don't blame yourself. Blame me.

Agent Three was an enemy - Someone who wasn't going to stop fighting. And yet…She admired the way he fought. She loved watching him fight.

And she couldn’t deny that she loved fighting him. Maybe it was her Octarian pride.

But what more is there to love about Agent Three?

She watched over him at the cashier, talking to the twin shopkeepers over the weapon selection he was purchasing.

I suppose we'd have to find out.

The shooting range Agent Three took Eight to was different from the ones in the Octarian Military Base. It was all outdoors, and the walls were decorated with posters and other stickers. If any Octoling did this, they would have been put on scrubbing duty. In front of them were a few Squid Bumpers, ready to take a beating.

Eight placed the box of her new Dualies down on a nearby small table. She put on the shooting range’s ink tank on her back gently, making sure it connected to her body properly. She looked up, and saw Agent Three next to her, quickly opening up his Splattershot’s box. With his other hand, he slung on his Ink Tank while pulling out the weapon out of its box, still in its plastic frames. He walked past her and towards the training dummies, shaking the frames off the weapon and flipping it towards its proper orientation.

It dawned on her that, again, Agent Three was very much lacking a right eye. She didn’t know if it'd be rude to practice her new gun in front of him, when it seemed like he couldn't use them himself-

BAM BAM BAM!

Eight blinked and watched as Agent Three brought the sight of the Splattershot to his eyepatch. The shots hit the nearest Squid Bumper directly, exploding on the third hit. He casually looked back at the gun, humming to himself.

Eight stifled an eye roll. Just what she expected from the Legendary Agent Three. Of course losing an eye wouldn't phase him. Why would it?

“Sorry.” He said, looking over at her. “You just got a new gun too. Or guns, I guess.”

He gestured towards the Squid Bumper that slowly popped back to life.

“You should try it.”

It was a friendly invitation, with a hint of a challenge. Try to shoot that Squid Bumper better than I could, Agent Three (probably) said. Eight quickly removed the Splat Dualies from their box, removed their frames, and then revolved the dualies in her hand, psyching herself up.

She looked down the long room. There were three Squid Bumpers, lined up a few feet apart from each other in a vertical line. Agent Three had shot down towards the first Bumper that was closest to them. If she was going to show off, she was going to do it right.

Eight's muscle memory kicked in, jogged back thanks to the “training” from the Metro. She ran up, then rolled forward so that she was in between the front squid bumper and the middle one. With her right hand, she started to fire a few shots at the front bumper. Then, as she kept firing with her right, she swung her body around towards the left, where the middle bumper was. She held her left hand out, aiming her dualies sideways and firing. The force of the gun moved her left arm towards the middle bumper, letting her shoot it down.

The front bumper let out a pop! Then, a second later, so did the middle bumper. Both of them were destroyed at nearly the same time.

Eight looked back at Agent Three, who had an intrigued look on his face.

“How was that?” She asked, smiling at him. He smiled back.

“You rolled up thanks to the Splat Dualies. Then, you aimed at the closet Squid bumper and fired directly…”

Agent Three held his left hand up, his pointer and middle finger bending as if holding down a gun’s trigger. He then moved his hand horizontally, mimicking her motion. “Then you held your left gun sideways. And used the muzzle jump to create a horizontal sweep. That was fresh.”

Eight smiled, basking in the recognition. She pointed one of her dualies at Agent Three, moving it horizontally like he did.

“It's an Octarian technique.” Eight admitted, smiling. “I probably could have made more moves like that if I stuck around.”

A moment later, it dawned on her that she was casually pointing her gun down at Agent Three. She quickly put it back down, hoping he didn’t take it the wrong way. The notion just felt so natural to do.

Agent Three didn’t seem to mind at all though. “I’m glad you’re sort of on my side now. Imagine if we fought each other again.”

Eight’s eyes widened as an idea filled her mind. She felt a fire lit up inside of her, hearing him say those words.

“Agent Three.” She perked up, holding her dualies close to her sides. “I think I know what I want to do to earn my name.”

Agent Three put his gun down on the table. “Alright. I’m listening. How do you want it?”

Eight recalled how she used to fight him in the past. Age hadn't slowed him down one bit over the past two years. It used to frustrate her, she thinks, that Agent Three was damn good at combat. She yearned to beat him, with her own hands, using her weapon of choice to bring her and her people glory.

None of that mattered anymore of course, since she defected from the Octarians. Her feelings were still there, dormant- especially ever since she “beat” him in the Metro. But if she was being real here- that was hardly a fight. It was some sea slug using him as a puppet, imitating the legend, but not quite able to pull off his moves. Even the Agent Three in her head that she mentally fought off felt wrong. No doubt, it was influenced by the poor display that the possessed Agent Three showed.

She studied Agent Three, who was still waiting for her to speak. She thought back to what she saw him do earlier. Nothing seemed to have stopped him. He still aimed down the gun with his right eye- the same one that was damaged- and hit his shots quite well. It excited her to know he was still in good form. She wanted to understand him, and there was only one way to do so.

Eight gave Agent Three a determined look. She was raised as a fighter. She shouldn’t deny otherwise.

“I want to duel you properly.” Eight declared. “To learn my name.”

Chapter Text

Eight didn’t expect Agent Three to stare at her for as long as he did. He seemed to be stunned by what she had requested, judging by his wide eyed look. Eight tried to not back down, but staring at his eye for too long was getting rather tiresome.

Agent Three finally broke the silence with a small scoff of disbelief. “I thought you had your fill of fighting me down in the Metro.”

Eight shook her head. She felt slightly more comfortable now to open up thanks to his kindness, but there was still some lingering shame for what she was asking. Yet, she just couldn’t help herself. This is what she wanted, and if he was going to offer to help, she should try to take it, right?

“No. That was not a proper duel.” Eight said. She recalled their earlier conversation in the cafe as she crossed her arms to guard herself. “That was both of us on the job.”

Agent Three smirked at her callback, before pointing at his eyepatch. “A job that I was forced to do. I even lost the use of my eye because of it.”

“I hope that's not an excuse.” Eight said, moving closer towards him to dominate more of the conversation. “You're not going to let that stop you, will you?”

Although Eight had only seen him use the Splattershot for a short while, the way he carried himself showed that he hasn’t let that bother him one bit. On some level, it was concerning that he was able to push himself despite his injury. On the other hand, a part of her had a feeling he’d be alright. He had to be.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Agent Three said with a determined tone.

There was a tense air before Agent Three let out another small laugh.

“You know.” He said as he grabbed his gun off the table, holstering it to his side. “Usually friends would join up together to make a team.”

Eight tilted her head. “Is that what we are? Friends?”

They’ve known each other for only a short time, and it had been very much on and off in terms of the tension, but knowing he seemingly viewed her as a friend brought her some comfort. Even if she still wasn’t sure how genuine he was sometimes.

“I’d like that.” Agent Three said. “If it’s a duel you want, I know just the thing to do.”

“Thank you.” Eight holstered her guns to her side too. Another thought entered her mind. “Besides, even as friends, we should do our own thing, right?”

She watched Agent Three walk up towards the door that leads back to the shop. He pulled it open, then turned towards her with a mischievous smile.

“I don’t think friends usually beat each other’s ass in battle, but like I said, if that’s what you want, that’s what you get.”

Eight couldn’t help but return the smile. She walked up to the door quickly so he didn’t close it on her and get the last word. She intercepted him by sliding past his blind spot so that she was blocking his way. He looked at her in surprise, turning towards his blind spot as if to confirm that just happened.

“You can’t say that if I was able to sneak up on you like that.” she said, giggling at her ploy. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

Agent Three’s face relaxed as he looked down at her. From this distance, Eight could see he was only a few inches taller than her. Eight then also realized the distance between them was quite closer than she had anticipated. She tried not to show any signs of weakness as she stared.

“See?” He said, his voice clearer than ever. He looked back down at her. “I told you. The real me is no match for the legend.”

Eight felt her cheeks warm up and her hearts pounding- and as a result, she instinctively moved her hands towards her holstered gun, almost wanting to take it out and bop this stupid man right now.

But instead she just kept her smile and let out a dry laugh.

“Looks like you were right.”

Agent Three seemingly had a plan as to how they were going to have their duel, although he wasn’t quick to give any details. He walked over to the counter and talked to the twin shopkeepers about “needing Sheldon’s Drone thingy” and asking about the current schedule for ink battles. Their demeanour shifted, seemingly recognizing Agent Three’s request, and quickly brought out a metallic suitcase.

Eight watched this happen from the entrance of the shop, wondering if this was some sort of New Squidbeak Splatoon business she wasn’t privy on. Come to think of it, she was technically “Agent” Eight, but she had never officially joined as a member of their unit.

She thought back to his speech- about fighting for something to believe in. Right now, she didn’t have anything to believe in, especially with her memories gone. All that mattered to her right now was a fight, the one that Agent Three was indulging her in. She hoped sincerely that he wouldn’t judge her for it.

I like you. I think we should get along.

The words provided warmth, but because they weren’t coming from him right now, she couldn’t feel it. She grimaced, annoyed at her lack of emotional permanence. Not even a few minutes alone with her thoughts and she was already thinking too deeply about shit.

“Hey.” Agent Three walked up to her, stirring her awake. He held up the suitcase. “I got the things we need for our little duel.”

Eight tried to nod excitedly, pushing her thoughts aside as best as she can. “Okay, what next?”

Agent Three paused and looked at her. “You sure you want to do this? Aren’t you running on zero hours of sleep?”

Eight felt a panic in her hearts. She was indeed tired, but if she said no, then they would just go home, and she’d be stuck sleeping on that too soft bed again. She wanted to spend more time with him.

“I’ll be fine.” She claimed. “The coffee really helped.”

Agent Three furrowed his eyebrow, then shrugged.

“...We’re going to take the train again. There’s a place called Blackbelly Skatepark that’s not being used for Ink Battles right now. In fact, it’s having some downtime before it gets back on the schedule, so it’d be empty. We have about two hours before it gets put back on rotation.”

He used his other hand to take out his phone, typing on it, then turning it around to show her a map.

“It takes about 30 minutes or so to get there. You can catch a nap on the train if you like.” He said matter of factly. “It could help perk you up.”

Eight blinked, surprised at the kind offer.

“Okay.” She said, “I’d like that. I have experience napping on trains.”

“I’m sure you do. I do it a lot myself.” Agent Three replied with a soft chuckle. “Let’s get going then. I’ll be sure to find us a good seat.”

True to his word, as they got on the train, Agent Three did find themselves a nice seat. They were able to find seats that were attached to the window that faced in the direction the train was heading. Agent Three let her have the seat closest to the train’s window, claiming that resting your head on the window as the train moved was akin to a massage.

Agent Three was very odd, but she appreciated the gesture.

She sat down on his right and rested her head against the window. He promised her that he would let her know when their stop was coming up, and to just focus on resting her eyes at least. The buzz from the coffee wasn’t warning off, but her sleepiness was certainly winning. She gently closed her eyes and felt the window vibrate against her as the train moved. She allowed herself to drift off to sleep to the rhythm of the train going over the tracks.

Her dreams took her back to a familiar but hazy sight-one of the domes that held a Great Octoweapon, 2 years ago. A place DJ Octavio specifically told her not to go to. He had been trying to hide the fact that he had Dr. Ida work on them again, repurposed from The Great Turf War, and was placing them in domes repurposed as weapons hangars. But Eight went there anyway, because that’s where the shithead Agent Three was going to be, as he was visiting every single dome in numerical order.

There was a big pit of purple ink in the middle, and she stood across from him. She had the unit she was leading surround him, not to attack, but just to watch their fight. She made some sort of grand gesture with her hands or the other-she used to love doing little flourishes here and there-and spoke out loud.

I hate to disappoint the other Octarians, but you’re mine now. It’s just you and me. No one else will get in our way!

Draw!

Eight felt her body lurched forward, just a little bit. She opened her eyes slightly, and realized her head was tilting towards the left rather than the right, where the window was?

So what was her shoulder resting on?

Ah.

She gently lifted her head up, feeling Agent Three move his head slightly. She looked up at him,

“Sorry-”

But before she could finish her apology, she noticed he was asleep himself, with his head slightly tilted towards her. Eight thanked her lucky stars that he hadn't noticed such accidental intimacy.

The train stopped, and a loudspeaker spoke up, announcing the station they were on. Immediately, Agent Three opened his eyes and looked out the window.

“Two more stops…” He said, stifling a yawn. His face turned fully at her. “Oh. You're up.”

Eight tried to look out the window quickly to make it seem like she was not just resting on his shoulder. She saw a bit of his reflection in the mirror looking over at her, emotionless, although she swears she can see a grin.

“Hope you had a nice nap.” He said. His reflection looked away. “And I hope my scarf makes a good cushion for you.”

Eight quickly let out a quick laugh, trying to hide her nervousness. He didn’t seem to be offended by the gesture at least. “Yes. It was pretty nice.”

She continued to stare out the window, letting out a soft quiet sigh. This was going to be a tough battle.

Blackbelly Skatepark was empty, true to what Agent Three had said. He told her that it took a while for it to be repopulated with other people who would use it as an actual skatepark, but for now there were a few precious hours where it could be used for their purposes.

He led her to one end of the Skatepark, where she was greeted to the sight of the Inkling’s very own Spawn Point. It was a lot nicer than the ones in the Octo Valley and Canyon, mainly due to how clean it was. There was constant downtime on the Octarian’s machines, which made it hard for them to throw a rapid assault onto Agent Three.

He gestured towards the rest of the skate park beyond them. Eight followed his hand. She can see there were many tall walls on the way, with a giant tower in the middle.

“Okay. The rules are simple. We’re going to do standard Turf War rules. Best of 1.”

With his other hand, he took out the briefcase and placed it down. He got on his knees in front of Eight, and started to slowly open it up. Eight looked down at him, curious at the sight.

Inside the briefcase surrounded by foam was a drone with 4 fans attached to it. It resembled the face of the horseshoe crab she saw in the photos that were at the weapon’s shop. Agent Three took it out from the case with one hand. Underneath it was some kind of wire sticking out. With his other hand, he took out his phone and plugged the wire into the bottom of it.

The drone made a beeping noise, and its “eyes” lit up a bright yellow. Agent Three put his phone down and held out his hand towards her.

“Give me your phone.”

Eight took out her phone-brand new, courtesy of Off The Hook- and placed it on his hand. He did the same motion as well, plugging her into it. He handed the phone back. Eight noticed the screen had changed to a more monochrome look, showing a map of the area, and a timer stuck at 3 minutes.

The drone’s fans turned on, and it started to fly higher up in the sky. It soon brought itself on top of the tower in the middle, patrolling the area.

Agent Three pointed at it. “The Shel-drone, as it's called, will scan the area and send you live battle updates onto your phone. And this will let you communicate with me.”

Agent Three pulled out from the briefcase two pairs of earbuds, giving one to her. Eight put them in, connecting them to her phone. Surprisingly, the earbuds were able to stay on her ear, despite the different earshape.

“Not going to back down still, right?” Agent Three said, still on his knees and looking up at her as he put his earbuds on.

Eight shook her head. The process to fight was taking a while, but her will didn’t waver. She cleared her throat. “Of course not. You’re not trying to get out of it, are you?”

Agent Three slowly stood up, grabbing onto his scarf as he did so. He pulled the scarf up over the top of his forehead while leaning his head forward, his eye closed. Eight suddenly realized she had made one mistake-it was not a scarf, but a bandana that he was slowly wrapping around his forehead. He finished tightening it around his head and looked down at her.

The Legendary Agent Three stood in front of her once more.

“Of course not. I never turn down a good fight.” Agent Three said.

Eight furrowed her eyebrows. That bandana- she had seen it before. He wore it two years ago too. In the Metro, he didn’t have it for whatever reason. She always thought it to be rather silly of him to wear it, but as his notoriety underground grew, so did the fear of seeing the tail of his bandana around the corner, when you least expect it. Combined that with a black eyepatch, and Eight couldn’t help but reach down towards her gun, ready to fight back just in case the Legendary Agent Three had ideas.

She steadied her hand, taking a deep breath. Agent Three took a step backwards from her, and pointed behind her, towards the Spawn Point’s pad.

“Step on it, and you’ll register your ink color. That one’s pink, so mine’s blue.” He explained casually, blissfully ignorant of her fight or flight feelings she was feeling in her racing hearts.

Eight nodded, stepping forward onto the machine. The pink coloring grew brighter, and Eight felt a slight electrical shock through her abdomen and hips, then up her back. She was now hooked up to the Spawn Point. She looked back up at Agent Three.

“Agent Three.” Eight called out.

Agent Three had turned around slightly to walk away, but he stopped and looked back at her.

Eight took a deep breath. Two years ago, she fought Agent Three as an Octoling in the army- as Unit N-008. Two weeks ago, she fought Agent Three when he was possessed by an unknown substance, and she won that battle singlehandedly by ripping it off his face, causing him to lose his eye. And now, today, she was going to fight him one more time. Not as an enemy, but maybe not really as a full fledged friend either.

“Good luck.” She muttered.

Agent Three smirked.

“Dont worry.” he said with a brash tone, before turning around and walking away towards his spawn.

Oh, she was going to shoot that smug smile off his face so damn good.

MODE

TURF WAR

Ink The Most Turf to Win!

Blackbelly Skatepark

Eight grabbed onto both of her Splat Dualies on her holster. She held them tight, the textured grip providing some relief with how rough it was. She looked up ahead, imagining Agent Three at his Spawn Point.

Somewhere in this familiar looking park, the Legendary Shithead Agent Three will be running around, with the aim of beating her in combat.

Same as it ever was.

She took a deep breath, and listened to the announcer in the earbuds.

<Ready?>

<GO!>

Eight ran forward, taking both of her Splat Dualies out. This is Turf War. It'd be simple enough to paint her own base for now to familiarize herself with the Splat Dualies while learning the stage layout. She shot ink onto the ground with both Dualies. First, by shooting in front of her, then on the sides, covering most of her spawn area.

She walked down one of the ramps. As she started to reach the middle point, she peaked her head up from near the top of the ramp, expecting to see Agent Three. There were a lot of obstacles in the way from his Spawn Point. He was nowhere to be seen.

She squinted. Unlike their last battlefield in the Metro, Blackbelly Skatepark was a lot more open, with multiple pathways. She can recall that the Octolings had attempted to recreate this place, but not much more than that.

She went back to turfing her spawn area, expecting Agent Three to do the same. In the meanwhile, she could try to think about his approach. Would he fight differently from when he was being brain washed? They didn’t bring any special weapons this time either, just their main and sub.

Tk tk tk.

Footsteps. Eight turned towards her right, looking at a set of grates that were attached to a wall up high. It looked like a good place for Agent Three to attack from, but there was no one there.

He must obviously be hiding around the corner, Eight thought to herself. She aimed one of her Dualies up and moved closer, while her other hand inked the ground. She DID have an objective to focus on after all. She kept her eyes trained up on the grating as she approached the corner of the wall.

She turned the corner, extending her aim, only to find no one there.

“Where-”

She heard footsteps in front of her. She looked back forward at the ground, coming face to face with Agent Three emerging from a puddle of blue ink.

“Kept you waiting, huh?”

Before she could aim back at him, Agent Three immediately fired shots at her, splatting her and sending her back.

She felt the hot pressure of the Spawn Point reforming her. After a moment, she shook off the ink while emerging and looked around. She quickly entered her swim form and swam back to the spot he was- he was not around, but most of her area was covered by blue ink.

She bit her lip. Two can very much play this game, then.

She ran towards the middle of the skatepark, towards the large tower. It was risky, but if she can get to the top, it would provide her a chance to recon the area.

She painted the ramp that led up the tower with her Splat Dualies, entered her swim form, and swam up to the top. She peaked over the north edge of the tower-towards where Agent Three’s Spawn Area was. A few structures were in the way, but she can see that Agent Three had somewhat painted his base, but not meticulously so. To the east, his paint was still there, from their last encounter. The west side was all clear.

She looked down below, noticing a trail of blue ink that was wrapping around to the south of the tower, where she had entered. She focused, listening to the sounds of ink being fired. The sound was getting louder. He must be spraying up.

Eight put one of her Splat Dualies back on her holster, and prepared from her Ink Tank a Splat Bomb, cooking it for a few seconds and waiting for his arrival.

Agent Three rapidly swam up and jumped up from his swim form, emerging from it and getting ready to fire at her. Eight were surprised at this technique-that was new. Immediately, she let go of the Splat Bomb, tossing it on the ground for minimal bounce, and jumped off the tower.

BOOM!

She landed on the ground as elegantly as she could on all fours. The concrete was hot underneath her hands, so she quickly got up and shook it off. She felt for her Splat Dualies on her waist. Still intact. She was sure she got Agent Three. He would be chasing her after wise.

“<2 minutes remaining.>” The announcer’s voice rang through her ear.

Another alarm rang through- a call. Eight pushed on her headphones instinctively, recognizing it was the same tech Cuttlefish and Off the Hook used to communicate with her in the Metro. She was greeted by Agent Three’s voice.

<“You’re pretty good.”> He said, whispering, most likely to not give his location away. <“You okay after landing like that?”>

Eight smirked, recognizing his concern for the platitude that it was. “You worry about yourself, Agent Three, and I’ll worry about me.”

Agent Three let out a hearty laugh, one filled with the joy of battle. “”

Eight clicked on her earbuds to end the call. She didn’t have time for that. Her focus now was on the turf she had to paint in the middle section of the map.

She made her way towards the east side of the tower. She started shooting more ink in the east section. It was the area with a hallway that connected from here to her Spawn Point, so it would do her good to have it covered up. Before she could move more towards the east, she saw a blue splat bomb land to her north.

fwee-BOOM!

It exploded in front of her, but it didn’t hit the mark. She looked over at it and started firing at the direction she believed it was thrown from. But there was no Agent Three behind the bomb, shooting at her. She lowered her Splat Dualies, confused.

Suddenly, she felt one shot hit her left side. She faced west, noticing that Agent Three had climbed on top of the tower and was shooting at her now. Eight tried to roll behind a barrier to hide, but it was too late. He was able to shoot her down, with the last shot just barely hitting her.

When she respawned again, she got another call. Maybe out of self-depreciation, she accepted it.

“<I misspoke. You can check the map by pressing the X button on your phone. We don’t have a GamePad anymore, it seems.>”

Eight growled. “You can press X to kiss my ass-”

Already, he hung up. She fumed quietly and stomped her feet on the ground. After another moment, she took out her phone, opening it up to view the map. She squinted at it, seeing that it seemed about even so far, if not favoring Agent Eight slightly.

Agent Three had barely painted his base, but he did take a lot of the middle and some of the west side as she had respawned. Eight barely had any control of the middle, but her Spawn Point and the East point were all hers.

Eight put her phone away and made her way towards the middle again, making sure to paint over any spots that she missed. As she approached the wall with the grating, she was able to see from afar Agent Three still on the top of the middle tower, spraying ink and throwing Splat Bombs around the area.

She quickly moved behind the wall, peeking her head out slightly to watch. She noticed that he was painting the west side first, and was starting to turn towards the east side.

Which meant that his covered right eye will be facing her.

If she was quick, she could get to him…

She held her Splat Dualies by her side.

He started to face towards the east, painting that side-while exposing his eyepatch.

Eight ran over, repeating what she did before-painting the wall and climbing up to the top. She remembered how Agent Three surprised her earlier by rapidly climbing up in his swim form. She reckoned she could do the same. She gathered all her energy in her swim form and sped herself up, emerging from the wall and up into the air.

Agent Three finally looked over. His eye widened in surprise. She tried aiming her gun at him. He immediately did the same, snapping over his body to point at her.

She had no idea which of their guns was faster. Should she risk it? She quickly dodged roll onto the ground, pushing her momentum on top of the tower, again towards his right side.

His three shots missed her entirely, Agent Three tried to snap his body towards her again. Before he did, Eight fired at him, putting her dualies close together to make the shot more accurate.

Three was shot once, but he quickly jumped up in the air to shoot at her.

“Not fair.” He groaned, taking out a Splat Bomb and throwing it at her.

It landed by her feet, but she quickly kicked it away. She watched it explode over the sides, satisfied in herself.

Oh shit.

She felt Agent Three shoulder tackle her blind side, causing her to drop one of her Dualies. She wasn't sure if that was a legal move or not, but it didn't matter. He grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her behind him. While she was forced to move forward, she managed to flip herself over so that she was back to facing him.

This shithead! Eight growled at him and instinctively threw a small punch with her now free hand at his eye.

“Shit.” She panted. “Sorry, I-”

Eight blinked and realized where she had punch- his right eye, covered with an eyepatch. He gave her a shit eating grin, which only made Eight scoffed. She recovered first and grabbed his wrist, pushing him onto the ground next to her.

Three's Splattershot scattered across the ground and towards the edge of the platform. It started to teether, slowly drifting towards falling. Eight couldn't help herself as she checked around for her second Splat Dualie- only to find it down below the platform.

Now or Never, Unit N-008

Still facing where her Splat Dualie fell, Eight twisted her body around to face Agent Three. In turn, he had grabbed his gun and flipped himself back up onto his feet.

They both pointed their guns at each other, arms out stretched. Eight put her finger on the trigger and pulled, at the same time he did.

Click!

Click!

Click!

Click!

Empty. Both of them.

A timer beeped in her headset. There wasn't a lot of time left. The both of them circled around each other, guns still pointing at each other. Agent Three had a serious look on his face, gritting his teeth. Eight looked at him back, equally as determined. The battle had gotten her blood pumping, making her forget that she was running on little sleep. It made her forget one very important thing.

This is Turf War.

Eight heard both her tank and Three's tank fill up beep slightly. They could both make a move right now.

Eight pulled from her ink tank a Splat Bomb, and gently tossed it ahead of Three. His eye widened, and he tried to reach out to grab it- but it was too late.

It landed behind and over him- on top of some blue ink, and exploded.

<GAME!>

Eight instantly got down on her knees, letting out a very shaky breath as she placed her hands down on the ground. Her remaining gun clattered against the ground, spinning out of her reach.

She heard Agent Three dash up to her, grabbing her before she could fully fall over. Eight was in no position to move. She could only bury her face in his upper chest as the adrenaline began to wear off rapidly. Relief from being in his arms filled her body as she closed her eyes.

“Hey. It's okay.” Agent Three said. “It's okay.”

The world was still spinning around her. She gripped onto him, tightly.

“I'm here.” Eight declared to herself quietly. “I just need a moment- Did I win? Is everything okay?”

“It will be. Come on. You pushed yourself too hard.” Agent Three said, his voice sounding incredibly stern. He was taking slow deep breaths too, the tension from the battle leaving him. “Did I win?” Eight asked again. She looked up at him, noticing a look of surprise. But that didn’t matter to her right now. “How do I find out?”

Agent Three’s face went blank again as he reached his hand into his pocket, taking out his phone. He turned it on and looked over the screen. His eye furrowed while still holding onto Eight. She could hear the sounds of the drone flying over them slowly.

“...It takes a few minutes for it to check over the battlefield properly.” Agent Three said. “You need to let yourself rest. There’s a bench nearby.”

Suddenly, Eight felt her whole body lifted up into the air, then being placed over Agent Three’s shoulder. She glanced at his face, her mouth slightly open in shock. Luckily again for her, her face was facing his blind side, letting her blush as much as she wanted while still looking at him. The teal patch that crept out from his eyepatch continued to remind her of their last fight. The fear that she felt and the way she wanted to do everything she could to get that goo off him.

But things were slowly changing. Maybe it was because of the kindness he was trying to show, but Eight felt more at peace as he carried her, gently jumping off the ramp and away from the rest of the skate park.

Eight didn’t know what compelled her to reach out towards the back of his head and pull at the tail of his bandana.

It slowly started to unravel, and she could notice Agent Three slightly turn to face her. He didn’t say anything-he allowed her to do so. The bandana slipped off his forehead and onto her fingers. She looked at the blue-ish black bandana in her hand, noticing how its ends were frayed with wear and tear.

She gripped onto it tighter and looked at his face. It was a lot fuller now without it. It made her realize that without it, he wasn’t just Agent Three anymore, but an inkling who lost an eye-an inkling with a name like her.

What is your name?

She asked him that question a long time ago, and she apparently had gotten an answer. But the pride she had in asking for it was long gone. All that was left was the thrill she had for battle. And it was glorious.

No, not that name! She remembered saying to him. I am not just an Octarian soldier, and you are not Agent Three. We’re people. With names.

Maybe her past self was right. Maybe Agent Three was right.

But if she wasn’t just an Octarian Soldier-then what was she? She had done this fight in an effort to figure it out, but…what if she still didn’t want to know?

Her inner monologue was interrupted by Agent Three placing her down on a wooden bench. He got down on his knees, resting his arm on the bench seat as well, all while looking at her with a worried expression.

Eight hated to admit how much she liked seeing him worried.

“You really want to know your name that badly?” Agent Three said sarcastically with a sad smile.

Eight blinked. Oh shit, that's right. Her name. That was what was at stake.

“I just…” Eight shook her head, feeling herself overwhelmed with emotions. She had no idea what to think. “I was having fun. Is that…bad? I forgot all about the bet that we made.”

She expected him to look at her with a judgemental scowl. It was how she would try to view herself, even if she had come around to admit this was who she was. And Agent Three was someone fighting for a future-why wouldn’t he think less of her for having less than ideal reasons?

But instead, he looked at her, and laughed out loud. Not in a dismissing way, but more so in a way that made her want to smile back at him. It was the same laugh he had during their battle, filled with a sense of pride.

“I had fun too, Eight.” Agent Three said as he finally calmed down. “It’s not bad to enjoy yourself in battle.”

Eight, at first, considered him to be right, but the older part of her-the one that was forgotten, the one that had never played Turf War before-was saying otherwise.

Agent Eight looked at him. “Agent Three? Do you…enjoy battle as Agent Three?”

More smaller flashbacks. Agent Three running in the domes, attacking infrastructure and the rest of the Octarian Army. Getting spotted and blowing past them in ways that showed he was enjoying the thrill.

He had just taken his phone out of his pocket, but before he got to glance at it longer, she had asked that question.

He looked over at her, shocked. “What are you talking about?”

Eight grimaced, gripping tighter onto the bandana she had just stolen. “I’m not…sure. Sometimes, it's hard to tell the difference between reality and a sport.”

“Diminished sense of reality, huh?” Agent Three furrowed his eyebrow. “I imagine that’s what tanking through all 80 of those tests would do to you.”

Eight bit her lip. “No, it’s…I lied a bit, Agent Three. About how much I remember. What I can remember a lot is all my field training, when I was younger. My time with my unit. It’s not those tests that were making me feel so weird about who I am…”

Agent Three brought his free hand towards his chin, rubbing it while looking at the ground. He closed his remaining eye before speaking.

“Eight, we don’t carry guns to take people down. And we’re not here to help our government out either.”

Eight frowned, realizing she didn’t really like that answer coming from the man who had a choice to do so. “But you can say that because you’re the Legendary Agent Three. And I’m an Octarian Soldier. No matter how hard I thought otherwise.”

Agent Three didn't seem to agree. He shook his head softly. “Legends don’t mean a whole lot anyway. I was just a name to exploit for the sake of my people. Just like you.”

Despite what he was saying, Eight can still remember how heroic he looked as he left the domes, the heavenly melody playing as he ran off.

“The only people who know about what happened will only remember the right parts of what you did, down there.” She said, somewhat bitterly. All she can remember doing was hurting people, and how much she enjoyed it.

Agent Three frowned. He opened his eye, sat back on the ground and crossed his legs. “There’s no right part in invading a foreign land the way I did. And I’m not in this to make a name for myself anyway. Like I said, I’m fighting for what I believe in. People will think what they want.”

He put his hands behind him and looked up into the sky, probably watching for the Shel-drone to return and announce its results. Eight took a moment to lean back as well, watching the sky alongside him. It was a clear sunny day, with no sign of any bad weather ever coming. She never thought she’d seen so much blue before. Even on a good day, the domes would have scan lines on all of the monitors that were mimicking the sky.

She thought that, once she was here, she’d know exactly who she’d be. But she was still the girl in the domes-still the fighter. And today’s battle scared her.

What if she was just doomed to be like that forever?

“I don’t even know what I believe in.” She said, “I just like to fight.”

Suddenly, her left hand-the one holding his bandana-felt a sense of warmth. She looked over and saw that Agent Three had placed his hand on top of hers. Reassuring her.

“I like to fight too.” He said. “To find something to believe in, you’re going to have to find it yourself. But I’m more than happy to help. You can stop feeling like a mistake, starting now. With a clean slate.”

Eight paused to think about it. She opened her hand up, letting the rest of his hand lay on her palm. Instinctively, she started to rub her thumb on top of his hand. It was rugged, just like hers.

A clean slate sounded nice. But she didn’t want to do it alone.

“Then…I would like to go clothes shopping. With you. In the future. As part of this clean slate.”

Agent Three’s face beamed with joy. “I’d like that.”

Suddenly, both of their phones beeped. Eight turned to him as he took his phone out.

“Looks like the results are in.” He said. He tapped on the screen a few times and showed her the screen.

A small animation played, showing two pixel art cats dancing as a bar beneath them, with the pink ink on the left side and blue on the other side started to fill up.

Suddenly, the pink section of the bar overtook the blue, just by a small amount.

ALPHA TEAM - VICTORY!

A small jingle played out from the phone declaring her victory. By a mere 0.5 percent, she had managed to cover more turf. Her eyes darted over to the small spot that was on Agent Three’s side of the battlefield, that was haphazardly covered in blue ink- in the middle of it all, a pink splotch in the shape of a Splat Bomb .

“Lucky you.” Agent Three said, a small smirk on his face. “Looks like that Spat Bomb really helped you out in the end. I had forgotten we were playing Turf War for a second there.”

The screen transitioned to show the amount of times they splatted each other. Eight couldn’t help but frown-she had one less than him. That feeling of inadequacy hit her again.

“I also want a rematch.” She pouted. “I couldn’t beat the amount of times you splatted me.”

“Well, the rules of your little bet was that if you won the battle, I’d tell you your name.” Agent Three said, standing up as he did so. Even when he did, he still held on to her hand. “You still wanna hear it?”

Eight decided to help him by sitting up as he did so. She didn’t want to let go.

“...I don’t know, but…”

She looked up at him again. His face really was softer without the bandana, despite the eyepatch and the teal-spot. She felt like she was seeing more of him than ever before. She, in this moment, felt safe with him. She wanted this feeling to last forever.

“I think I should. Yes, I want to.” She concluded. She wasn’t going to give in to her small failure to surpass him fully. “I want to find out more about who I am. To accept it too. And I’d like your help in all of it.”

Agent Three looked pleased with her answer.

“Alright. I’ll start with your name first.”

Eight straightened up and closed her eyes. She still didn’t know what would happen if she heard it, but she could prepare. She let the scattered memories in her brain clear away, and she focused on grounding herself. The cool wind hit her body. The sun was shining on her head. His rough hands on top of hers, with the smooth cloth of the bandana in between them. She focused on how warm the bench seat was, no doubt because of the sunlight, and how her body ached with pain that she caused upon herself during the battle.

Eventually, she may one day go back to thinking about the weapon that laid in the ocean. She may come to dislike aspects of Agent Three again-or even everything about him. That was just how her mind worked.

Same as it ever was.

But to have him here by her side, to remind her of who she was-it would make life a lot more easier.

Agent Three’s voice rang through as a gentle soft whisper. Despite how quiet he was, it cut through her thoughts, as it always had.

“This is for your ears only. Your name is…”

Chapter Text

THE NEXT DAY

■Webmaster■ > DJ_Hyperfresh has joined the chatroom.

DJ_Hyperfresh > Hey Agent Three!

DJ_Hyperfresh > Hope you’re doing well! Just wanted to check in with how Agent Eight is doing.

Agent 3 > She's doing good. Actually, she just found out about her name yesterday. I told her about it.

DJ_Hyperfresh > That's amazing! How did she react to it? May I ask what it is?

DJ_Hyperfresh > Or maybe not…she might want to tell me it first instead.

Agent 3 > She took it pretty well. It hasn’t helped her fully recover her memories, but it’s a start.

DJ_Hyperfresh > Thank you for letting me know. You can let her know if she needs anything else, me and Pearl are always around.

DJ_Hyperfresh > That’s not to say I don’t trust you, though!! I think she’s really happy being with you!

Agent 3 > I hope so. Having both of your help would be nice. I know she’s still a bit stingy being with you two, but I like to think she’ll open up more soon.

DJ_Hyperfresh > Same here…. That reminds me…

DJ_Hyperfresh > This may be a bit too early to announce…but I’ve been prototyping a virtual reality system that would allow me and Pearl to help her gain her memories back, as well as help the other sanitized octolings that were a part of Kamabo Co.

DJ_Hyperfresh > Basically- a system that can “save” and “load” memories!

DJ_Hyperfresh > It’s really early on, though, but I wanted to let you know in case I need any assistance from you and the others.

Agent 3 > VR, huh? Let me do you a solid. You're a great engineer, but no one can save memories, even on that prototype of yours.

Agent 3 > It’s not your fault though. After Kamabo Co. reduced Eight’s memories to binary numbers and shoved them into a Mem Cake, they ceased to be memories anymore.

DJ_Hyperfresh > That's why I'm doing my best to prototype a system that can extract them from their Mem Cake form. And I think I'm making a breakthrough.

Agent 3 > Memories aren't just sounds and pictures that you can just apply easily onto a person. They exist somewhere between the sounds- between the pictures.

DJ_Hyperfresh > Hmm…But anything can be done digitally, can't it? Even saving and loading memories. Humans a long time ago managed to figure something out. That’s what the basis of my prototype is.

Agent 3 > If that's true, then why don't you go ahead and “save” what I'm thinking right now?

DJ_Hyperfresh > I can't save that type of thing. You have to put it into words, at least.

Agent 3 > That's right. And that's what memories are. Wordless. No matter how far data technology advances, you'd never be able to penetrate an inkfish's hearts.

DJ_Hyperfresh > Maybe back then, sure. But who knows what we might uncover.

Agent 3 > But first you have to try to understand Eight's emotions, Dr. Ida.

DJ_Hyperfresh > And how do I do that?

Agent 3 > You have to learn to accept she may never fully like you. Even though you both came from the same place. She was another soldier, and you were a respected Combat Engineer. 

DJ_Hyperfresh > …Thank you again, Agent Three.

DJ_Hyperfresh > Although, I guess it’s going to be Captain soon?

Agent 3 > Either works. Sorry. I don’t mean to grill you. I’m just looking out for both of you.

DJ_Hyperfresh > No worries, Captain. Questions like these are great ways to work out any potential issues!

DJ_Hyperfresh > Gotta go-we’re gonna be live! See ya!

■Webmaster■ > DJ_Hyperfresh has left the chatroom.

■Webmaster■ > Agent 4 has joined the chatroom.

Agent 4 > And what is this that lays before my very eyes?

Agent 4 > A chatroom for the express purpose of New Squidbeak Splatoon talks AND correspondence relating to a new Agent, with the designation number Eight?

Agent 4 > I was not aware we had hired an Agent 5, 6, or 7. Craig must be on quite the roll. Do we even have enough hand me down suits to provide?

Agent 3 > Hey, Four. I’m still setting things up here so that we can all properly communicate. I also sent links to this chatroom out to One, Two, and Craig.

Agent 3 > And for your information, there are no other new “agents” besides her. Craig thought he was being funny when he recruited her. You know. Eight arms...

Agent 4 > Oh. Is that so? Craig’s humor never fails to both fumble while veering towards some casual racism.

Agent 4 > She’s a defector? Or does she come from the Splatlands?

Agent 3 > Defector from the Octo Valley. Worked directly under DJ Octavio as an Elite Octoling for her entire life, until now.

Agent 4 > Interesting…

Agent 4 > You know, The Octarian’s Army is in shambles, and he thinks he can restore his power with hypnotherapy on an outsider that leads his forces? 

Agent 4 > That DJ Octavio is no warrior. He’s a politician! 

Agent 4 > Anyway, the Splatoon is quite open to all types, but I have never expected we’d get an Octoling so soon. What’s your analysis?

Agent 3 > She's a fighter. Very compassionate, and damn good at what she can do. 

Agent 3 > … I should specify- She may have a designation, but she hasn’t properly joined. She’s still thinking about it.

Agent 4  > I see. Apologies for how slow I am, I’m catching up on the debriefing files here.

Agent 4  > So while I was on my first operation, she was stuck down there…

Agent 4 > She’s defeated that AI, destroyed that WMD- codenamed NILS -and has conquered every test station that was present on the Deep Sea Metro.

Agent 4 > All with a ticking bomb, strapped to her back- and yet not once did it go off during her tests. Intriguing.

Agent 4 > With abilities like that, she would most certainly be helpful for the group. Although, I imagine she’s quite stressed after everything…

Agent 4 > Does she have the look in her eyes?

Agent 3  > Yup.

Agent 4 > Then it’s only a matter of time until she joins properly. The joy of battle brings us all here for one reason or the other. How splendid.

Agent 3 > Let’s let her be a normal octoling first and see where she goes, okay?

Agent 4 > I don’t think any one of us are normal. But I’ll indulge.

Agent 4 >  If she ever wants to do more, she knows she has a place here with us.

Agent 3  > We should all meet up with her and have proper introductions. From there, she can decide what she wants.

Agent 3  > Speaking of which, I gotta go. I’m going out with her.

Agent 4 > Farewell. And tell her I said hello.

■Webmaster■ > Agent 3 has left the chatroom.

Agent 4 > What an interesting situation. 

Agent 4 > My big brother, the legendary Agent Three, teaming up with an Octarian defector.

Agent 4 > Or should I say little brother? I’m not sure. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.

Agent 4 > Maybe the Splatoon isn’t a lost cause after all.

■Webmaster■ > Agent 2 has joined the chatroom.

Agent 2 > Four? You're here too?

Agent 4 > Aha. There is my dear Agent Two!

Agent 4 > I need to discuss with you some matters to update in that Factopedia of yours.

Agent 2 > That's fine. I'm getting some food anyway. Let's meet up. But you gotta help me figure out if this is some weird dating site Three pulled me into or not.

Agent 2 > I ran into Gramps the other day in here and just…ugh.

Agent 4 > My deductions lead me to conclude that this is a dating site for sure.

Agent 2 > Really?

Agent 4 > No. Well, sort of. 

Agent 2 > Uh. Okay. I don’t get why you’d say it is a dating site in the first place.

Agent 4 > You have a lot to learn about your mentor, Agent Two. Hence, the updates needed for the Factopedia. 

Agent 2 > Right…”Mentor.” Wasn’t I the one that recruited you?

Agent 4 > Then how about just “friend”? After all, the notion of me being a student underneath you strikes me as ridiculous. I don't think you taught me much besides studying techniques on that podcast of yours. They are quite good, I must admit.

Agent 2 > Oh you would have learned plenty from me. If you weren't brushing them off during every single mission.

Agent 4 > I still got results, didn't I? Although you did lead me to victory with your support and occasional messages of support… Perhaps there is merit in your assessment of our relationship.

Agent 2 > See? You learned a lesson, therefore- I’m the mentor. You’re the student. 

Agent 4 > Hmph. Let us grab some sandwiches at Crusty Sean and discuss further?

Agent 4 > I’ll pay.

Agent 2 > …

Agent 2 > Okay.

Agent 4 > Fantastic.

■Webmaster■ > Agent 4 has left the chatroom.

■Webmaster■ > Agent 2 has left the chatroom.

■Webmaster■ > Agent 3 has begun messaging Agent_8.

Agent 3 > We should get ready to go clothes shopping now. I’m on my way back to the apartment.

Agent 8 > Gotcha. Just finishing up cleaning up that mess you left in the kitchen. I expect a full closet for both of us.

Agent 3 > Awesome.

Agent 3 > See you soon.

Agent 3 > Nina.

Eight smiled. 

Nina. 

She loved the sound of it on her tongue as she spoke it out loud. But she loved it more when Three said it out to her.

She still kept calling herself Eight. Her name was still foreign to her, but for now, hearing him say it made it nice.

Nina started typing her reply. Quietly, like it was a secret between both of them, she repeated Three's name under her breath, typing it as her final message before she got ready for another day with him.

Agent 8 > You too.

Agent 8 > Luka.

Three smiled.

Luka.

It was an involuntary one as he read his name appear on his phone. He had been called Three for a long time now and had accepted it as is.  Even the store owners around the Plaza called him that. But to hear it come from Nina…

It made him really happy.

Agent Three flicked his last cigarette into the trash, and jogged off Hammerhead Bridge, his back turned to the ocean. 

In the distance, the weapon laid in the ocean, unmoving.

Same as it ever was.