Chapter Text
Everything was going wrong.
Eight was sitting on a bed. Kicked back, laying tensely, muscles pulled taut as they stared up at the popcorn ceiling lining their peripheral vision- oh, this was going so, so very wrong. Her vision went blurry, blurry with tears that never rolled past her waterline. The disturbance seeped through her fingertips as she extended them to the low ceiling, feeling the little bumps and rough patches that coated the place just above her head, flexing the muscles in her fingers just to feel something, something so familiar yet so foreign that it pulled her from this dream-
She awoke with a start, listening to the blaring words of her wake-up-for-a-second-time alarm. Her face immediately drooped, leaving her stunned, disturbed; wetting her lips with her tongue as she realized just how dry and hoarse her throat felt. Her 2nd alarm was loud, really loud, and she could hear someone in the next hotel room over to her left stomping around as if they had gotten a literal rude awakening. Oh, Cod.
7:36AM.
Some girl named Tiffany’s words blared through Eight’s head, straight through one ear and out the other and back in again like a wild goose chase through the confines of her brain, one so-called word after another. Words she couldn’t understand, words foreign to her that remained as some weird artifact and lingered like something parasitic, disgustingly so. The sounds her mouth conjured would remain for the entirety of time, at this point.
Eight finally garnered the willingness to stand, avoiding the ceiling that happened to be just above her bed. What a dingy little place she was staying at, but did she even have a semblance of choice? No, she didn’t. Of course not. Their head pounded softly, the ringing in her ears dissipating as she took this slow. Her tentacles curled, uncurled; she groaned into the nothingness that was her surroundings. A tattered wardrobe, a minifridge stocked with nothing but cheap food that was somehow a fortune to even try and take (each labeled with tags saying ‘5000 coins’ and ‘7500 coins’ and that of the like), and a drab painting of some sort of animal that was missing part of its frame in the left upper corner. Not much to look at after all, other than the door, and the musty carpet. Covered in stains.
She couldn’t wait to get out of here.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
“Captain.”
“Eight? Ah. You’re… awake. That’s nice, good morning,” said Captain noted aloud, offering what could only be described as a forced attempt at a smile. Something almost unnerving, but nothing unusual to Eight; as she could only return it with such importance it felt so short of the truth, fell just short enough to send a twitch to the captain’s left eye. Something Eight read as discomfort as the smile faded. Eight let her own fall as well.
“Yes. When do we leave, Captain?” she nearly demanded, failing to come across as very agent-like, urgency evident from every aspect of her body language. For no particular reason whatsoever, this place sent chills down the small of her spine. It hurt her to breathe here.
“Soon.”
“Ah.”
There was silence as Eight stared, and Three stared back, and the two looked at each other. Comfortably. The two were nice colleagues, at some verdict opposed by every other agent; they all demanded- demanded that they just had to be friends, best friends, because they truly acted the part. Maybe they were right, maybe they were wrong, but work partners was communication enough for the likes of Eight- her trust was now high out of reach from anybody, by any means; although that much was irrelevant. That was unimportant.
Three also seemed content enough with what they were. Nothing but work partners. Competent enough to talk, not ready enough for anything beyond that. It was almost bizarre how easily that came to mind; even when everyone else insisted that by some magic Eight had broken Three’s many walls down with a flick of her finger. Eight had laughed in Neo 3’s face at what she called the wording, at what she knew was the sheer prospect of that- something felt unnatural about them being friends. It wasn’t recommended. It was unprecedented, and almost scary to acknowledge. A pit reared its ugly head in Eight’s gut as her brain drifted thought to thought, lingering on that a little too long; so Eight swatted it away as she sucked in a heavy breath through her nose and faced forward.
“Captain.”
“Eight? Yes?”
“How do you think the others are faring? Have you heard anything?”
A pause. Three seemed to hesitate, Eight could read it in her face; she sucked in a breath and exhaled quietly. She was avoiding that question, hoping it wouldn’t come up and swallowing her pride for assuming it wouldn’t.
“Nothin’ yet. Still waiting. I’ll tell you when I do, okay?” Eight narrowed her eyes ever-so-slightly. “Just don’t ask again.” A panicked response. That much was oh so clear to Eight. Trust wasn’t the concern here; their ability to be in each other’s presence for longer than 10 minutes being on the line most certainly was.
Eight didn’t have a choice.
She shut her trap and sat, pondering as she stared at Three mindlessly, blankly, zoned out to the view of her face. Three seemed to notice, as she breathed out some air she hadn’t noticed was held tight to her chest and clenched her fists. They were at some shoddy table underneath an awning in the hotel lobby, looking much more like an indoor motel front with a bit of a carpeted parking lot to satisfy their 3-star rating. Not the best for somewhere along their current route, but it was all they could muster the funds for as such an excursion, rather than sleeping on a roof somewhere (like Eight had done many times before. At least that way she didn’t have to hit her head as soon as she woke up.)
“Eight. Earth to Agent Eight.”
Oh, right, right. She was alive, and well, and sitting across the table from Captain. She immediately straightened her posture, feeling a twinge of ache coming from the way she was wearing 3 layers of clothing on her top half alone; Three seemed to be… amused, at her state. Almost laughing, but not quite; watching with some form of… admiration? Eight’s face went hot, and she looked off to the side. Admiration. Three could only read her so well, thankfully; Eight did not know what that was but had learned to dub it embarrassment. A disappointment to most, but she was thankful for the opportunity.
“Yes, Captain?” Stoic, once more; with a face of some form of gentle optimism and convoluted sweetness. Something she had learned over the course of many years to mask with, somewhat of a facade.
“I lost you there for a moment. You were zoning out,” Three nearly cackled, voice packed with more emotion than- admittedly- she ever showed around anyone else. It almost made Eight feel special, but there it was again. Trust. Not pretty, and most certainly not favorable. Not right now, at least.
“When are we heading out?”
A brief pause, before Three replied. “Now.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖
“Captain, have you seen my bag?” Eight was frantically searching for this bag of hers, a tiny duffel with all of her goods, her good stuff packed tightly inside; she was a light enough packer- but lacked in most of what any normal octoling, or inkling, would need. She packed her weapon, a change of clothes, and an extra pair of socks.
Three glanced up, leaning against the doorframe as she was fidgeting with some gum she found on the ground. “Oh. Nah, why?”
“Hey, so it’s literally not in here. I’ve destroyed this entire room and it’s gone,” Eight rambled, pacing in front of the Captain herself. Three’s face morphed into something unreadable, something that Eight didn’t have the time or patience or resources to decipher, but she only got a glimpse of this as she immediately looked away to tear apart the room again. She could hear Three sigh, could hear her start to talk, and stop as she realized she didn’t know what to say. Opening and closing her mouth like a gullible fish. And then her mouth closed- narrowing her eyes, locked in on an object that had eluded Eight’s frenzied gaze.
“What do you mean?” Three blurted.
“What do you mean ‘what do you mean?’ Excuse me-”
Three pointed as soon as Eight’s gaze landed back on her, almost shrinking in posture at the notion. If Eight had been paying attention to that, maybe then she would have noticed the splattered lime-green blush that painted Three’s face; what she did notice, however, was her bag wedged between the bottom of the bed and the carpeted floor, buried under the balled-up bedsheets.
Eight’s posture immediately relaxed, untensed by a mile; she gasped and ran to make sure all of her stuff was still in there and- surely- it was, that only being confirmed in Eight’s brain after 5 exact checks. Three untensed her muscles, too; possibly having been a little concerned, most likely having hated the idea of something going so terribly wrong under her supervision. At least, from Eight’s point of view, that seemed a lot more likely, as she was a very nervy captain. Even if she didn’t voice that, it was always evident in her slouched posture, her constantly fidgeting hands.
“Thank you, Captain. You have my utmost respect.”
“Hey, save the glaze,” Three voiced, a twinge of humor lacing her voice.
“...Glaze?” Eight looked down at her feet. It was her turn to look like a completely baffled little fish, opening and closing her mouth goldfish-style. “What is glaze?”
“Jeez, I forget you’re so uncultured sometimes,” the captain cackled, immediately softening her face as she realized that was… a rather insensitive joke to make, a weak point in Eight’s mind. She awkwardly shrugged her shoulders and looked down at Eight’s feet too. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that.” Eight scowled.
“I’m learning! Plenty.” She grumbled this painedly, ever-so-slightly stomping her foot.
“Yeah, you know most Inkling now. That’s a lot for an Octoling in… what, 5 months time?” Eight let her guard down to normal status again, sighing, still salty. “Well, you’ve been with us for like 4 years. You just only started being really good and fluent and all that jazz a few months ago. Sorry. Didn’t give you enough credit.” And Three’s words weren’t really helping. They did earn her a half-chuckle, though, and that was a win on her part, doing a little mental victory dance. At least, Eight could read that on her face. It made her want to smile.
“So are we going now, Captain?” Eight stood straight, blinking in Three’s direction. “I’ll tidy up the room a bit if we are… if I can get these sheets back on. They were too rough to sleep on,” Eight mildly complained, and Three snickered. The Agent was such a priss for someone known to have slept in cots for her entire upbringing.
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go, whenever you’re ready. I didn’t really bring much, just my drawstring bag.” She patted the bag on her back from her shoulder, and Eight nodded, gathering her things slowly. “I’ll be outside the door.”
And then Eight was alone with her thoughts again. Uncultured. She knew what that word meant- it meant that she wasn’t ‘of belonging’ in this place, up here, with the inklings and the cities and the turf wars and the vocabulary and slang and everything under the sun (that could feel its rays, that is- she had once been under the sun too, utterly unaware of its presence). She wasn’t fluent in Inkling, just proficient at best. She had wonderful aim, sometimes, which was weird. She despised almost every fabric the Inklings used for clothing and the like, preferring rubbery textures that went easy on her. Her tentacles displayed every emotion she wished to keep quiet, and she looked different. Little tears pricked her eyes again. Cod, not this again.
The bedside alarm went off again, this time playing the same song, the same lyrics, just in Octarian. Something she could understand, though she was losing her quickness to fluency. Inkling was, begrudgingly, her default. And the lyrics now made sense to her- although it wasn’t Tiffany singing; it was some Inkling with a really horrible accent for somewhere she had never heard before. She listened briefly, but the words were hard to decipher, still, and the tune locked itself in her brain almost immediately.
Children act well(?)... that’s what they say when we’re (together? With each other? Something like that)…
That was enough of that- she figured- as Three peeked in again, frowning.
“Are you seriously listening to music right now?” Three tried to listen, and failed. “It’s in Octarian, too. What a gatekeeper.”
“It’s the alarm I set, Captain. Apologies.” She immediately shut it off, scurrying to follow behind Eight as she began walking away from the door, out of sight. “What is a gatekeeper, by this meaning?” she called, and realized Three didn’t hear only upon realizing she was a lot further ahead than the Octoling herself. She braced herself to catch up.
“What was it saying?” Small talk from Three. Typical.
“Something about children acting well. The accent was too heavy, I did not understand much. And then you barged in. I didn’t hear more than the first few lines,” Eight truthfully stated. Three only nodded, perplexed.
“Huh. I think I’ve heard that song before.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but it was in some weird old language I didn’t get. It’s… okay, I guess.” She bit her nail. “I didn’t know there were any covers. Thought it was that way forever. Did someone seriously take the time to translate that whole song?”
“I guess they did,” Eight mumbled, as they arrived back at the elevator to the hotel lobby. Silence fell on them like a brick, and was broken not quite instantaneously. “Can we take the stairs?”
The shape the elevator was in was… questionable. To say the least. Three only nodded vigorously in response, clearly already setting her sights on a couple flights of stairs to the right. It wouldn’t take that long, thankfully; they were only on the 3rd (and final) floor, and down to the lobby was not a treacherous battle between them and their ability to breathe. It was also a downward climb, rather than an uphill battle, so much easier on Three’s jelly legs.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
The air was nicer outside, at least by a bit- even if there were prevalent factory fumes consistently entering Eight’s nostrils. She felt safer out here; seeing Inklings bustling about down the streets of this crowded city they were taking time in for whatever it was again. Something training? Maybe, maybe. She couldn’t really think as what Three dubbed ‘opportunity of the finest (for the fittest of the lot)’ smacked her squarely in the face. Maybe she just needed to exit the hotel, and she’d be all good again? So it seemed, at least. A queasy feeling settled itself deep in her gut and she swallowed hard.
“The world is ours, man. Just look at this,” Three muttered, breaking Eight’s reluctant trance. “This is our time.”
“The world… is ours,” Eight parroted, taking in her surroundings. The traffic lights, the cars, the song of the city- and Eight took the first step forward, marking new beginnings of the mundane variety, sucking in a deep breath as Three quickly followed suit, stepping in front of Eight. Captain’s duties, Eight supposed.
“Let’s get out of here. If we hurry, we can catch a train or something. I don’t know. I’m about as familiar with this place as you are,” Three spoke monotonously into the air, glancing around for the nearest subway station, or monorail, or whatever they used here. Easy for you to say, Eight thought. I’m a fish out of water everywhere I go. You’re some Inkling like every Inkling girl your age, plus a significant amount more battle scars, although I’d say that’s even more of a perk to why you belong here. I don’t.
She almost said that out loud, she realized. Her mouth was hovering open, and the first syllables were flowing from her mouth like sour bile, but she stopped herself, clearing her throat immediately, covering her face into her elbow. Three seemed to not have noticed, or had chosen not to see, because she didn’t so much as acknowledge the difference in her demeanor- only continuing on. It seemed to be the latter, judging by the pained look across her face; Eight could only feel the pit in her gut widen itself and hunker down to be something so painful it made her want to puke and hide away forever.
They were going nowhere, getting nowhere both figuratively and literally; turning aimlessly down this street then that one because it looked like it was close- and Three still chose to ignore the way her only present agent was clutching her hands together as they grew clammy with sweat and dug her claws a little into her palms. A beadlet of blood formed beneath one of her claws, and that was somehow when Three stopped- the pair were deep in some unused alleyway, lost for sure, and Three took one good look at Eight before realizing that, yeah, something was actually wrong right now. “Hey. Uh.” Three glanced down at Eight pressing down on the bottom of her palm with her other hand, watching as droplets of blood trickled down her wrist. Only after a few seconds did the Octoling stop, avoiding eye contact hesitantly. She seemed distraught.
“Eight, what are you doing?” Three asked, concern set deep in the tone of her voice. Eight stuttered for some sort of answer, scrambling to hide her arm behind her back before she gave up at giving any explanation, looking down ashamedly. Eight shook her head. “Dude, you’re bleeding. What happened? Are you even okay? What’s going on?”
Three was overwhelming her with questions, taking miniscule steps forward as if afraid of breaking the Octoling in front of her. For every step forward Three took with such hesitation, Eight took such sure steps backward, straight into a wall. She was not cornered, actually- she had cornered herself, Three only meant well- but it still brought fear to her eyes, sputtering as memories of her unfavorable past crept down on her, looming over her like a sick game of dollhouse. They had control over her.
“Eight? What’s going on?”
“Eight?”
“Hello?”
Eight was losing her balance. The world was swallowing her whole, distortion apparent in her vision, she was seeing things, seeing things, seeing things-
The next thing she remembers, she’s in Three’s apartment.