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Her cheek aches. The dead skin there—thick slabs of blue stains curving down from above her brow to below her chin, painful and numb simultaneously—is always made worse by the dry air here. Her painkillers are starting to wear off. She doesn’t even have any down here with her.
Perfectly timed, Three. She’d pat herself on the back if it didn’t hurt.
She twisted her ankle when she tripped. There’s a baseline level of pain there—she bruised her ankles pretty badly when she broke through the Metro ceiling, and then sprained her right (and a tentacle) midway through the Alterna mission—that she’s grown used to. This is far, far worse.
And then the nearby scaffolding fell on her. And then one of the orange boxes hit her square in the chest.
Camp isn’t far, either way. If Marie or Neo were here, she’d radio them in for backup. But it’s just her & Cap’n Cuttlefish.
The sisters are busy out in Splatsville; Deep Cut’s looting vacation seems to have gone catastrophically wrong. Neo’s been losing sleep over it—Three had to send her home because she was completely exhausted.
(Seeing her cry didn’t get to her. Three is going to kill Shiver when she gets back though. Entirely unrelated.)
She’s already down three agents, but then Eight and Four then came down with the flu.
She’s on the fence about calling DJ Octavio a part of the Squidbeak Splatoon, but either way he isn’t answering her texts. Or Cuttlefish’s. Or anybody’s, really.
Three idly wonders to herself if Octavio even knows how to text. Or if he even has a phone. Maybe he’s lost it. Maybe he dropped it off the side of one of Octo Valley’s floating platforms and then instantly gave up. (She would too.) Maybe he isn’t answering out of spite. Who knows.
On that note, she should probably contact Cap’n. Tell him she’s on her way back. She paws at her waist, shimmies her hand around a little when she feels nothing there. Shit. Her radio is gone. She whips around and glances behind her. It’s nowhere to be seen.
She’s going to have to backtrack if she doesn’t want Cap’n yelling at her. Brilliant. She’s this close to camp and she’s got to turn around—
Three coughs. She can’t breathe all of a sudden; her lungs won’t fill and the pain stops her from trying. Her back thuds against the storage container nearby. Dammit. Her breathing comes out short and panicked. She’d knocked up a cloud of dust when the rubble fell on her, sure, but she’s not sure why she’s coughing now. Maybe it’s the pain. Maybe something came loose when she fell and it pierced one (or both?) of her lungs when she looked behind her.
Get it together, Three.
There’s a growing pressure behind her eye. She’s reminded violently of the Deep Sea Metro—the neon blue sludge slipping behind her eye, into her sinuses, wetting her brain stem and possessing her. Alterna’s landscape blurs together—the left half of her vision has become incomprehensible. The harsh light around sends a stabbing pain through her skull.
You’re fine, she reminds herself. Nothing’s wrong.
Three tries to clear her throat, just to clear whatever is blocking her airways. She can’t. The searing pain that follows makes it nearly impossible just to breathe.
She whimpers and presses a hand to the spot that hurts the most. There’s a dip in her chest. It feels almost hollow, like she could press her finger in and touch her organs. Okay. Maybe something is wrong.
Huh.
The snow is oddly comfortable. Three didn’t even realise she had sunk to the floor, but she’s a little grateful to her body for dragging her down. She never thought she’d be grateful to it, after the Metro. First time for everything, she muses. Sitting upright lessens the pain a little, so she leans her head up toward the ‘sky’ and closes her eyes.
It's (almost) peaceful. There is nothing—other than the wind—to distract her. It’s like she can finally think. She understands why Eight thought this place was magical.
She’s gotta get up, though. Cap’n’s probably worrying himself sick. Three opens her eyes and then squints into the light. Standing up right now feels like a form of torture.
Come on Three. Remember your training.
She grits her beak and pulls herself upright.
What training? her brain counters.
One of her eyes tears up, while the other remains uncomfortably dry.
It’s an ordeal, forcing herself to walk over. Camp is close by, sure, but her legs will not cooperate. Her legs are shaking, her every step is unsteady and her vision sparkles like an exaggerated lens flare.
You’re fine, she hisses.
“Three! Took ya long enough!…ya alright?”
She must look worse than she thought. She cups her hand over her eye instinctively—the light here is starting to give her a headache.
“Fine.” She responds. Her voice comes out both raspier and quieter than she expected. She nearly trips on her next step.
“Didja hurt yer eye? It looks real rough.” He squints at her. “Is it b‘cuz of…y’know. ”
She feels guilty all of a sudden. Like a kid caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.
“It’s fine, Cap. I.. I feel fine.” She leans against the fence and folds her arms against her chest. “Feelin’ like a million bucks.”
“That’s a relief! Ya scared me halfway to Davy Jones back there! I heard a crash, and then ya stopped responding ta me altogether! I thought y’were a goner!”
“Sorry, Cap. It won’t happen again.” Three squeezes her eyes closed. The world won’t stop spinning.
“Ya sure yer alright?” He sounds almost…soft? Damn. She forces herself to open her eyes again—worrying Cap’n Cuttlefish of all people is an impressive feat, and not one she’s proud of.
“Fine, Cap. I promise.” She smiles weakly and his ears drop. She licks her teeth. Blood. “Shit. Sorry. I think I bit my tongue or something.”
Craig pulls himself to his feet. She breathes in—it catches on her throat and she starts coughing again.
“Three?!” Cap’n rushes over.
It’s painful enough to bring her to tears. The pain is slightly easier if she keeps herself upright, but that’s nearly impossible while she’s coughing. Cuttlefish holds her up by the shoulder.
“I—”She finally manages to breathe in, “I’m okay—”
“Like hell ya are!! What didja do?” He looks away for a moment. “Go sit down. Before ya make this worse.”
Three silently collapses into her seat. She keeps her eyes closed and her back straight and breathes as shallowly as she can.
“T’hell happened out there?” Cuttlefish leans on his bamboozler and crosses his arms.
“I tripped. And then everything nearby fell on me.” Three covers her face with her hands and groans. “Hit me in the chest pretty bad.”
Cap’n whistles through his teeth. “Holy mackerel.”
Her hand finds that dip in her chest again. She traces her fingers up, and—
“Hey, Cap?” He flicks his ears. “I think I broke something.”
“Ya sure?”
Three nods and gestures to her chest.
“There’s a dip,” she touches the hollow spot, “here. And here,” she reaches up. “somethings.. sticking out. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“C’n ya sit on the floor a minute? I’ll take a look.” Cap’n sits down, crossing one leg over the other. She sits on her knees in front of him.
She feels like a scared little kid—not that she’d ever admit it. It’s only natural, right? She’s never been this badly injured before.
He presses two fingers to the spot she gestured—just above her chest—and winces.
“Somethin’s definitely broken. Shit.” He traces his fingers down and then pauses.
Right. The centre of the break is in the middle of her chest.
Three runs her fingers along the path he started.
“I think I can feel the other side of it? But I’-” The pain is so dizzying she thinks she might faint. She gags, tears pricking in her eyes. Cap’n places his hands on both her shoulders.
“Look’t me. Y’re gonna be fine.”
Three digs her fingers into her lap and nods. She’s trying so hard to stay conscious, to no avail.
“Okay.” she whispers. Cap’n wipes the tears off her face with his thumb and reaches into his back pocket.
“M’callin Marie—”
“Don’t—” She coughs again. Cuttlefish points a finger in her face.
“Shuttup.” He flips his phone open and dials her number. “I can’t fix this,” he gestures to her chest. “on ma own.”
Three pouts.
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“..sort of? I’ve seen this b’fore. Ya got.. I f’rget what they call it. Some kinda ‘bone’ here in ya chest.” He gestures to her chest. “That’s what y’broke.” Cap’n finally calls Marie. “C’mere.” He shifts to the side and holds out one arm to her.
Three takes the bait. She leans against him, wipes the tears from her eyes, and listens to his phone ring.
Alterna really is beautiful. Blurry and sparkly, like stars. She looks up.
“Hey. Sorry f’r callin’ ya—no. I’m fine, Marie. Yeah..”
She pulls her cap down over her eyes, spurred by a mix of misery and shame. She’s so tired.
Cap’n holds his phone to his chest for a minute.
“Y’can fall asleep. It’s fine.”
“Sure?” Three digs her fingers into her hand.
“Sure. Y’seem worn out.” She nods. Cap’n holds the phone back to his ear and pets her shoulder.
“m’ back. Yep. No, she’s fine. Marie. Marie. Th’ poor girl’s hardly keepin’ herself awake. No—Marie. Listen t’ me. It ain’t gonna help her any…”
Three closes her eyes and breathes in.