Chapter Text
Survive.
He didn’t know what he was anymore. Was he an octoling? Was he sapient? Did he even exist? Or was he nothing but a ghost, haunting the streets of this place as he mulled over his failures? At this point, who cared? He had run from his duty, from the only home he had ever known in search of a forbidden fruit he had willingly taken a bite from, and now he was curled up in an alleyway, out of sight and out of mind. No one would find him here, he had made sure of it. He was lost and broken, and only one thought swirled in his mind.
Survive.
Scraps of food he found in dumpsters. Small creatures he killed. Taking shelter where he could. He had no desire to keep living, but the primal instinct in his chest urged him to survive another day, to do what he had to do to keep going. He wished he could squash that feeling beneath him.
He could feel himself going feral. The last vestiges of his sanity slowly slipping away as he huddled in the dark alleyway, an octoling soldier no longer. Only a creature who had fallen from grace, made to survive the shadows that now plagued his mind. Some of those memories took him back to the Octo Domes. He wished they were good memories, wished he could think back on the times where he felt like he belonged, like he was meant to be there, like he was meant to fight.
But all he knew was fear and pain.
The blood shed in the name of an ideal he never believed in.
The torture he endured for a king who wouldn’t bat an eye.
There was no “belonging” in the Octo Domes. There never was.
There was only one time he felt like he belonged, as much as he loathed to admit. His mind turned to the Deepsea Metro, but he pushed those painful feelings away as quickly as they came. He would only spiral further if he was forced to remember that place. The soulless eyes that burned holes through him, the feeling of dulled claws twisting around his neck, choking the life out of him, the blades descending upon him as he resigned himself to his fate. The scar over his right eye burned at the memories, and he curled his claws into a fist, willing them to go away.
How long have I been out here? Struggling like this? He thought, shivering beneath a broken doorway. What the building was used for, he had no idea. It was long since abandoned, its original purpose lost to the sands of time. For now, it was useful as protection against the chilly, night air. An old, moth-bitten tarp settled over his shoulders, and although it didn’t help much, it was better than nothing. Has it been days? Weeks? I can’t remember. My time in the metro seems so long ago.
Does Three even remember me? Does he think of me?
I can’t imagine he would care after so long.
Memories of the inkling filled his head, and he felt something warm in his chest. Three had no reason to assist him down there, but he did anyway. Were all inklings like that? Selfless to the point of idiocy? Or was Three a special case? A kind soul who cradled those around him in light? If Three acted that way in the Octarian army, his light would have quickly been snuffed out. To help an enemy, even if said enemy was unarmed, was dangerous. But Three didn’t care, risking his own life to bring him to the surface he had dreamed of so long. That alone made Three better than those who kept Eight hostage.
If his former captors found him, he knew he couldn’t fight back. He was too weak, too hungry, too tired. They’d drag him back to their lair of horrors, and he would allow them to unleash the fury he deserved. He would be a pawn again, dancing to their whims.
Is that not what I am now? He stared up at the sky, peeking out of his hiding spot to find some sort of guidance from a higher being. Every day that passed diminished his belief in such a thing, and who could blame him? His fall from grace hurt more than any battle wound: once a proud soldier even his superiors feared, he was a homeless wreck on the verge of death.
He wanted to feel rage towards those who caused him so much pain and distress, but who would be the target of such hatred? Agent Three, who had opened his eyes to everything in the first place? His higher ups, who were only doing what they must for their people? Octavio, who probably had no idea any of this was going on? Commander Tartar, who was long dead? His peers, who had only ever supported him, and he had left behind? As much as he didn’t want to admit it, there was no one for him to justify his anger towards. If he broke it down to its core, he was the only one at fault. If he had never questioned his life after hearing the Calamari Inkantation, if he had continued to obey like a good soldier, he wouldn’t be in this situation.
He would have sat there forever, but it was his stomach that stirred him into motion. The sharp pains of hunger urged him to his feet, begging him to find something that would fulfill its cravings. But he felt too weak to hunt down any living creature, and previous endeavors rummaging through dumpsters had left him sorely disappointed. His stomach couldn’t digest surface food easily, and he didn’t feel like forcing himself to suffer through eating when it would only end poorly. It wasn’t like he was close to starving to death, anyway. With empty hearts and an empty stomach, he slumped against the doorway. Though desperate for food, the last remnants of his rapidly declining pride would not allow him to pick through trash any longer.
He winced as he relaxed, gingerly touching a hand to the wound at his side. He had no recollection of earning it, and as such he assumed it came from the battle against the NILS statue. He only remembered exploding Marina’s hyperbombs, of smiling at Agent Three, of falling into the ocean, and then nothing. When he pulled his hand back, dark blue ink stained his fingers. He groaned at the pain, biting his lip and resting his head against the door. The fabric he had fashioned into bandages were no longer doing the trick, and he was too hungry to regenerate his broken skin barrier. He should just lay there, let the cold darkness of death wash over him.
You have to survive!
It took two or three hours of him sitting before he realized it started to rain, the water pooling at his feet. The droplets hit the ground around him, and he pulled the tarp over his head to protect himself. Rain never bothered him as much as it did other inkfish, due to his regeneration abilities. More than anything, its calming sound gave him time to wallow in thoughts of doom and pity. At least it was comforting. He may be an exile, a traitor to everyone he ever met, but at least he had the rain to soothe him through this cold, unforgiving night.
But his thoughts mulled over the faces of his… friends? Companions? Associates in torture and suffering? The other experiments he lived with. He didn’t know what to call them, but he felt deep in his heart of hearts they were precious, and he had abandoned them. Left them with the army that caused them so much pain. Were they being punished for his own escape? They were always punished for simply standing up for one another, and no doubt Malik and Marner would turn their wrath on them, accusing them of helping him escape. No matter how they would plead for mercy, none could escape unscathed.
If they weren’t dead already.
What was I thinking, leaving them behind? Why didn’t I try to bring them with me? Why did I run away, without even telling them where I was going or what I was doing? From their point of view, he must had simply disappeared one day, without a trace. They must be worried about me. They must think I’m dead. His thoughts spiraled, and he sucked in a breath. The rain on his face was the only thing masking his tears, which he was barely aware of. 10009’s face flashed into his mind. Her gentle smiles, whenever the higher ups weren’t looking. The way she protected him, even if it meant she would be punished for it. The time she spat at Fang for trying to inflict more torture on him than was needed. They were cut from the same tentacle, they shared not just genes, but love for each other. It may be blasphemous of him to say, but they were siblings.
Family.
The forbidden word echoed in his mind, and he held his face in his hands. Experiments didn’t have a family. They had allies, and they had superiors. Their job was to live and die for the army, to obey orders. Experiments didn’t come into this world naturally, they were created. They didn’t have feelings, they didn’t have emotions like real octolings. He shouldn’t think of the other experiments in such a familiar way, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He let out a strangled cry, one that rapidly morphed into a sob. He was a pathetic, worthless soldier. A failure of a being that never should have been created. The world and everything in it would be better off without him, better off if no one found him. As depressing as it was, it felt good to let out those feelings as they lingered in his hearts for too long. He was supposed to be an emotionless soldier, but it felt oh so good to finally release the anger and despair that filled him to the brim for so many years.
He was no longer 10008, an experiment owned by the Octarian army. Nor was he Eight, a friend of Agent Three. He was nameless, ownerless, witless, lost. If he died out here, no one would know or care. Inklings would continue along, forgetting about the Octarians eventually, and Agent Three and his Squidbeak Splatoon would wipe them off the face of the earth sooner or later. Those who created him would forget about him, too. Moving on to create another perfect soldier, like the one he was supposed to be.
And they would torture them even more to keep a tighter leash on them, wouldn’t they? If the scientists couldn’t keep a hold on him, then what reason was there to give the next experiment any freedom? He should have stayed, if only to protect those poor, unfortunate souls from suffering in his place. The agony that should be his.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, sobbing as his shoulders hunched over. By the time he was done, the tears left him exhausted, the lack of energy in his veins causing him to slump. He curled his knees up to his chest, taking in a deep breath and letting his eyes close. The soothing sound of the rain would help him fall asleep, and maybe he would wake up from this horrible nightmare, or not wake up at all. They way the train tapped against the metal roof above him reminded him of a simpler time… a time of training with the other experiments, preparing for combat.
The rain would, however, prove to be his downfall. Though it brought him peace, it also muffled the sound of footsteps. Normally, he would have detected the foreign presence immediately, but his self-pity and loathing distracted him so he wasn’t aware of the second presence in the alleyway until they were right before him. Despite his weakness and the slipping of his sanity, he pulled himself into a sitting position. He wanted to die, yes, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. He winced as he moved, irritating his wound, and reached out a hand to clutch at his side, letting out a soft groan. He almost didn’t hear the second figure release a soft gasp.
“…Eight?”
He recognized that voice. It haunted his dreams, cutting through his dark nightmares by casting a beautiful glow. He looked up, lifting his violet gaze to stare directly at the only light in his life, second to his family.
An inkling with bright green hair stood in front of him. Although the hair was different, he recognized those trussed up cornrows. Red eyes that so often filled with mirth were dulled with an indescribable emotion, as clay-colored skin came into view.
“Agent Three. Never thought I’d see you again,” Eight said, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears. “I’m tired. Please just… let me sleep. I don’t want to fight anymore.”
If this is how I meet my end, getting to see Agent Three one more time as my embers fade, then I can be at peace. At least I will go with some of my dignity still intact.
Agent Three only stared at him, silent and still. Eight didn’t want to look back, uncomfortable with the staring, but he was curious as to what was filling his mind. Even so, he wanted to close his eyes and die. He was so tired, so done with everything around him. He didn’t want to have to worry about being captured again, or about Tartar, or about other inklings.
Three knelt down, shuffling closer to hover right before Eight. He didn’t move, staying completely still as the inkling inspected his body, eyes landing on the wound on his side. Eight turned his head to look away, certain his wound was nearing infection. But what could he do about it? He had no medical supplies. And as much as it hurt, he didn’t want to get up and find some.
Three pulled away slightly, looking Eight directly in the eyes, now. “You look close to death.” He pointed out, to Eight’s amusement and chagrin. “How long have you been out here like this?” He looked around, and Eight watched as his throat bobbed. “Have you been… alone?”
Eight bit his lip. He didn’t want to tell Three anything, he didn’t want to show weakness. But after all that time suffering by his lonesome, after all that time in the metro, forcing to move on and act as if he had no friends, wasn’t it better to allow himself one ally? Didn’t he deserve to rest, to confide in someone?
Why did it have to be this inkling, of all creatures.
He slowly tipped his head forward, acknowledging Three’s question. The inkling licked his lips, and Eight wondered what was going through his mind. His first reaction was it was something that spelled doom for Eight, that Three would snuff out his life then and there so as to not deal with a thorn in his side.
But the events of the metro had dulled that thought. Three had all sorts of time to extinguish Eight’s life if he wanted to. Yet he chose not to. He chose mercy, above all else. If Eight was more vindictive, he would have pushed Three away and let himself fall victim to the gash in his side. If he still held any of that soldier’s pride left, he wouldn’t accept help from an enemy, regardless of what they had gone through in the Metro together.
And yet…
He didn’t say anything as Three reached forward, tenderly resting an arm against Eight’s good side and holstering him out. Eight couldn’t move his body, feeling undignified as he went limp in Three’s grasp, but he said nothing. There was no need, not when he was this weak. The exhaustion in his body wasn’t normal, and he had no reason to fight against the assistance being offered to him.
Though… why he would help me is beyond my comprehension.
“Look…” Agent Three didn’t look at any of Eight’s expressions, instead frowning slightly at the silence that passed between them. He looked almost embarrassed, as if he was disappointed in himself for trying to help an octoling. “I get it. I’m not going to stand here and pretend that I’m perfect, that I haven’t hurt you. I know my own faults painfully well.” He sighed, mulling over his thoughts. “But I’ve learned so much down in that Metro, and I’ve come to realize that there’s nowhere I can even begin to start to say how sorry I am. For everything. It isn’t my intention to embarrass you or to make you feel inferior or anything, but I have medical supplies back at my apartment.” He paused, finally turning to look Eight in the eyes. “I want to help you, Eight. I do. You don’t deserve to die out here. You don’t deserve to be alone.”
The thought was tempting.
Oh, it was tempting.
Surely there would be warm food there? Maybe even a pillow, something comfortable to rest his head and the rest of his body on. Just a place he could get out of this rain. Out of this awful situation he had gotten himself into. Three could be trusted, that much was for sure. Even if Eight still had his misgivings, he didn’t need to whimper and pull away. He could take that outstretched hand, could trust the one in front of him.
But…
But what if it was all a trap?
What if Three truly would snuff his life out for good this time? Was the Deepsea Metro all one elaborate and cruel way to get Eight to trust him, only for the inklings to take him and do the experimenting on him next? There was no telling what he could trust. No telling who was an enemy and who wasn’t. Freedom seemed further away every moment he spent on the surface, as if it was all a lie in the first place.
But wouldn’t it be better than this?
Three must have noticed his turmoil, because a gentle smile found its way onto his face. A smile that reminded Eight of all their time together. “You’re stubborn as usual, Eight. Unfortunately for you, though, I’m just as stubborn too.”
That was the truest thing Eight had heard in a long time, and he couldn’t help but nod his head at Three’s words. The truth may sting, but in this case Eight didn’t care. He had more stings and scrapes on his body that hurt more than his pride ever could.
He allowed Three to keep him upright, allowed him to drape a jacket over his shoulders. The silence was only interrupted by the rain, and he closed his eyes, taking in the fresh scent of the rain and of Three next to him. And he would use that scent to ground him to this earth.
Until he died.