Chapter Text
If agent Eight had to describe the past hour and a half in two words, she would just say it was too much.
Far too much.
In just the span of two hours Test Subject No. 10,008 had: woken up in a strange place with no memories and a pounding headache, been accused of starting an ambush and kidnapping someone (which for some reason, has never been brought up again), been recruited into a crazy secret squid society run by an old man who’s definitely gone mad, scolded for not understanding the basics of ink weapons and how she should apparently know how to use such a thing and met a talking telephone that spoke in slang she couldn’t understand.
Now Eight was on a train that smelled very fresh for something that she had assumed was usually cramped.
C.Q Cumber had just finished explaining to her and her new companion, Captain Cuttlefish, how to manoeuvre around the station to get to each ‘test’ that she was now supposed to do. In order to reach the surface, referred to as “the promised land” by the telephone, she would have to collect four objects called “Thangs” by completing each test across Kamabo. Cuttlefish didn’t seem to mind - or he just didn’t notice - that she had been stalling for time to absorb this new information.
The first test on the list filled her dread. She hoped it would be a written quiz as knowledge is her strong suit, but her logical mind deduced that it’d be a physical test instead. Of course, it would be. Toughing it out, she grabbed her CQ-80 and made her way to the first test area. It was called Fake Plastic Station.
The station went by hellishly. She could now successfully add “almost died, technically,” to the list of awful things that have happened so far.
Upon arriving she was thrust into a room filled with ill-looking octolings and had to fight her way out, which consisted of tossing as many bombs as she could in a panic. The test hadn’t said anything about fighting, only to get to the objective, which she definitely felt was false advertising. When she finally reached the end, she was relieved that it was over. The interior of the facility was getting to her, with bags of what she hoped was ink littering the area and plastic that covered every possible surface. Not only that, but it smelled like someone had dumped Eight’s face into a bottle of hand sanitizer.
It really didn’t make her happy when she realized how many lines there were, and how many tests she had to complete for each… Oh, how she would give for a history test she could study for instead. Maybe if she had a test like that, it’d give her the chance to prove what she was capable of, and maybe the captain would be impressed with her.
Shortly after Eight had managed to settle down and shake off her anxiety a bit, she and the captain were greeted with two unfamiliar voices over his radio. Cuttlefish had apparently been trying to get a hold of Agent 3 ( Why did that name sound so familiar? ) when a duo called Off the Hook, comprised of Pearl and Marina, had somehow picked up instead. After hearing about their situation, they offered to help, to Eight’s relief... She was happy to have some kind of assistance. Perhaps she could skip all these horrible tests and leave by tomorrow evening. She was far, far too exhausted for this anyways.
The rest of the day was a bit more bearable. Cuttlefish was a lot less harsh about Eight’s inability to complete tests with Pearl and Marina’s presence. The two were more encouraging and quick to notice Eight’s lack of fighting skills and decided to help find ways to skirt around it instead of chastising her.
“‘Coulda fooled me, Eight. You got that snazzy scar over your mouth, and the cool kelp holding your tentacles up. You’d look like a badass fighter if it weren’t for those nerdy glasses.” Pearl commented through her earpiece during one mission. “Ow! Marina - I was joking! There’s nothing wrong with nerds!”
The second test she did required using a baller special to navigate some kind of obstacle course. While it was easier than running from enemies, she found herself fumbling and had to redo it quite a few times due to the time limit. Eight quickly learned the hard way that she had a bomb strapped to her back this whole time that detonates when she fails a test, and she certainly wasn’t looking forward to any future pain that it might bring. Sanitized ink didn’t burn or cause unbearable amounts of pain, but it was uncomfortable . It stung the moment it hit your skin and would itch long after it was gone. Not enough to make Eight go mad, but enough that it made moving annoying and motivated her to not fail as much. Her leather outfit didn’t make things better, either, since it stuck to her skin as she sweats and was harder to adjust when she got enemy ink on her back.
The third test, however, wasn’t actually so bad. It actually relaxed her, which was strange to admit considering the previous tests. All she had to do was ever-so-carefully navigate a giant 8-ball around a map and to the end, navigating around a few enemies here and there. Eight finished quickly with no failures, much to everyone else’s disbelief. She just wished the rest of her tests could be like this.
Despite the minor break, she was still exhausted. She almost wanted to ask if it was possible for Marina to hack the systems and see if she could mark all the tests as finished for her at this point.
Now she just wanted to sleep. She needed sleep. Desperately. The captain seemed completely unphased somehow, though he also didn’t do much except watch her the whole time. Even Pearl and Marina had said they needed some rest and to contact them if she needed something before saying their goodnights. Eight found herself trying not to nod off on the train, much to the local denizen’s dismay.
She was only asleep for what felt like a few minutes before she felt a few taps on her shoulder. Assuming it was Cuttlefish, she ignored it at first, before she heard a voice speak up.
“Excuse me, young squire.”
“Mm?” Eight rubbed her eyes under her glasses and sat up. Her back was sore and all the exercise prior made her feel like she could melt into an ink puddle any moment. “Yes?”
Next to her stood a friendly-looking isopod in a suit. Eight blinked a few times before adjusting her posture to be polite.
“You are a test subject, yes? May I have a look at those trinkets you’ve got there?” He said.
“Pardon?” Eight reached for her ink tank-bag, which was laying by her feet prior. “Trinkets?”
“Yes, the ones you likely received after your tests.”
“Oh!” She fumbled around with her bag before pulling out 3 little eraser-like rubber objects. One was of an inkling with light blue tentacles and a bite mark in one, another of a small octarian, and the third of an inkling in their squid form. “I apologize, I only have three.”
“Forgive me if I caught you off guard,” the isopod apologized. “And that’s perfectly alright, do not fret. They call me Iso Padre. That’s not my name, mind you, but it’s the only one I can recall now.”
She carefully handed the small trinkets to him, and he gently held each in a claw. Eight felt a sense of relief to know someone else who doesn’t remember their name, as unfortunate as it seemed. There was a feeling of comfort that came with knowing someone might understand how she felt being forced to go by a number all the time.
“I’m Eight. Agent Eight. That’s not my actual name, either, but it’s the only one I have at the moment.” Eight said solemnly.
Iso Padre nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Eight.”
The isopod carefully inspected the three objects in his claws, lifting them to eye level to get a proper look at them. “Down here, we call these thin slices of memory Mem Cakes.”
The mention of memories immediately caught Eight’s attention, making her ears perk up, flicking forward in interest. “Mem cakes? Memory?”
He nodded again. “I’ve spent an age or two here in the depths, hungry for them. They’re my only link left. I was, unfortunately, also a test subject who had washed out early. I still remember those days, at the very least.” He sighed, handing the mem cakes back to her. She studied them on her own, rubbing a gentle thumb over one’s carefully cut edges. “I pray that you’ll be the one to cut through the gloom and light the way to my dreams.”
“Thank you,” Eight said. She pocketed the cakes back into her bag. “Do you know any more about them, perhaps?”
She found herself yearning for more. If they were the key to her memories, it only made sense she would want the rest, right? Eight wanted to know her own identity, to find solid ground in this strange establishment.
“I do. But you are clearly exhausted, young squire. Let me guide you to the city to rest.”
“The city?” Eight stood up, lifting her bag over her shoulders. The ink tank hurt her back like it was being pressed up against a giant bruise, but she clenched her teeth and endured it. A city, this deep underground?
“Of course,” Iso Padre chuckled, rising to his feet. “Not everyone is a test subject, after all. And subjects must have somewhere to sleep, as it can take many days or weeks to finish tests, depending on how they fare. I am surprised the telephone did not explain it to you.”
Eight grunted. Of course, it made sense now that he pointed it out, especially with so many people coming in and out of the train. Many seemed annoyed with her, she noticed. They had thick accents she barely understood, but the things she did manage to understand she knew she didn’t like. Some made comments about there being “another test subject” and some even saying things like “poor dear” and “I hope she makes it out soon”. It made her uncomfortable.
“ ...The phone didn’t tell me anything about the city, or where to sleep. He spoke in too much slang, and he got frustrated when I asked him to repeat himself. I left after he gave me my card and CQ-80.”
Iso Padre laughed, loud and full, right from his chest. “He didn’t start doing that until recently if I recall correctly. The last test subject was quite the ‘cool kid’, you see, and the telephone had tried to adapt to his vernacular.”
The last test subject...Were they also an octoling? Why is Iso Padre here, but not them?
“Did the last subject make it to the promised land?”
The isopod paused. He turned around and began to lead the way out, and Eight quickly followed. He sighed.
“I do not know what happened to him .”
Upon arriving in the city, Agent Eight had to admit, she was quite amazed.
Although completely underground, the main ceiling towered high into the air, far above the intimidating buildings above them. It was made out of strong glass, so everyone could see the water above and the ocean’s fish swimming overhead. The city seemed almost like it was built to be trapped in the night time. It was decorated with neon lights scattering every corner of the streets and more hanging lights going across one sidewalk to the other to light the busy streets. There wasn’t a single spot on the city streets not touched by neon lights. She wondered if the surface would be like this. Perhaps not as bright , she thought.
T he streets themselves were bustling with people, and many occasionally glanced their way. As Eight followed Iso Padre, many people greeted him and some denizens even stopped him to make small talk. He seemed quite popular, Eight had decided. She wondered how long he must have been here to build such a reputation, especially if the locals didn’t seem to like test subjects very much.
On their way to their destination, which eight had learned was some kind of hotel restaurant, Iso Padre explained that as a test subject she has access to many things that the citizens do, if not more. Using her CQ Points she can buy whatever she likes, sometimes with discounts. She also had a permanent place to sleep in a hotel as long as they could see her ankle bracelet ( how irritating… ). While this seemed appealing at first, Eight couldn’t help but feel a bit off with the whole ordeal. The added quirks made it seem like being a test subject was fun and trendy, which it certainly was not. Judging by the stares and whispers she had to deal with since arriving at the city, the locals didn’t take too kindly to test subjects, either.
After turning a few more corners, Iso Padre stopped in front of a small, dimly lit restaurant that was attached to a much larger hotel that had extended into the skyline. Eight curiously peered through the windows - it looked pleasant enough, albeit a bit old. The walls were covered in a colourful floral pattern, the booths had comfortable-looking red and blue seats, and the tables and chairs varied in colours ranging from pinks to yellows. It appeared to be almost empty aside from a few other denizens at this hour. Realizing that Iso Padre was waiting for her at the door, Eight turned and uttered a quick apology. The isopod only chuckled and opened the door for her, politely letting her in first.
Now inside, she noticed the floor was covered in a strange checkered pattern, and the ceiling was a light blue with orb-like lights hanging down. It was far bigger than she initially expected. Across from the front door, there was a counter and several seats, and behind it was a lively eel that greeted them. Judging by the familiarity in their tone, it seemed they were well acquainted with Iso Padre.
“Hey hey, Padre! Who’s your tentacled pal here?” The eel half-shouted, earning him a glare from the lone jellyfish across the room that he either didn’t notice or acknowledge. Eight quickly noticed he spoke in ocatarian, but in the same thick accent, she heard around the metro.
Eight tried to croak out a response, but nothing came through. She had to admit, she was becoming a bit nervous being here - she didn’t trust the metro as it is, and while the city seemed nice, she felt extremely unnerved while navigating it. It must be the fact that everyone sees me as a pesky lab rat, she pondered. I’m certainly not a fan.
“Hello, Wyrm, this is Agent Eight. She’s trying to get to the promised land.” He said, making his way to one of the centre tables.
“Another one, eh?” The eel nodded. “Good luck to ya, then, Missus Eight. It’s a tough job, gettin’ to the promised land. Not that many manage it. Betcha’ll love the hotel, though. Best beds you’ll ever sleep on!”
Eight faked a polite smile, trying to keep her tentacles steady and moving slowly. “Thank you, sir.” Yeah. Not a fan at all.
Another eel, an employee of the restaurant judging by the company logo on its apron, slithered towards them and placed two menus before them. Eight noticed he seemed exhausted, his eyes droopy and less focused. “What can I do for you tonight?”
“I’ll have my usual, thank you. And some water for me and the young squire, please.” Iso Padre responded. His many arms crossed over his chest as he relaxed.
Eight gazed at the menu for a whole minute, taking in its text and food. It gave her a good chance to study the language a bit better since it’s far easier to read a language than listen or speak it. She had a sneaking suspicion that the octarian she was hearing must have had sprinkles of inklish in it, and to her surprise, the menu seemed to have confirmed that. It was a large mish-mash of the two languages all in the same paragraphs. Eight wasn’t exactly sure how she knew inklish, but she was certainly relieved that she did right now, or else she would be completely lost.
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” The waiter spoke. “What would you like?”
The octoling took another glance at the menu, then back to Iso Padre, then back to the Eel. She furrowed her brow and realized that despite her exhaustion, she doesn’t really feel that hungry. Or, at the very least, the food on the menu looked far too large and unappetizing for someone her size, and much too messy...She may not have many memories, but she had quickly concluded that she didn’t like messy foods just by glancing at the menu alone.
“I think I will have something else later, thank you.” Eight said.
“Are you sure, Miss Eight? You have worked very hard today.” Iso Padre said, his voice laced with concern.
Eight nodded. “I don’t think I’m a very big eater anyhow.”
Iso Padre hummed. “Alright. But if you are hungry later, you should be able to order food from your hotel room just fine, or come back here.”
“Thank you, Iso Padre. Very much.”
While the two waited for their food, Eight carefully placed her backpack on the ground next to herself and unzipped it. Gently, she took the mem cakes out of one of the pockets and placed them in a neat line on the table. She analyzed each thoroughly, hoping they’d jog some kind of memory deep inside her to give her some kind of clearer clue.
“How do these work?” The octoling blurted, disrupting the silence.
“Hm?” Iso Padre turned. “Ah, they are there to give you hints. Unfortunately, they do not reveal much,” He sighed. “Your memories will come back faster with every test, and it’s said that if you reach the promised land they will come back in full with due time. They are there to make the process faster and motivate you. But I cannot confirm or deny much, young squire.”
Eight tentacles twitched.
“I see.” She replied. She was unsure how to feel about that. It was certainly a nuisance, but…
Moments later, the waiter returned with two cups of water and a large meal for Iso Padre. It was a huge burger that’s scent wafted through the fresh steam that carried into the air. Eight had to admit, it made her just a little hungry. Unfortunately, she had more important matters to attend to.
“Excuse me, sir,” Eight beckoned to the eel before he turned away. “Do you have a pen by any chance? Or something else to write with?”
“Oh! Why yes,” He reached his tail into his front pocket and pulled out a small blue pen. “I just so happen to have an extra. Please leave it on the table when you’re done with it.” He placed the pen on the table close to her and slithered off.
“Thank you.” Eight smiled, taking the cap off with her longer tentacle. She hastily grabbed a napkin and began to place one under a cake, then doing the same with the other two, writing notes on whatever she could think of on them.
“What’s this?” Iso Padre said in between a large bite, glancing curiously at her handiwork.
“Hm...Poetry, I think.” Eight held the pen in a tentacle and put a hand on her chin, the other tapping her claws on the table. “It’s the only thing I can think of. But I believe...I think I want to collect the rest of these before I go to the promised land.”
Judging by Iso Padre’s body language, he seemed a bit shocked by this statement, but attempted to hide it. Eight brushed off the concern, another thing she didn’t need right now. “I admire your dedication, young squire. Nevertheless, that is a lot of work and could take a very long time to complete such a task. Are you sure?”
“I would not like to be memoryless forever, thank you very much,” Eight snapped. She winced at her own rudeness. “But I think I am willing to take as long as I need.”