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Chapter Text

Four pressed her brush to the turf and ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She chanced a look at the turf map up on the big screen and cringed; this would be rough.

She skirted around a corner and ran right into an inkling on the enemy team. He started firing on her with his Gal, but she lifted her brush and began wailing on him even sooner. She slapped him around until he splatted all over the walls, and then promptly continued forward, once again grateful for her naturally large ink sac; she should be able to make it to time without needing to submerge. And if her teammates pulled their weight, then maybe they’d be able to eke out a victory here.

She bit a curse off her tongue and jumped back as a charger blast crossed her path. She looked up just in time to see their squiffer eyeing her from some nearby high ground, and, panicking, tossed an autobomb up at her, which only really served to waste the rest of her ink supply. She swam back through the path she’d taken to get there and resurfaced as soon as she encountered enemy ink. But just as she began to swing her brush, a buzzer reverberated through her eardrums, and the announcer called out a heart-sinking, “TIME!”

Four huffed and slammed her forehead against the handle of her inkbrush before   superjumping back to her spawn. When she arrived, Ricky and Meagan were already there. She landed wordlessly, and a second later, Leo finished solidifying and emerged from the spawn grate. He at least spared her a sympathetic glance as they turned their eyes to the screen.

“Results are just coming in, and…” the announcer paused as the numbers on the screen ticked up and finally came to a stop. “Team Shellshock takes it forty-eight to forty-three, closing out the set two to nothing!”

“Quite the impressive showing for their seed,” said his co-commentator. “And an unfortunate upset for Fresh Ink, getting knocked out of the bracket so early.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Four saw Ricky scowl. He turned his head down to the side, and crossed his dualies under each arm, grumbling something under his breath.

“Indeed. Well, Shellshock did an excellent job shutting down Lynn, which gave them a lot of room to work with. Those early splats against her really stunted Fresh Ink’s offense, and the other members of her team just weren’t able to hold their own without her.”

“And I think it’s telling that even through all the focus Shellshock put on her, Lynn still managed to score the most points on her team,” the other commentator went on. “And while that’s understandable for, say, Leo on the charger, their slosher and especially dualies really should’ve been able to put more ink on the ground.”

Ricky’s grimace worsened. Meagan’s grip on her slosher grew white-knuckled. Leo refused to look at anyone else. And Four just sighed.

“Definitely. Well, anyway, we’ll be seeing Shellshock once again in the quarter finals. Next up, we’ve got a match that’s sure to be interesting…”

“Bullshit,” Ricky fumed as soon as they got back into their locker room. “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!”

Four didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she shrugged off her ink tank, pulled her sweaty jersey over her head, and hoisted her inkbrush over her lap to fiddle with the nozzles. It didn’t really need maintenance, but she would rather be distracted right now.

“It was a fucking turf war—that’s always been our weakest mode!” Ricky continued, slinging his dualies into his locker and slamming the door. “Seriously, who does that announcer think he is? Sorry we can’t all be prodigies like little miss Lynn over here!”

Four cringed, and scraped some dried ink off her brush.

“Hey now,” Leo said. “None of us are happy with this losing streak, but you don’t need to take it out on captain.”

“It’s just so frustrating!” Meagan griped, slumping down on one of the benches. “We used to be competitive in majors, and now we can’t even make quarter finals in a local.”

“We’re just in a slump,” Leo said. “It happens to everyone! Before you know it, we’ll be back and better than ever.”

“Maybe once you learn how to hit a shot,” Ricky snapped.

Four turned her best glare on Ricky. “Stop that.”

“Yeah, Ricky,” Meagan sneered. “I saw your K/D. Don’t talk shit if you’re already wallowing in it yourself.”

“I said stop that,” Four said, turning on Meagan now. She at least had the decency to look guilty, mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’ and turning away.

Ricky, on the other hand, just looked even more incensed, but he seemed to understand the mood Lynn was in right now, and kept his mouth shut. It was a few moments before Leo spoke up again; quieter this time, and lacking his usual cheerfulness.

“Hey, uh, Lynn…”

Four looked up. “Yeah?”

“What happens if we lose our sponsorship?”

Four turned back to her brush and sighed. “I don’t know.”

“We’re fucked straight to Sunday is what,” Ricky seethed. “We’d have to rely on raw tournament earnings, which aren’t exactly coming our way too frequently right now.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Meagan mumbled.

Ricky’s eyebrow twitched. “What’d you say?”

“I said it’s your damn fault we’re losing!” Meagan yelled, throwing up a hand. “Between your half-assed effort, shitty temper, and utter lack of any sliver of strategic thinking, you’re more of an obstacle than the enemy team!”

“Christ, Meg, who do you think you are?! I’ll 1v1 you any day of the goddamn week, and we’ll be wiping your sorry insides off of the practice arena for hours!”

Leo wrung his hands together awkwardly. “Guys, I really don’t think—”

“Shut up, Leo! Stay out of this!”

Four massaged her temple; she was feeling a headache coming on. For some reason, she felt as if she understood Three a little better now. And if that wasn’t a bad sign, she didn’t know what was.

“God, Ricky, you’re insufferable!” Meagan cried. “I think you’ve insulted every member of this team in the last five minutes. We’re tired of your shit! I don’t even know why Lynn puts up with you at all!”

“Don’t know why she puts up with me? What about you? Always putting words in her mouth like you’re her best friend and shit. Huh, Lynn?”

Four felt three sets of eyes on her as she stood up, forehead still clutched in one hand. “I think,” she enunciated, “that I’m not having fun on this team anymore.”

“Oh,” Meagan said.

“W-well,” Leo mumbled, “losing isn't fun for anyone, but I think that if we keep trying, we can still turn this around.”

“It’s not that we’re losing,” Four said. “I can lose and have fun. I’ve got a friend I train with sometimes—I’ve pretty much never beaten her, but I always have a great time. Even though she can be kind of a bitch. But when every single loss is followed by all this complaining and arguing, suddenly I feel myself wanting to just not bother. Have you ever considered that the reason we’re performing worse than before is because our teamwork has faltered? Not to mention our morale.”

Ricky crossed his arms. “Well, maybe if Meagan could help herself from insulting me every two seconds, I’d be more upbeat about the whole ordeal.”

Four sighed. “Look. I’m not super happy with her right now, either, but you’re the main problem, Ricky.”

“Are you kidding?” Ricky made a face of pure indignation. It looked kind of like roadkill. “How on Earth is this my fault?”

Four felt like she was about to pop a blood vessel. “Seriously? We were barely a foot into the locker room before you started complaining and spitting up any excuses you could rationalize. It’s exhausting. You either need to find a better attitude, or a different team.”

The room went still. Leo looked nervously back and forth between Lynn and Ricky, fiddling with his charger. Meagan was just kind of sitting there with an ‘oh shit’ expression on her face. 

“Fine,” Ricky said, grabbing his dualies. “You guys can keep on losing without me. I’m out.”

“Don’t forget to do the paperwork!” Four called as he walked towards the door. “It can be a real hassle!”

“Fuck you, Lynn!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him.

“Well damn,” Meagan said after a beat. “So… okay, then.”

“You were right, Meg,” Four grumbled. “I was tired of his shit.”

“Oh wow. I’m not sure I’ve heard you swear before.”

Four sighed and cupped her face in her hands. “Yeah, well, I’m really tired and stressed out right now.”

“I think you made the right choice,” Leo said cautiously. “Ricky, he’s… he’s great, but, he, uh, has some issues?”

“I hope you’re right,” Four said. “We don’t have a replacement lined up, and if we can’t find one soon…”

Meagan nodded. “Then we can’t play in any tournaments. Yeah.”

“Well, he played point, so that’s good at least,” Leo said. “If he’d been an anchor or a mid, replacing him would be even harder.”

“I don’t suppose you guys have anyone in mind?” Four asked. They both shook their heads. “Alright, well. I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone.”

Meagan put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. You’re a great captain, Lynn, and you’ve been a great friend ever since school. Hell, you’re the reason any of us, Ricky included, had a chance to play in the big leagues. Ricky may be an ungrateful little bastard, but we really appreciate you picking us to be on your team, and we’re here for you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “We’ll find a new teammate, and we’ll be back on our feet in no time. You’re Lynn Lothamer, youngest squid to ever win the National Turf War Championship! You got this.”

Four smiled. “Thanks, guys. Alright. Be on your lookout for talent; I want a full team again by the end of the week.” She stood up, pulling her street clothes on over her undershirt. “We’re going to need to practice extra hard if we want to integrate a new member into our rhythm.”

“There we go!” Meagan said. “That’s more like it! Let’s do this!”

“Yeah!” Four said, pumping a fist. “Fresh Ink’s looking for a comeback, baby!”

Four’s goal-oriented enthusiasm drained in record time, and two hours later, she found herself walking up to the frozen aisle of MakoMart, opening one of the freezers, and shoveling containers of rocky road ice cream into her basket.

“What the fuck.”

Four turned and saw Three standing a few feet away with her own cart, which was filled with a much more balanced selection of food products. Four looked from cart to cart, and felt her cheeks grow a little bit yellow. Of course today was the day she randomly ran into Three in public. “Look, I had a bad day, okay?”

“Apparently. I’m honestly more offended by the fact that it’s all rocky road. Like, I get that you have the worst possible taste imaginable, but could you at least have a wide variety of awful tastes?”

“If you could only ever eat pizza or rats for the rest of your life, would you ever choose the rats just for variety’s sake? No! That’d be stupid!”

“Well, tough luck, because you ran into me,” Three said, grabbing a tub of vanilla and throwing it in Four’s basket. “There. Now I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Also: that was a weird ass analogy you just used.”

Four huffed. “Whatever. Hey, uh, Three, it’s funny we ran into each other, because I’m actually looking for—”

“Sorry, I’d love to stay and chat, but I can hear the watermelons calling to me, so—”

“Come on, Three! I’m really in a bind here. At least hear me out, alright?”

Three performed the singular most dramatic eye roll Four had ever borne witness to, and then let out an equally theatrical sigh, just to really drive the point home, Four guessed. “I suppose. But make it quick. Eight only likes one very specific brand of peanut butter and it’s a bitch to find.”

“Great!” Four said, totally ignoring all of Three’s nonsense. “So, you know I’m a professional turfer, right?”

“It baffles me endlessly, but, yes, I am aware.”

“So, one of my teammates—he was the other point player, besides me, on dualies—he had to quit the team this morning, and it was kind of sudden. So we’re looking for a new member, and since you’re literally the best player I’ve ever met, it’d be a huge help if you could fill in for—”

“No,” Three said, before angling her cart down an aisle and walking off.

“Wait wait wait!” Four said, running along after her. “Please just think about it! I complimented you and everything!”

“I don’t need to think about it,” Three said, turning to grab a box of cereal. She briefly looked at the ingredients label before shrugging and dumping three of them into her cart. “This isn’t exactly the first time you’ve brought it up. Did you think my answer would change?”

Four groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Three, I’m super desperate, and I’m asking as a friend. Look, you wouldn’t even have to stay on—just until we can find someone else!”

“No,” Three repeated. “Do you know where they keep the brownie mix? Eight said she’s never had brownies before and I need to fix that.”

“That’s horrible. Aisle five, I think.” Four paused. “And why not? Do you really hate the idea of working with me that much?

That, it seemed, finally got Three to stop thinking about groceries, because she turned to Four and gave her a stare that toed the line between ‘Are you kidding me?’ and ‘Bitch what the fuck?’. “Four. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the fact that you’d be on the team with me is literally the only thing you’ve got going for you.”

“Oh,” Four said, because it was the only thing coming to mind.

“I give tours to people who don’t even bother to remember my name when it’s printed on my goddamn shirt, and that gives me anxiety like you wouldn’t believe. You really think I could get up in front of a stadium where I’m the main fucking event? I mean, god, can you imagine me with fans? That’d just be awful.

“And besides,” she added, beginning to push her cart again, “even if I did want to, I couldn’t. I’ve got a job. And now with Eight living with me, there’s just no way I could balance all that; I’ve got a lot of shit to get done.” She gave Four a pointed look. “Like grocery shopping.”

Four rubbed her arm. “Right. Sorry I asked.”

“Apology accepted.”

Four paused, her mind going back to something Three had said at the beginning of her big rant. “Wait. You give tours?”

Three froze. “Shit.”

Before Four knew what was happening, Three kicked out in a leg-sweep, causing Four to crash to the ground. She let out a squeak of surprise and pain, spilling her basket of ice cream all over the ground, and watched as Three ran forward and jumped, cart-surfing her way across the rest of the aisle before making a sharp turn out of sight.

“Rude,” Four murmered, picking herself back up. Guh. 

You know, that would probably be a great disarming move with her brush if she got the hang of it. It would totally be legal, too, as long as she used her brush and not her leg. If Three wouldn’t play herself, then Four was at least happy to steal her techniques.

She made her way to an open register, and slammed down her basket of ice cream. The clerk looked as if she were going to say something, but Four beat her to punch, simply saying, “It’s been a long day.”

The cashier frowned. “Yeah, but… rocky road?”

Four grit her teeth and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just… what’s my total?”

When Four returned to her apartment, Marie was already there, sitting in her armchair and reading the latest issue of some music magazine. Four rolled her eyes as she shut the front door and hung up her keys, grabbing her bags of ice cream and walking into her apartment. Marie showing up randomly in her (locked) apartment was a much more common occurrence than it had any right to be; not that she really minded. Her and Marie were super close, and it was nice to see her so often, if occasionally frustrating how easily she seemed to bypass Four’s apartment security. But right now, Four didn’t know if she wanted to talk, or just to be alone.

“Marie, what are you doing here?” she asked. “How did you get in?”

“What’s up, baby?” Marie said, dodging the question as usual. She closed her magazine and hurled it over her shoulder, where it crashed into a bookcase. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I might drop by. But you were out, so I made myself at home. You know: to give you a nice surprise for the eyes for when you got back.”

Four sighed. “Stop with the flirting, Marie. I’m not in the mood.”

Marie looked at her quizzically as she passed her. Four flung open the fridge, and began stuffing it with the tubs of ice cream, leaving one out on the counter. As she fumbled with the packaging, Marie spoke up from behind her.

“Sorry,” she began, her voice much more genuine than most people ever heard from her. “Does that make you uncomfortable? I think it’s funny since you’re ace and all but if you want me to stop—”

“No, no, it’s—” Four grunted, ripping the plastic off in one grand gesture. “It’s fun, usually. I just had a bad day today.”

“Ah. Well that explains the ice cream.” She hopped up on the counter, crossing her legs. “Professional turfer woes again?”

“Yeah. We got into another fight, and I kind of snapped at Ricky, and so he quit the team.”

“Oh damn.” Marie paused. “Honestly, kind of sounds like a change for the better.”

“Probably. Meg thinks so. But I still feel bad; I’ve been friends with him since high school. I mean, that’s true for all of them, and Ricky I recruited more for ability than personality, but I can’t help but feel like I’m throwing a long-term friendship in the trash over some dumb game.”

Marie shrugged. “People change. I mean, look at Three.”

“I’ve only known her for a few months, remember?”

“Oh yeah, I always forget that. You two just seem so close.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Well, anyway, Three was a totally different person back when we first met. Imagine all her current character facets stuffed into an angsty sixteen-year-old body, and then add in even more identity and self-worth issues. It was a disaster. But now, she’s mostly a functional member of society.” She smirked. “I almost feel like a proud older sister.”

Four dug a spoon out of the utensil drawer and popped open the ice cream tub’s lid. “I think I lost track of your point sometime along the way.”

“Well, if Three can make that much personal progress in two years, I think it’s understandable that Ricky can go the other way, you know? From everything you told me about him, he was not a good team player, and he was stressing you out a ton. I think you’re gonna have a lot more fun playing without him.”

“If we can keep playing. It’s not as easy as you’d think to find decent replacement players.” Four shoveled a few spoonfuls of ice cream into her mouth. “Hey, you want any ice cream? I think I may have bought too much.”

Marie gave her a flat look. “That depends. Got anything that isn’t rocky road?”

“Excuse you!” Four cried, her mouth still full. “Why does everybody hate rocky road?!”

“It’s disgusting,” Marie. “Why would you do that to chocolate ice cream?”

“You sound like Three,” Four said.

“Rude.”

“I got one thing of vanilla,” Four grumbled out after a moment. “I don’t even want it, so you can have it.”

“Sweet.” 

Eight was laying down on her and Three’s bed, scrolling through her phone. She was reading a recent Inkopolis Times article, headlined “Off the Hook Wedding Announced as Private.” Apparently, a decent sector of people were upset that their wedding wouldn’t also double as a concert, which was honestly a very stupid thing to think, even for native surface-dwellers.

Most of the info was stuff she already knew, though. She sighed and closed out of the app, looked at her various other apps, and then rolled her eyes and went on that dumb construction site infinite runner Pearl had gotten her to download when she had first gotten her phone.

But just as she was getting going, her game was interrupted by an incoming call from Four. 

“Hello, this is Eight!”

“Hi Eight, it’s Four! Hey, are you looking for a job?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Four went quiet for a second. “Well, if someone offered you a job, would you take it?”

“Maybe,” Eight said. “Are you offering me a job?”

“Uh, yeah! My pro turfing team needs a new player, and you’d be perfect!”

“Um, well. I guess I like turfing. But I’ve never considered doing it professionally.”

“Don’t worry, you’d kill it!”

“Hmm. I dunno…”

“I mean, don’t you get bored with Three at work all day?”

“I mean a little.”

“Don’t you wanna make new friends?”

“Yeah…”

“Don’t you want to help support your girlfriend financially, since she’s now paying for your apartment and food?”

Eight frowned. “Are you trying to guilt trip me?”

“Um.” Four went quiet again. “You know what that is?”

“Marina did it to Pearl constantly,” Eight explained. “Well, ignoring that, you make a good case. Let me just check in with Three first.”

“Wait don’t!” Four said quickly. “She’s just gonna say no! Besides, you don’t need her permission.”

“I just want her opinion. Why would she say no?”

“Because she’s Three!” Four exclaimed. “Look, why don’t you just come to one practice with us to see how you like it, okay? What Three doesn’t know won’t hurt us.”

“…Okay,” Eight relented. “What do I need to do?”

“Just come by Deca Tower tomorrow at two! Oh, and bring your turfing stuff, obviously.”

“Alight,” Eight said. “See you then, I guess?”

“See you then!” Four said cheerily, before the line clicked dead.

Eight pulled the phone away from her ear. The screen returned to her game, and the Inkling immediately slammed into a wrecking ball and splatted.

Eight sighed. “Darn it, Four.”

Chapter Text

Eight arrived at Deca Towers exactly on time, her ink tank already strapped to her back and her tentatek splattershot at the ready. Four was nowhere in sight, so she awkwardly leaned against one of the walls of the League lobby and pulled out her phone. She saw an unread message from Four: it said she was running late. Something about a pigeon? Well, whatever. Eight stuffed her phone back into her pocket and turned to look at one of the battle info screens.

League matches were running Splat Zones at the moment, on Arowana Mall and Blackbelly Skatepark. Okay, she could work with that—Splat Zones was simple and straightforward. Without the need to push deep into enemy territory like in the other modes, she could focus on splatting her opponents and keeping the advantage.

“Hey, I like your hair.”

Eight turned her head towards the girl standing next to her. She was wearing a pink transparent visor, slightly cocked to one side, and had lopsided, wavy tentacles framing her face: one fell down past her shoulders, while the other hung right at her mouth. She also had a slosher propped up against one hip.

“Uh, thanks,” Eight said. “I like your hair too.”

She smiled. “Thanks! Hey, not to pry, but, uh, aren’t you that girl who superjumped onto the stage during the Off the Hook concert last week?”

Eight spluttered. “…Maybe?”

“Hey, it’s cool,” the girl said, flipping her longer tentacle back. “I’m not trying to get to them through you or anything. Just thought it’d be neat to talk to you.”

“Um, okay,” Eight said. This was a weird conversation. Nobody had recognized her until now. Or, well, it was more that whenever they were in public, Three just glared at anyone coming up to talk to them and scared them off. “I hope I’m sufficiently neat for you.”

She laughed. “So, you play League, huh? You don’t seem to be here with anyone.”

“This is my first time, actually,” Eight said. “The person I normally turf with hates league. She says it’s for ‘preppy losers who think they’re hot shit’ and refuses to touch it.” She paused. “No offense, though, I’m sure you’re great.”

“None taken,” the girl said, laughing again. “I pretty much agree with that anyway. I actually play in tournaments usually; my team just uses league to practice when we don’t have any other teams to play at the Shoal. The competition usually leaves something to be desired compared to the real thing.”

Eight nodded, pursing her lips. “Hey, um, your team wouldn’t be trying out a new member today, would it?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Yeah, we are, but how… Wait, are you—”  

Before she could come to the same realization as Eight had, a male inkling with a bowl cut and a charger reached over and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, Meg. Captain’s here.”

All three of them turned to see Four rushing into the lobby, panting slightly. She jogged up to them, leaned on her inkbrush, and wiped her brow.

“Sorry guys, I got held up. There was this pigeon, and—well, it’s a long story. Anyway, I see you’ve already met each other, huh?”

“Sort of,” said ‘Meg.’

Bowl-cut boy looked confused. His eyes shifted between Eight and Four. “What’s going on?”

“She’s gonna be our new member,” Four explained

“After we test her out, of course,” Meg said, giving Four a look. 

“I mean, yeah,” Four said. “But I’m pretty confident in her.”

Eight smiled. Thanks, Four!

Meg turned back to Eight and held out a hand. “I don’t think I ever properly introduced myself; I’m Meagan, our slosher. And he”—she jerked her head towards the other inkling—“is Leo, our charger.”

Eight reached out and took her hand. Handshakes still struck her as a weird social gesture, but after she really screwed up her first one with Three way back when, she’d made sure to learn how to perform one correctly. “I’m Eight. Uh, splattershot. Nice to meet you!”  

“Eight?” Leo asked. “Like the number?”

Eight nodded. “Yeah.”

“Huh.”

Meagan cut through the now-kinda-awkward air by turning to Four, and asking, “Yo, Lynn, you didn’t tell us you were friends with someone who’s friends with Off the Hook!”

Eight could see the gears turning in Four’s head. After a minute, she said, “Oh, yeah, that. Um. Well, I’m not really supposed to talk about it.”

“That makes sense,” Leo said.

Meagan smirked. “You were still holding out on us, though. I bet you can get free concert tickets and everything.”

Four rolled her eyes. “I wish.”

“They didn’t give you free tickets?” Eight said. “We got free tickets.”

Four turned on her. “Seriously?! Even Three?”

Eight nodded.

“Those cheapskates. I’m gonna have to grill Pearl about that next time I see her.”

“This is so surreal,” Meagan said. “Also, why do so many of your friends have names that are numbers?”

“It’s a long story that we don’t have time for. Is everybody ready to turf?”

They all nodded.

“Alright then, let’s go!” Four lifted her inkbrush towards the ceiling, and Meagan and Leo let out an enthusiastic ‘Yeah!’ Meanwhile, Eight just kind of watched them do that while she stood there like a normal person. Four looked at her. “Eight, you gotta do it too.”

Maybe it was Three’s influence, but Eight thought they looked dumb, so she said, “I’ll pass.”

“Eight you gotta do it or you’re not on the team.”

“But you’re the one who asked me to be on the team.”

Four frowned, grabbed Eight’s arm, lifted it in the air, and shouted “Yeah!” in a very lackluster imitation of Eight’s voice. 

“Can we go battle now?” Eight asked.

“Yeah, now, ” Four said. “Come on.”

The map: Blackbelly skatepark. The plan: Four and Eight get as many splats as possible while Meagan and Leo hold down the fort.

The sound of the start buzzer was perfectly accompanied by the sound of Leo’s charger going off, nailing the inkrail in front of the spawn. All four of them jumped onto the rail; Leo rode it all the way to the right-side battlements, but the rest of them ejected mid-way and took off towards the zones. Eight spewed ink over the top half of the central tower, while Meagan dumped her slosher on the bottom half. As Meg began scaling the tower, Eight tossed a splat bomb on top just for good measure before flanking around the side using the trail of Four’s inkbrush.

All four members of the enemy team were in sight; they had some kind of dualies and what looked to be an aerospray in the front lines, a splattershot pro as their mid, and a heavy splatling as their anchor. Four was already closing in on the dualies, so Eight focused on the girl with the aerospray. She fired one shot right in the girl’s face to get her attention, and then kept shooting while making sure to stay outside of the aerospray’s range. The girl, quickly realising she was losing the fight, fell back into her ink; Eight just leapt forward, predicted her movement, and hit her while she was submerged.

But just as she splatted her, Eight heard the sound of the splatling starting to fire, and jumped down into one of the splat zones for cover. This happened to be where Meagan, still on top of the tower, was raining a hail of ink down on the splattershot pro, who was desperately trying to both dodge and hit her at the same time. He wasn’t doing particularly well, but his splatling friend shifted her aim at Meagan, and forced her to retreat back down their side of the tower. The splattershot pro ran off to give chase, so Eight just shot him in the back and dipped down to recharge her ink.

Eight popped back up onto the high ground where the Heavy Splatling had been; Four was still there, though she looked a bit overwhelmed. She’d managed to splat the dualies, but she’d apparently tripped an ink mine in doing so, and she was having trouble closing in on the splatling. To make matters worse, now the aerospray was back, and—oh, yep, there went Four.

The splatling, needing to rev up again, tossed out a sprinkler and retreated into her team’s territory. Eight countered with a splat bomb, which forced the aerospray to take an awkward path to skirt around it. A few splattershot shots later, and she was once more down for the count. Eight swam forward after the splatling and jumped off the top of the half-pipe. The enemy had revved up her splatling by now, and she hefted it up to shoot at Eight, but she twisted in midair and managed to dodge enough bullets to stay alive. She came down hard right on top of the splatling’s barrel, causing the barrage to stop prematurely as it was ripped from its owner’s hands. Balancing precariously on the weapon, she shot the inkling right in the face a few times until she exploded.

She was pretty sure that was a legal maneuver, but she’d have to ask Four after the match.

She was knocked out of her thoughts, however, by an ink-jet bomb exploding right next to her feet. She jumped backwards, handspringing over enemy ink to get back to her own, and shifted into her octopus form right as another shot blasted down just millimeters from where she was. She swam backwards, only to run out of ink, and sheepishly emerged to stare down the inkling boy piloting the jet. He was the dualies-user, she believed. He raised the canon at her, and she bent down into a defensive position, but it turned out there was no need, as Leo unloaded a charger shot straight into his gut from the battlements. 

Eight turned around to give him a thumbs up, but cringed as he was splatted almost immediately by their splattershot pro, who had snuck around on a flank. Eight was about to run over there and take revenge, but Meagan beat her to it—she ran at the aggressor with a warcry, flinging her slosher around faster than Eight’s eyes could track. The boy raised an eyebrow at her and began firing, but confusion quickly turned to fear as the massive amount of spray from Meagan’s slosher absorbed all his ink. She kept pushing forward, each swing more ferocious than the last, and before too long, her opponent succumbed to the tide of ink, splatting forcefully against the ground and walls.

Eight mentally reminded herself not to get on Meagan’s bad side without an exit plan.

She spent the spare moments she had making sure the zones were still all nice and inked-up, and Meagan came to join her a second later, climbing once again up onto the tower. “You’re doing great!” she shouted down. “These guys are pretty good, but you’ve barely gotten splashed.”

“Thanks!” Eight said. “I think I would’ve been dead to that ink jet without Leo watching my back, though.”

Meagan laughed. “Girl, Leo is saving our asses constantly . Lynn always says it’s like having an extra life with him on the team.”

Eight smiled, but it didn’t last long as a point sensor exploded on top of them. “Sherauste,” Eight swore, looking around to spot the enemy approaching. She could only see the splattershot pro and the dualies; no sign of the aerospray or the Heavy Splatling. And as the icing on the cake, she could feel the acidic pitter-patter of an inkstorm threatening to splat her.

Eight felt Leo’s superjump lock onto her, so after a quick check to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them, she rushed in to engage so he had space to land. The boy using the dualies was, predictably, in front, and he threw out a suction bomb as she approached. Eight jumped, kicked off the suction bomb, and angled towards the tower, raining fire down on the boy as she passed. He rolled out of the way, and out from behind him, the splattershot pro began firing on her. The ink storm above continued to weaken her; it wouldn’t splat her anytime soon, but if she took a hit from either of them, it would suddenly be much more of a threat.

She hit the surface of the tower and swam up the side, jumping out near the top and latching onto the edge with one hand. She hurled a splat bomb at the splattershot pro and kicked off the wall, launching herself to the side of his fire and covering his exits with her ink. The bomb blew him up just as Eight crashed to the ground, her ink tank exhausted. Fortunately, she’d been moving against the ink storm, and was in the clear.

But there was no time to take a breather. A burning glob of ink struck her in the back of the ankle—right, the dualies. Without any other options, she activated her inkjet, launching up towards the heavens. She rapidly morphed forms and strafed to the left and right to throw off his aim as she turned herself around, then managed to nail him right in the chest with a cannon shot. Her jet ran out and she flipped back to her starting location—only to find herself staring down the barrel of a heavy splatling. 

“See ya,” said the girl before her, before unleashing a barrage of ink. Eight threw herself to the side and managed to dodge the brunt of it, but the girl simply swiveled around, and Eight bit back a curse as the foreign ink crashed into her shoulder.

“HYA!”

Eight jumped a bit as a yellow inkbrush appeared out of nowhere, slamming into the splatling girl’s head. Her aim skewed up as she weathered the blow, and Eight neatly ducked under the remainder of the bullets, fighting to retain her solidity. Before the girl could reorient herself, Four slapped her in the torso with the backswing, then shifted into a reverse grip and delivered a harsh thrust to the gut with the tip of her brush’s handle. The girl doubled over, and Four brought the brush down in a devastating overhead strike, slamming her to the pavement where she erupted into ink.

“And that’s legal?” Eight asked.

Four smirked. “As long as I’m using my weapon, anything’s legal. You can’t touch the other person physically, but you can do whatever you want with your weapon, or to your opponent’s weapon.”

“I guess it’s hard to go too far when we’re already killing each other for sport,” Eight mused.

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds barbaric.”

Their conversation was cut short as Leo swam up to them, popping out of his ink and using the scope on his charger to keep watch on the enemy’s spawn. “The aerospray snuck up on me and Meg,” he explained. “I had to use my special to shut her down. Meg should jump back soon, but I think we’ve won anyway.”

Eight looked up at the score screen; sure enough, they were only a few seconds away from victory. Meagan didn’t even have time to complete her superjump before the final buzzer rang, and the teams exited back out into the lobby.

The girl with the splatling seemed to be the leader of the enemy team, and walked up to them, offering a hand to Four. “Whew! That was humbling.”

Four laughed a bit as she shook her hand. “Thanks, but don’t sell yourselves short. You almost had us with that last minute push!”

Eight frowned. That was incorrect. They had only splatted one person, and hadn’t even inked enough of the objective to reset control. But perhaps Four was just being polite?

“Please,” said splatling girl. “Thanks, but we know when we’re beat.” Ah. Politeness it was, then. “Besides, you’re Lynn Lothamer, right? You’re, like, the real deal. We’re just hobbyists.”

Four laughed again. It sounded kind of fake? But not in a rude way. More like she was just trying to fill space. “Right, right. Well, nice meeting you! Maybe we’ll see you again sometime.”

“Hope not!”

With that, both teams went their separate ways. Eight thought now would be a great time to ask a question she’d had for a while now. “Hey, Four? Why does everybody call you Lynn?”

Four stopped. “Uh, right, yeah. So… that’s my name?”

“…Oh,” Eight said. Right. She’d forgotten about that whole… code name thing.

On the other side of Four, Meagan snorted. “So, Lynn, why does Eight call you Four?”

“Uhhh.” Four bit her lip. “That’s, um, it’s an inside joke.”

“Is it now?” Meagan inquired, smirking.

“Yeah,” Four said. “See, it’s because, uh...” Four shot Eight a desperate look.

“It’s…” Hmm. “It’s because she’s only half as good as I am. Eight, Four… you know! Math!”

Meagan laughed. “Nice.”

“So anyway,” Four said, rolling her eyes, “Eight! You did great!”

“Yeah!” Leo said. “You totally took me by surprise out there! I mean, you did even better than Lynn.”

“Twice as good,” Eight said. “Math!”

“Well, let’s not get carried away,” Four said.

“Leo’s right though,” Meagan said. “She didn’t get splatted once, and she was constantly on the front lines. I saw her completely solo two people at once while trapped in an ink storm!”

Eight smiled. She had done that, hadn’t she? “So, did I make the team?”

“Hell yeah,” Meagan said. “You’re gonna be so much more useful than Ricky ever was.”

“Not the… highest bar to clear,” Leo mumbled.

“There’s just one more thing,” Four said. “I don’t really want people recognizing you, so you’d probably have to wear a mask of some kind while you’re playing.”

Eight shrugged. “That’s fine.”

Leo nodded. “Right. We don’t want people to make the connection between her and Off the Hook; that could get out of hand.”

Four looked at him. “What? Oh, uh, yeah. That’s the reason.”

“Yo, that’s gonna be so cool though!” Meagan said. “A mysterious new player that won’t even show her face? That’s such a good angle! Aw man, we are gonna be back and better than ever before!”

“That’s the spirit!” Four said, pumping a fist. Then, she turned to Eight. “You ready to keep on practicing? There’s a tournament coming up next week, and I want you to really be locked into our dynamic before then.”

“Sure,” Eight said with a smile. A tournament, huh? She’d never really had a chance to show off her skills before—at least, not to anyone besides Three, but that didn’t count because Three had just as many skills (if not more). This should be fun!

“Sweet!” Four said. “Let’s go splat some zones!”

Eight frowned. “Four, stop.”

Eight took a bite out of her sandwich, chewing blissfully after a long day of practicing with Four and her team. They’d only dropped a couple games out of, like, twenty, which was pretty good in Eight’s book. 

She looked across the dinner table at Three and tapped a talon against the table. Hmm. Well, now was as good a time as any. “So, I joined Four’s turfing team,” she began. “I’ll be playing in a tournament with them next week. Just thought you should know.”

Three, who was in the middle of drinking her water, slammed her glass onto the table and gulped down an entire mouthful of liquid. “WHAT.”

Four was sitting at her desk, looking over the paperwork she needed to give to Eight and contemplating whether she had a social security number or not, when she heard a knock coming from what sounded like the dining room window. This was curious for a few reasons, but the main one was that her apartment was on the fifth floor. It was probably just a family of birds that crashed into the window.

She hoped that was the case, at least.

Such hopes were unceremoniously shattered as another set of knocks came, followed by someone yelling “OPEN UP!” in a familiar voice: raspy, aggressive, and comically high pitched for those first two adjectives. Four set down her papers, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath to mentally prepare herself.

“OPEN UP, BITCH!”

Four’s deep breath quickly transformed into a frustrated growl as she stood up from her desk and marched over to the window. As expected, Three was outside, pounding on the glass and yelling. She even had the cups of her tentacles suctioned onto the upper part of the window for extra support, which, while athletically quite impressive, was totally going to leave a permanent mark.

Four slid up the window and gave Three an irritated look. “I have a door, you know.”

“I don’t respect you enough right now to use your door,” Three said, before transforming into her squid form. Still attached to Four’s window by her tentacles, she swung out away from Four, and then used the momentum of the follow through to launch herself inside. She flew straight at Four’s stomach, but before she slammed into her, Four knocked her to the ground with a harsh downwards slap. She wasn’t going to let herself get body slammed by Three’s squid form again.

Three transformed back and got up as if nothing had happened, crossing her arms and glaring at Four. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“Three. Please.” Four gave her a tired look. “Just, please, this one time, could you have a normal conversation with me?”

“You had Eight join your team behind my back!”

“Uh! Excuse you!” Four said. “Possessive much? She can make her own decisions.”

Three just glared some more. “She said that you explicitly told her not to tell me.”

“Yeah, duh,” Four said. “You would’ve convinced her not to do it! Now she has a job, and she’ll be able to make friends outside of the NSS. And she likes it!”

Three looked conflicted. Don’t get Four wrong, she was still absolutely raging, but it was a conflicted sort of rage. “I—urgh!” She flung her hands on her head and began to pace. “Yes, you’re right, and that’s great and I’m happy for her but—but all those people that watch those games! After what happened at the concert, she’s got enough attention on her already. I just have a bad feeling about this. If not me, you should have at least gotten an okay from Gramps.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just projecting?”

Three’s head swiveled around to face her. “Four, I am keenly aware of my own personal flaws, and I really don’t appreciate you trying to go all therapist on my ass. This isn’t me making excuses, this is me worrying about Eight’s safety.”

“I think you’re being a bit paranoid,” Four said. “Eight beat Commander Tartar, Octavio’s back in his snow globe, and I’m seeing more and more liberated Octolings every day. I think we’re good.”

That just seemed to stress Three out even more. “No, you don’t—you’re new at this, okay? The Octarians don’t stop just because their leader gets captured. You weren’t on the team yet when we interviewed Marina; she told us all about their power structures. Did you know that there’s such a thing as a vice-DJ?” She’d started pacing again. “They raided the shack, broke him out… they could do it again. And, and Kamabo—Tartar’s an AI , not a robot . He’s gotta still be preserved somewhere, right? Destroying the phone doesn’t mean he’s gone. And, hell, the metro’s still running! Callie and Marie went with Gramps to check it out last month. You were there for that briefing!”

Four frowned, and grabbed her by the arm. “Three.”

The younger inkling stopped in her tracks, turning on Four. “Lynn.”

Four shuddered. “Oh, that is so weird.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Three said, making a face. “I thought it would sound all authoritative, but—yeah, no, it’s just weird.”

Four looked Three in the eye, and shaped her mouth into what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Look, I promise it’ll be okay. She’s nearly as good a fighter as you are, and she has me and the rest of Fresh Ink as backup. Even if someone does come after her, which I still think is incredibly unlikely, I’d be more worried about them getting hurt, not Eight.”

“Forgive me if don’t have the utmost faith in your teammates,” Three deadpanned.

“Uh, well…” Four hummed, putting a finger to her chin. She could feel an idea coming on. “Maybe we can change that?”

“That sounds suspiciously like you want me to meet them.”

“What if you train them?” Four asked. Now she was getting somewhere! “Yeah, yeah! They could honestly benefit a lot from some one-on-one technical training, and you could be more confident in their evil-smashing abilities!”

Three eyed her, mouth a thin line. Silent. Scrutinizing.

“I’d pay you, obviously,” Four added. “Or, our sponsor would, or something, I don’t know. And we have a flexible schedule, it wouldn’t cut into your other job. Where you give tours, apparently.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, huh?”

Four laughed. “Nope! My current bet is that you work at d’Alfonsino.”

“I’m not going to tell you if you’re right,” Three said. “And, fine. I’ll train your dumb teammates.”

“Aw, sweet! I was honestly totally expecting you to turn me down.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Three grumbled, turning back towards the window. “Text me the details later.” Then she dove through the open window, immediately vanishing from sight.

Four just rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.”

Chapter Text

“Training?” Meagan raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what our practices are for?”

Four shrugged. They were sitting in a small cafe in the Square, having just finished another practice session. Eight had needed to go to Pearl and Marina’s right afterwards—something about the upcoming wedding—and so Four had taken the opportunity to invite Meagan and Leo out to coffee. “I mean, yeah, but those aren’t as great for building up fine technical skills. You wanna get better, don’t you? Well, this is how you’re gonna do that.”

Leo rubbed his chin. “So, what does this really entail? One-on-one matches against you and Eight?”

“Nah, not us. I’ve got the perfect person to train you. She’s a good friend of mine. You’ll love her.” Four paused. “Well, no, you probably won’t, but trust me—she’s the best trainer you’ll ever have.”

Meagan and Leo exchanged a glance, and then Meagan tentatively asked, “Who… is it, exactly?”

Four smirked. “You’ll find out.” 

Three eyed the two inklings before her: a girl wearing sunglasses on her forehead who was lugging around a slosher and a bad attitude, and a boy with that stupid-looking bowl tentacle cut who couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting with his charger. She decided to call them Slosher and Charger. They both looked to be in their early twenties, which made things slightly awkward for Three, since she was only eighteen, but she was just gonna look past that. These were presumably Four’s former classmates, and she had skipped a grade, so it made sense that they would be a bit older.

“This is who Lynn set up to train us?” the girl whispered (poorly) to her friend. “She barely looks sixteen.”

Three could feel a blood vessel swelling.

The boy whispered something back to her, but he was actually a halfway decent whisperer, so Three didn’t manage to catch it.

“Alright, chucklefucks, listen up,” Three barked, injecting as much authority into her voice as possible. “Just because Four’s paying me by the hour doesn’t mean that I wanna waste more time here than I have to.”

“Why do you call Lynn ‘Four?’” Slosher asked. “Eight does it too. It’s weird, and neither of them will give me a straight answer.”

“Okay, rule one,” Three said, “no asking me any personal questions.”

Slosher frowned. “I don’t think that qualifies as a—”

“Shut up,” Three interrupted. “So anyway. In order to assess your skill levels, I’m going to have to fight each of you separately to start things off. If you’re not already synced to that spawn point”—she gestured at the spawn at the other side of the practice arena—“then go do that right now.” Neither of them moved. “Great. So which one of you wants to go first?”

They looked at each other, then back to Three, before Charger said, “U-uh…”

“Thanks for volunteering. You stay here. Slosher, go to the sidelines and watch. This shouldn’t take long.”

Slosher gave her a nasty look. “My name is Meagan, you know.”

“Cool,” Three said. “Want a medal or something? We’re not here to chat.”

“How on Earth is Lynn your friend?” Charger asked, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“What did I say about personal questions? Please, just go to your spawn. We’ll start in ten seconds.”

The seconds passed agonizingly slowly; Three really just wanted to get into things. She actually enjoyed talking about battle techniques and stuff, so she thought this could be fun, but so far she’d just been… conversing. Uegh. 

Eventually, the tenth second ticked by. Three shouted out to start, and took off across the battlefield, alternating between swimming through her ink and jumping out to shoot more before falling right back in again. Her feet never touched the ground. She quickly caught sight of Charger, who was on one of the practice arena’s tall tower-like battlements. He knew he didn’t need to push any ground, so he was just camping the best strategic position on the map; smart. Not enough, obviously, but smart.

He was using the Firefin, which meant he’d probably put up a splash wall once he figured out which way she was coming from. A feint, then. She hadn’t caught if he was using a scope or not—likely, he was proficient with both, and switched as a counter pick—but it honestly probably wouldn’t matter.

Three instinctually leaned to the side as his first shot flew over her shoulder, then lobbed a burst bomb up at him to get the sights off of her long enough to ink up the side of the platform and begin climbing. Just as she’d expected, Charger placed a splash wall right in front of where Three would emerge, so instead of swimming straight up, she jumped left off of the wall at the last moment, twisting around in the air to fire at him from her unexpected angle as she fell. To his credit, he reacted quickly enough to fire off a shot that was at least in Three’s vicinity, but she didn’t even have to dodge as she nailed him with three perfectly-placed shots. He exploded into ink, and Three stuck the landing. 

“What the fuck was that,” Slosher said from the sidelines.

Three shrugged. “Air control.”

A few seconds later, Charger respawned. “Okay. I think I understand why Lynn picked you.”

“Great. Slosher, you’re up. Ten seconds.”

She blinked. “I—okay.” 

They took their positions at opposite ends of the field, and then Three was off, taking a different route than previously. But either Slosher expected her to change things up, or hadn’t bothered paying attention, because she was just charging down the middle, inking her way along. Her movement, at least, was fairly robust, but she didn’t seem to be very situationally aware.  Three easily maneuvered around behind her and began firing.

But when her first glob of ink splashed against the back of Slosher’s head, she immediately reacted with a 180 spin, throwing a wave of ink towards Three. It managed to absorb the remainder of Three’s shots, and she was forced to hop back a bit to dodge the fringe of the spray. Slosher immediately began a fierce assault, flinging her ink with a lot of strength and significantly less accuracy. She seemed to be focused on hindering Three’s visibility more than anything else, but, to her credit, it was working; it was hard to pinpoint her exact position through the hail of ink, much less track her with her heroshot.

So instead, Three began throwing burst bombs through gaps in her assault. She danced through her ink to avoid the slosher’s spray, and popped up to lob a bomb whenever it was a good time, and after about four, she had apparently clipped Slosher enough that she splatted, the remaining ink from her last swing pattering posthumously to the ground.

She respawned shortly, shaking out her head. “How on Earth do you dodge like that? And was that four fucking burst bombs in a row?” she asked indignantly. “The hell’s your ink capacity?!”

Three smirked. “First tip of the day: you never know how much ink your opponent’s got in the tank.”

“Jeez,” Charger mumbled. “I thought Lynn had an abnormal capacity, but yours is insane.”

“The inc sac’s just a muscle,” Three said. “Train it enough, and you can start dishing out a ton of ink with minimal recovery time. Don’t they teach you that at Inkblot?”

“Yeah, but the amount of time you would have to spend battling for that kind of output…” Slosher trailed off, narrowing her eyes at Three. “Who are you?” 

Three glared at her. “This is the last time I’m gonna say it: No. Personal. Questions. Okay?”

Slosher rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“Alright. First, Charger: you’re positioning’s pretty good, and you seem to be a good strategizer, but you’re aiming wrong.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been doing some target practice in my free time, but—

“Not what I’m talking about,” Three interrupted. “I mean, yeah, your technical aim and reflexes could use some work too, but I’m talking theoretical aim. In our match, you were aiming at the splash wall, expecting me to come up from there. Most opponents probably will, but you should be aiming off to the side.”

“I seriously doubt that anyone would pull a stunt like you did in a tournament setting,” Slosher argued. “Even if it works out, it puts you way out of position.”

Three shook her head. “You’re thinking too small. Consider my feint to be someone coming at you from a side path, or climbing over cover instead of going around it. If you were already aiming at the unexpected path, not only would you have had a better chance of hitting me, but if I really had come up the way you expected, you would have had plenty of time to quickly switch your aim to me and take me out, since the splash wall gives you extra leeway. That way, you cover both options instead of just one. Get it?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so?”

“Great. And now Slosher.”

“Meagan.”

“Slosher. Your fighting style is super fucking weird, which is a point in your favor; you’ll definitely be able to catch people off guard with it. But if they can adapt to it, you’re sunk. As soon as I landed that first burst bomb, you should have dropped a suction down and retreated to a better position. Not just keep at it and hope I fuck up.”

“Suctions are so slow, though,” Slosher countered. “You would’ve just shot me as I swam away.”

“That whole hallway was covered in your ink,” Three said. “You had escape options fucking everywhere—one of them would’ve worked. Maybe it’s zigzag behind you, maybe it’s climb a wall; hell, maybe you just swim towards them and slosher them in the face, I don’t know. Combine that with a bomb that forces your opponent to move, and the worst you’ll get is a trade, as long as you move around right. You can’t play as aggressively as you do without knowing how to escape the shitty situations that ends up putting you in.”

She crossed her arms. “I suppose. So, what now? More of that?”

“Nah. We’re just going to move into an infinite time skirmish, two on one. I’ll switch weapons every so often to keep things fresh. It’ll build your teamwork as well as your individual skills.” She threw her hero shot into her bag and took out the hero roller, flicking it a couple times as a test. It’d been forever since she’d used this thing. She’d had to strip all the mods off, too, so that it functioned like the replicas, and the extra lightness would take a few moments to get used to. “Hey, how about a game. For each time you two can splat me, I’ll let you ask me one personal question.”

“What kind of incentive is that?” Slosher asked.

“I don’t know, Meg,” Charger said. “I’ve got a few in mind I’d like to ask.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Three quipped, already walking off to her spawn. “I don’t plan to go easy on you.”

Meagan and Leo left their first training session with sore muscles, respawn nausea, and no new information about the girl training them, not even a name.

The week went by frighteningly fast from Eight’s perspective—before she knew it, she and the rest of Fresh Ink were waiting in their locker room in the stadium. 

“Nervous?” Four asked, taking a seat on the bench next to her.

Eight shrugged, fiddling with the gas mask that covered the lower half of her face. “A little. It’s silly, though. I know I’m plenty good enough.”

“It’s weird like that,” Four said. “I don’t think there’s a squid on this planet that doesn’t get nervous at times like these.”

“Yeah.” Eight sighed. “I just hope the crowds don’t get to me. I don’t want to do worse because of stage fright. Arena fright?”

“Stadium fright?” Four offered.

“That’s a good one.”

“Well.” Four smiled. “I think you’ll do great.”

Eight smiled back. “I hope so.”

Eight jumped over a roller, dropped a splat bomb, fell into her ink, wove between shots, and popped up to shoot the N-Zap she was fighting right in the face. The roller behind her managed to evade her bomb, but she heard the sound of Leo’s gun go off, no doubt catching him out of his dodge. Meanwhile, Eight handsprung over an enemy charger shot, threading her movements in and out of cover until she was on top of the E-Liter. She splatted him, too, and then turned around as Four clobbered the remaining enemy to death with her brush. 

Meagan, with the Rainmaker on her back, inked the podium with one powerful hurl of her slosher and climbed up, slamming the Rainmaker down hard. The buzzer rang out.

“And that’s game!” called one of the commentators.

“A decisive victory for team Fresh Ink,” said the other. “They really chose their new member well! We’ll see how she and the rest of them hold up further down the bracket, but that was one bold entrance into the quarterfinals.”

Eight wiped some stray ink off her cheek and waved up at the stands. Three was up there somewhere, but who knew where—there were so many people! And, to be honest, she was loving the attention. Utterly destroying her opponents was a lot more fun with an audience! She had no idea why she’d been so nervous before; this was gonna be fun!

Four cursed as she respawned, rubbing at her side where she’d just gotten obliterated by a blaster. The phantom pains from one-hit kills were always the worst. 

They’d made it to the finals—Tower Control on Manta Maria—without too much trouble, but the team they were up against, the Splat Dragons, weren’t fooling around. The score had been going back and forth all game, the tower changing hands constantly and each team just barely managing to make it further than the other each time they seized control. The enemy had managed to push the tower to eight points remaining, but Meagan had pulled off a double kill and reclaimed the tower just before the clock ran out, and now they were pushing overtime to its limit. Four checked the map for a potential superjump, but cursed as she saw Meagan’s icon get x-ed out right as she did. Too dangerous; she’d just have to swim for it.

She took off down the center of the map as quickly as she could, chasing after the tower. The announcers’ voices were muffled through the ink, but she thought she heard something about Leo taking out the blaster that had just splatted her. So that was good. There he was now, actually, up on the raised drawbridge. Oh, and there was the enemy jet squelcher on the bridge behind him, and—oof. Goodbye, Leo.

So that just left Eight on the tower, and Four back here. And they needed to get to seven points remaining before Eight got splatted if they wanted to win. Hoo. Okay. They could pull this off.

The jet squelcher had crept around a flank route in order to get behind Leo, which put her, conveniently, right in Four’s path. She popped out of her ink, and just as the squelcher noticed her, she hurled an autobomb as hard as she could right at the girl’s head. It smashed into her nose with a satisfying clonk, and she let out a curse, clutching her free hand to her bruised face. Four took advantage of the opportunity to run up and sweep out her legs with the head of her brush, just like Three had done to her back in that grocery store a week ago. The girl collapsed to the ground just as the autobomb began vibrating, and a second later, she went up in ink.

“Lynn coming out of spawn hot, downing Shawna with a ingenuitive combo. She’s really showing off her improvisational style today,” called one of the commentators.

“Indeed, indeed,” said the other. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone use an autobomb as a blunt projectile before, but that metal casing has gotta hurt.”

Four took off towards the cart. Two more enemies to deal with, and they were home free.

“Oh! And the mysterious newcomer Eight seems to have gotten out of the slump she found herself in during the fist half of the match, splatting Lucas without a scratch.”

Sorry—one more enemy to deal with.

Another few seconds, and the cart was in sight. Eight was standing on the front, head trained on the various platforms newly-spawned enemies could use to attack. Unfortunately, this meant she couldn’t see the roller that was creeping up behind her.

“Eight!” Four shouted, running forward. No way she’d make it in time, though. “Behind you!”

Eight turned, but the roller was already on its way down. It was over. They’d been so close, too!

And then Eight dropped her gun, reached out, and grabbed the roller by the shaft, inches from her face. She looked her opponent right in the eye, and spread her mouth into a devious smirk. Ink droplets dripped down onto her tentacles from the roller’s head, but she ignored them, forming a splat bomb in her hand. The enemy could only watch, futilely trying to wrench his weapon out of Eight’s iron grip, as the bomb fell to the ground, pulsated for a brief second, and exploded. The tower crawled forward the few remaining feet, and the buzzer sounded.

“And with that astounding play, Fresh Ink just barely takes it over the Splat Dragons! What an intense match!”

“Wow! Talk about a finale, people!”

As the commentators kept on commentating, Four just smiled, leaning on her inkbrush and breathing heavily. God, her hearts felt like they were about to explode. 

She needed some ice cream.

“FUCK yeah!” Three screeched, jumping up in her chair and throwing her fist in the air. “Get it, Eight! That’s how ya fucking do it! Suck my DICK, Splat Dragons!”

The manta ray sitting next to her, who happened to be wearing a Splat Dragons t-shirt, gave her a nasty look. “Uh, do you mind?”

Three stared at him for a second with a completely blank expression before grabbing her empty popcorn tub, tossing it in the air, and kicking the everloving shit out of it in a jumping round-house. “FUCK ‘EM UP, EIGHT! YEAAAAAH!! GET DUNKED ON, BITCHES!”

The popcorn tub sailed through the air and smacked a security squid in the back of the head, prompting him to turn around and glare up at her. Shit. Well, this was awkward. Not really knowing what else to do, Three flipped him off with both hands.

She met up with Four and Eight outside, ten minutes later, after being escorted out of the stadium.

Four was sitting at a table in the Square, enjoying some nice, refreshing ice cream with Eight and Three, who were holding hands under the table and thinking they were being sneaky about it, which they weren’t. Losers.

“Tell you what, Eight,” Four said, taking a lick out of her delicious rocky road ice cream. “I sure am glad we’ve got you now instead of Ricky.”

“Who’s Ricky?” Three asked. 

“The teammate I replaced,” Eight explained. “Never met him, actually.”

“Ricky Danalov. We were friends in high school. He was kind of a jerk, but it took me a while to realize that.”

“Wait.” Three froze. “Danalov?”

“Yeah,” Four said. “Do you know him?”

“I know his brother,” Three mumbled. “From work.”

“You’re kidding,” Four said.

“I wish. His brother’s an even bigger jerk, just so you know.”

Eight giggled into her hand, looking up at Three. “Hold on, do you mean Danny?”

“Unfortunately.” Three slumped against the table and licked at her ice cream.

“Woah, woah, wait up,” Four said, putting up a hand. “This guy’s name is Danny Danalov?”

“Yup,” Three said, in a voice that sounded like she wanted to die. “And that’s the least stupid thing about him.”

“Huh,” Four said. “And he also gives tours at the, uh… Darn, what was it again? The…” Four waited expectantly, but Three only looked at her flatly.

“That’s not going to work, asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Four said, rolling her eyes and once more digging into her ice cream.

“Um… excuse me? Eight, right?”

All three of them turned to the new voice; to Four’s surprise, it was an Octoling. He looked to be about seventeen, if Four had to guess, and he was nervously staring at Eight. Four noticed that Three had unwound her hand from Eight’s, and had moved ever-so-slightly in her chair so that she would be able to jump up at a moment’s notice.

Four doubted it would come to that.

“Uh, yes, hi,” Eight said. “Do I know you?”

“Oh, no, not really,” he said. “My name’s Marcus, and I watched your tournament just now. You were amazing!”

“Oh.” Eight blinked. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, it’s just—” He let out a breath. “How do I say this, uh… it’s nice to see someone who’s more, uh, personally relatable, I guess, playing out on the big stage, you know? I really like turf wars, and it makes me feel like less of an outsider, I guess, and I wanted to thank you…?”

Eight stared at him for a second in silence, and then took a bite out of her ice cream. (A bite. An actual bite. This had to be Pearl’s fault.) “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said finally.

“He’s talking about the fact that you’re an Octoling,” Three said.

Marcus jumped. “That’s—I don’t—”

“Oh!” Eight smiled. “I hadn’t noticed!”

Four and Three exchanged a look, but Eight remained oblivious.

“Nice to meet you, Marcus! I’m Eight! I don’t know any other Octolings besides Marina. This is exciting!”

But Marcus didn’t seem to hear her, and was instead staring at Three. “How do you know about—wait, are—” He stopped dead and turned chalk-white. “Oh my god, you’re Agent 3. You look just like the wanted posters. Oh, nyuze-jaskenei, I am so dead, oh my god, please don’t kill me! I swear I don’t taste good!”

Four frowned. How come she didn’t have any wanted posters? They must’ve not been printed by the time he escaped or something.

“Dude, chill, I—” Three looked vaguely disgusted. “They told you guys I eat Octolings? Ew, no! Anyway, you guys were mind controlled. No hard feelings.”

“Also, like, they’re dating,” Four said, wagging a finger between the two of them. “So you know she likes some Octoling.”

Three gave her an impossibly tired glare.

“Really?” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “How does that… work?”

“Socially or anatomically?” Eight asked.

“Okay!” Three said, her face flushing orange. “Well, nice to meet you and all, but we’ve gotta get going, I think—”

“Wait, one sec, Three,” Eight said, reaching out and grabbing her girlfriend by the arm. Amazingly, Three shut up and stopped. Four was jealous; she could never get Three to shut up, or to stop! God, she didn’t know dating had so many benefits that she was missing out on. (Eh, still probably not worth it, though. Kissing was disgusting.)

“Marcus, did you…” Eight awkwardly brushed a tentacle behind one ear. “Did you know me at all? Back underground?”

“Uh, no, you don’t look familiar. What was your assignment number?”

“02-A,” Eight said.

Wait, what? Four turned to Three, who just mouthed, ‘later.’

“I’m assuming that’s front-ops, right?” Marcus asked.

“Yes,” Three confirmed. “F-02-A.”

“Damn. Well, yeah, then we definitely wouldn’t have seen each other,” Marcus said. “I was S-07-C. A low ranking sci-ops would have no reason to meet with the second squad leader. Why, do you recognize me?”

“Uh, no,” Eight said. “Sorry. Nevermind. Uh, nice meeting you, though!”

“Yeah, you too,” Marcus said before walking off.

Four immediately turned to Three. “What was that all about? How do you know her… ranking, or whatever?”

“I talked with DJ Octavio last month, and he kept calling me ‘02-A,’” Eight said.

“Before you joined the Splatoon, right when Off the Hook was just getting popular, we took Marina in for questioning,” Three explained. “She gave us a lot of information about how the Octarians run things. Each Octoling is part of a division, like front-ops, a squad, like squad two, and then they have a ranking within that squad, which is a letter. So Eight’s code is ‘F-02-A,’ based on the assumption that she was front-ops and the info Octavio gave us.”

“Wait. Octavio knew Eight? Can’t he tell you about your past and stuff?”

“I… tried that already,” Eight said. “I don’t… he said…”

“We can’t trust what he said,” Three shot out, interrupting Eight. “He’s the furthest thing from a reliable source I can think of.”

Okay, so, touchy subject. Got it. Time for a diversion. “…Hey Eight, you want seconds?”

Eight looked at Four, looked at her ice cream, looked back at Four, and shoved the remainder of her ice cream in her mouth all at once. “Yes.” 

Marcus lived in a run-down apartment complex way out on the fringes of the city. He didn’t typically like to walk home after dark, but the tournament was in the evening, and he didn’t like trains, so… here he was. His sneakers felt frighteningly loud on the concrete as he left the pretty parts of the city and moved into the less-cared-for part he had the honor of calling home.

Thud.

It had come from behind him. He spun around to see a form lying on the pavement that hadn’t been there before. Had it fallen? He looked up reflexively, only to see the dilapidated high-rises looming above. Had whoever this was… jumped? He looked down at the prone body. Oh, he was going to be sick.

And then it moved.

Marcus yelped as the body jolted upwards and rushed towards him. Within a second, he felt the barrel of an octoshot pressed up against his chest, and found himself staring into the opaque lenses of octo-goggles.

“Don’t move,” the Octoling spoke, in carefully articulated Octarian. It wasn’t a threat—just an order. 

“Uh, yeah, wasn’t—wasn’t planning on it,” Marcus choked out.

“Are you living with anyone?”

“No, just… just me.” That was a lie. He had escaped with his friend Shianne, who should be sleeping in their apartment right about now. He hoped she didn’t go looking for him or anything dumb like that.

“Come with me,” the Octoling commanded. “Don’t make any noise, and don’t resist, or I will be forced to use violent—”

The Octoling got cut off as it exploded into teal ink, which Marcus only just managed to jump away from. He turned to see a hunchbacked old inkling with a puffy white beard standing off to the side, holding a modified bamboozler. He lowered it back down to the ground, and used it as a walking stick as he approached Marcus.

“Howdy there, kid! You alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” This day just kept getting weirder.

“Well, see you around! And maybe think about carrying a weapon with ya.” He winked. “Oh, and one more thing.” The inkling leaned in and lowered his voice. “If you ever need help, just give me a call.”

“What?” Marcus asked.

But the old man just smiled, and pressed something into Marcus’s hand before wandering off. Marcus squinted in the dark light at the presented object; was that a business card?

Craig Cuttlefish

Inkopolis Military Captain

New Squidbeak Splatoon

And then it had a phone number, an email, and… a message board handle?

Marcus shook his head and resumed his walk towards his apartment. He needed to go to bed.