Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sunken Pearls - The Beginning of the End.

It was dark underground. Energy was in very limited supply. Most of the zapfish had been poisoned, so it was pointless to try to save them, even if leaving them to die broke my heart. People fled Inkopolis, Splatsville, and everywhere else. Marina had been arrested for desertion when we’d first arrived in the Octolings’ capitol dome, but her skills were too valuable to waste, so Octavio had commanded her to be released again if she worked solely on technology that could permit life on the surface again – it was sardines as seafolk packed as many as they could into every building. Even inhaling the fumes above ground was enough to cause amnesia, headaches, and a variety of mild Sanitization symptoms – I’d had to treat it in Marina the first time she went looking for Pearl. Most had long since given up hope that the other half of Off the Hook could’ve survived, but Marina wouldn’t hear of it.

“We’ll find her. I’ll make suits, oxygen tanks and masks. We’ll go up there and find her, whatever her condition,” Marina repeatedly insisted. I didn’t have the heart to argue. It was my fault, my lapse of concentration that meant Pearl and everyone else were gone.

The statue wasn’t as effective as Tartar might’ve hoped, but it did enough damage. Considering the humans had destroyed each other in the same manner, it made sense they brought apocalypse to the life that had flourished in their absence, and now in days where they were nothing more than fossils, their ancient technology had unthinkable costs.

Pearl had been in the firing line, her battle cry giving us time to flee, but like the rest who’d tried to fight the sludge wave, it had been useless – the last anyone had seen of her was a frantic dive, and a superjump towards Inkopolis. I was lucky to have made it out alive. Now, I bunkered down with Marina and Cuttlefish, relying on the pair’s knowledge of war – knowledge Marina had given up hiding in a society where every other Octoling knew her name. Three had made it too – Captain had carried them to safety with a great deal of difficulty. Perhaps it was not knowing whether anyone else would survive that had fuelled him on.

The water dripped from the ceiling. “Can someone plug that?” Marina shouted, pulling her headphones tighter over her ears, irritable as ever. I grabbed another empty bucket, kicking it into place before slumping back down into the pile of boxes that made my chair and bedding. The base had a dusty domed roof, and frequently, some pipe above us leaked or crackled. Occasionally, it did both. We were lucky to have clean water or electricity at all. Not that I was sure it was clean when it tasted of mud or metal.

When we’d arrived, Cuttlefish had been optimistic. “New home, new opportunities,” he’d tried as he’d limped inside our assigned building, leaning on a cane.

“Looks like an upside down weapon can,” objected Three, and since then, I’d scratched the name – The Agent Can – beside the steel door.

More like Agent Can’t . I felt inadequate. I was inadequate – the proof was here for the world to see.

One wrong foot on a ride rail. One misstep. I’d been seconds too late as the last of Marina’s hyperbombs dropped, and in my haste I’d missed the jump. I’d expected to hit the water and die, be saved from living in humiliation, but no such luck. I’d caught myself by my fingertips, superjumped back to Marina to be rescued by the helicopter, and had the privilege of seeing the smallest idol blasted by the full force of an apocalyptic beam as she tried desperately to save her city. Three thought she was dead. Cuttlefish thought she’d made it, Sanitized. I hated the thought of either. Marina firmly maintained the belief that Pearl’s ink could soften the blow and keep her safe.

Dwelling on it didn’t help. Cuttlefish and Marina were sick of my frequent apologies, but Three tried to provide comfort. Seeing me sinking into myself again, the other young agent slipped over to join me, putting an arm over my shoulder. Despite the circumstances we’d met under, they’d told me I was often the best company they had. It wasn’t like the Inklings had adjusted well to life under Octoling rule.

“Something will give eventually, Eight.”

“You don’t know that.”

We sat in silence. Three pulled a jerky snack of some kind from their pocket, broke it in half, and offered a chunk. I took it with a soft mutter of thanks. I didn’t deserve kindness, but it meant a lot that Three still offered it.

They continued. “I was unconscious for most of the fight, if Tartar hadn’t got to me, maybe things could be different. I don’t blame you. I blame myself just as much. The pressure–”

“You’re not helping, Three.”

“Neither is your moping! I’m trying, but if you can’t snap out of this and start helping, then…”

“I know.” Three was right. I’d failed, but that was no excuse not to try repairing something, even if it was hopeless. I stood, picking dirt off my shirt. Maybe the only thing that had been better since the world above the surface ended was my freedom to choose my own clothes – soft, stripy blue and white t-shirt with sleeves that finally covered my arms, loose black trousers. I’d kept my boots and hairstyle, singular tentacle curled over my head, just long enough to tickle my eyebrows. To change everything would be to renounce the sense of self I’d so tentatively built. Under the crushing guilt of failing absolutely everyone, I’d debated choosing a real name at last to hide behind, not a number, but Three had stayed as Three, and that validated my own identity.

“I’m going out,” I said. Neither Marina or Cuttlefish turned their attention from the computer screen the engineer worked at, or even acknowledged my remark. I wasn’t  surprised. I doubted they wanted to share the space with me anyway.

Before I could yank the door, struggling with my skinny body against its weight, Three grabbed my hand. “I’m going to get some fresh air too. It’s better than doing it alone later.”

“Stay safe,” Captain answered, turning to give a weak smile to his protege. 

“Don’t get poisoned,” Marina muttered.

The door made a horrible grinding sound as it slid along its hinges, and a nasty screech as it closed. The air outside was barely any cleaner, and I knew it was only to keep me company. “You don’t have to stick up for me all the time. There are reasons they ignore me.”

Three just shrugged. “I fought against the Octarians for Cuttlefish. You really think anyone’s thrilled to host both of us?”

They had a point. The path we took was rocky and unpaved, precarious at best, and we had to be careful not to tumble over the edge if gravel got underfoot. The Can was settled on the edge of the city, some way up the tall crowds of stalagmites and boulders that made for a small underground hillside. Out across the huge cave, the lights from the city twinkled like stars – more realistic than the panels that projected the night sky from the roof. Any cracks had been plugged, but there were still puddles of Sanitized ooze every so often. Some younger Octolings had taken to smoking it like a drug, and I couldn’t blame them. Everyone wanted to forget the situation I had failed to prevent.

We descended the cliff path, and I kicked every pebble we came across until real houses started to crop up around us. Three finally broke the silence. “I should get a job, if we’re going to be down here for a while.”

“Try forever. Do you think we’d be recognizable?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’d go to serve someone in a restaurant, and they’d ask to be seen by someone with less dirt on their hands.” Three nudged me in the ribs and nodded towards a group of Octoling adults that had paused to stare. Three hadn’t changed their clothes since being down here, and when we were together, it was easy to guess who we were. Horrible heroes. Human huggers. “Don’t let it get you down.”

“It’s not even that.” Head down, picking at my fingertips, I struggled to explain it. “I’m used to being silent and invisible. Now everyone knows me, for all the wrong reasons.”

“They would have stared more if you’d been a hero.”

I winced. “Silver linings, I guess.”

There were places in the town where we could still just be Octoling and Inkling, an unusual friendship and nothing more. If it weren’t for the abandoned park, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have willingly sacrificed myself to Sanitization. It was still something I thought about occasionally. It would be so much easier than the long fight. Through the streets, Three took the lead, their confidence shining through even when things were dire. The gate had ooze dribbling down it, and they cautiously flicked it away before pushing it open. “After you. Welcome to the palace.”

“Why thank you, my liege,” I said, and when they laughed, it warmed some of the numbness the statue had left. The park was one of the few places paved with artificial grass, and while I’d never got to feel the real thing, Three assured me that there wasn’t much difference. The area was enclosed, housing a pair of swings and a rickety climbing frame, accompanied by a games court of some kind. At either end, respawn pads had been painted in pink. I couldn't remember what my childhood had been like, whether I'd ever played somewhere like this before.

Three took a seat on one of the tyres that made for the swings, and gestured for me to do the same. “I was only partially joking about getting a job, I've had my experience of a few, but what are you going to do, Eight? Until anyone works out how to live on the surface without going all…” They tapped the green scar that covered their eye and the side of their face. Three had bounced back well after the partial Sanitization, and provided invaluable insight into how it worked and what it felt like. A sensation of emptiness, echoing commands, a certainty within the uncertainty of life that made taking directions so easy.

“I need to get back up there. As soon as Marina has a working surface suit, I want to be the first to wade through the sludge to find survivors. I have to be. I should've been in the way, not Pearl. She didn't deserve that. Marina didn't deserve to see that, and I need to fix it.”

Three rummaged through their pockets before pulling out a small sheet of paper and handing it to me. It was a small doodle, Pearl trying to grab hold of a hand reaching into the page – a hand that was shaded to look suspiciously like Marina’s. “Marina is quiet because she misses Pearl and won't let herself grieve, but she doesn't hate you. Promise. Her bombs only worked to slow the beam. You’re not the only one at fault.”

“We were lucky she made any at all. It could’ve been enough. I know she’s grieving in her own way, but I wish she’d just spit it out. The silence is absolutely killing me. Why can’t she just say she resents me?”

“Because you're her friend!” Three stood, scowling. “You're not the only one struggling here, Eight! It wasn't your fault, but your attitude sure is. We have no idea what this is like for Marina, losing her girlfriend and plunged back into a society she fought to leave behind. Do you hear what plays through her headphones, day in, day out? Calamari Inkantation, to remind herself she isn't a slave to a new war.”

When they finished their rant, Three was out of breath. Something was driving them on, and then I caught sight of the glimmer of tears settled on the markings under their eyes. Kicking off the swing, I went to them, pulling them into a hug. “We’re going to be okay, Three. All of us. It’s just going to take time.”

“I failed them all too. I let Tartar get a hold of me. I hope you’re right, because it really doesn’t feel okay.”

It didn't feel okay to me either, but all we had in this world, for now, was each other. They pulled away first, drying their eyes on the sleeve below their Hero Suit.

“I miss the other Agents. Callie and Marie.”

Everyone missed the Squid Sisters for their own reasons. No one had heard from Agents One or Two since the fallout. Their upbeat energy could've made a huge difference to morale, but instead, the Can had nothing but gloom. We had half a band, two traumatised agents, and a mourning grandfather.

“Do you think he assumes the worst?”

Three gave a small shrug, folding their arms and looking out across the city. “I worked with them for a while. They're resourceful and clever, but I don't know how much. It's apocalypse. You can’t just out-think Sanitization. I hope they found the network at another dome. They could be looking for us, too.”

There was nothing more to say for a long time. I took their hand, and we sat on the bench in silence. The creaking of the swing frame as the tyres slowed without our momentum felt protective, like if we stayed here forever, the world around us would pause to wait for us.

We didn’t have the luxury of time – the world needed us. I couldn’t fail it again.

Chapter Text

Sunken Pearls - Not Your Agents.

We stayed at the park for a while anyway. Neither of us wanted to leave, to return to a hostile world that seemed determined to drag us down with it. Eventually, Three stood, offering me their hand. 

“When we get back, let’s try to offer some more support to Marina. I think it’s about time we gently tried to stop her isolating herself, even if all she wants is for us to bring her juice or hold a spanner.”

I nodded in agreement. It was a good idea. Everyone needed support – Marina most of all, even if she was trying to put on a cold facade.  The ooze on the gate had multiplied again, and I had to work around it to release the catch. “Do you think this stuff is ever going to overtake the dome network, too?” The walk back was mostly uphill, so I was more than happy to match Three’s slower pacing.

Three shrugged. “Depends what grows faster, research or the ooze. Did you find anything about it in the Metro?”

“I…” It was hard to remember, and I frowned. Everything down there felt like a fog. Gathering the memcakes, trying to piece myself together, the constant threat of the bomb at my back if I took one wrong step. In the end, I hadn’t learnt anything. I shuddered, feeling a wave of nausea.

“Eight?”

“Huh?”

“You okay?” They frowned, studying me. It didn’t help.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, then softened my tone at their hurt expression. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. Let’s head back. I need to feel like I’m contributing, before I go mad down here.” Again. 

The new silence was uncomfortable, but to break it would’ve been more so. Not that it mattered – there was plenty to focus on. The stares seemed to intensify on the way back. What kind of rumours were circulating about how the battle for the statue had unfolded? Maybe Marina would explain at some point. Citizens were more likely to listen to her than Inklings or Agents.

At some point, Three dropped my hand and walked ahead. When we’d duelled, they’d borne nothing but confidence, calculation and a soft playfulness. Now, they adjusted their cuffs as an excuse to keep their head down, changed their ink colour to Octarian pink, and kept one headphone off-ear to listen to their surroundings. The idea of keeping them was that we could communicate if separated. Three was less inclined to admit it than me, but they feared the attitudes of the seafolk – all of them, Octoling or Inkling – just as much as I did. I wondered what it felt like, walking around with a scar from the Sanitization, and how much it still bothered them, even if they said it didn’t. They’d only spoken of it as much as necessary, dodging excess questions. When they rubbed their eyes, it was always the right. Always the scar.

By the time we were approaching the edge of the city again, it felt like we were being tailed with the amount of eyes that followed us. I grabbed Three’s arm. “I don’t like this. We should say something.”

“Like what?” Three hissed. “Sorry we killed their families on the surface?”

“We didn’t kill them, Three. We might not have saved them, but we didn’t kill them,” I shot back. It was inevitable, the tension between us that ebbed and flowed, but that didn’t make it healthy. It made it more frustrating than anything, not knowing when either of us were in our heads, whether we could have patience with each other or not. Three turned their back, but a voice shouted from the crowd.

“Stop there!”

I looked back, and my eyes fell on an Octo Shot, wielded by an older Octoling. His tentacles curled around his face, a dark magenta, and he wore the unmistakable attire of the Octarian military. I nudged Three in the ribs, and they followed my gaze before freezing, slowly turning to face him.

“Who are you meant to be?” Three snapped, but the man only narrowed his eyes.

“Annoyed,” he responded, and a flick of his head drew forth a number of others from the crowd – many of them had weapons at their hips, but more prominently, they wore matching uniforms. Octarian uniforms. My heart sank. 

“So we’re just being violent in the street now, are we?” Three held their ground, but their hand found mine. A united front under stressful circumstances was the best we had, our weapons long confiscated on arrival. It was about time someone official worked out who we were.

“Okay,” I tried, “what do you want, then? We haven’t broken any laws.” At least, not since arriving in the domes.

We got no answer before we were swarmed. Three lashed out, but I squeezed their hand. “Let them,” I muttered, before we were pulled apart, wrists bound, and marched back down the street we’d just tried to escape.

The state of the dome wasn’t much better in the centre. Everywhere, there was litter, dirt and groups of homeless. Shops were packed full, beggars on every corner, and some of them stared at us with a hunger in their eyes – not one for food, but one for excitement. A thirst for something interesting when their world was burning. We, along with our small army, were perfect entertainment. I tried to catch Three’s eye, but they kept their head down and I felt a prod at my back to keep moving.

The mob’s leader led us down a winding alley – the walls of the buildings here crumbling with several windows boarded up – before kneeling down and unlocking something on the floor. A moment later, he kicked the lid of a grate open. At first glance, it looked like a sewer, but it had an emblem that resembled the Octarian leader emblazoned on the underside.

“Down here.” We didn’t have a choice. Three was forced down first, and I caught sight of the anxiety ingrained on their face before they shifted and slid through the bars. I wasn’t far behind.

When we emerged into a new dome, it was nothing like I’d expected. Our feet hit the ground of a circular room that vaguely resembled an arena – a central stage, dimly lit, and steps at the edges. Half of our escort retreated, and the first man gestured for us to follow him, dismissing the rest with a wave of his hand. They slunk into the shadows, and I finally managed to look at Three to gauge how they were handling this – worse than I was, apparently.

It was easier to follow than to try to flee, especially with our hands bound. I got the impression from the Octoling’s sharp-set jaw that he’d just shoot us.

Keeping balance on the steps was hard, and I almost tripped. Three, walking ahead, moved their shoulder to catch me and give me the second I needed to right myself. In the darkened outer ring, I squinted to let my eyes adjust, but it was pointless. A double set of doors, then a hallway lit with harsh white bulbs, made for an uncomfortable contrast. Another set of double doors at the end of that, and then our guide stopped, stepping behind us.

“Through there.” He had no intention to follow. When Three hesitated, trying to see through the wire mesh that clogged the windows and blocked our destination from view, the Octoling kicked them in the back, forcing them to stumble through. I glowered at him before I followed.

It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, and didn’t remotely resemble the cell I’d expected to walk into – in fact, it was nothing like it. It was a homely space that blended neatly with a workshop, and a fancy one at that. The walls shimmered, something glittery mixed in with the pale green paint, streaked with stripes of magenta. Wooden doors led off to the right, presumably to a bedroom, or maybe to a kitchen, but in front of them stood a solid hardwood table, set on a varnished wooden floor. There were snacks set out on it, fruit and biscuits that made my mouth water – were they made underground? Or would they be the last bowls of fruit anyone would ever eat? It was big enough, long enough, to have twelve chairs sat around it, and maps laid out in places, small figures that resembled soldiers in a few places – a couple of them looked to resemble me and Three. In a more playful mood, there were pink lounge chairs and a couch lining the walls, propped between tall bookshelves, and occasional units, matching the wooden theme, attached to the wall to make the most of the space. The most notable thing about the living space were the medals and the photos. There were so many, spaced neatly in rows in between thick encyclopedias on the shelves, or pinned to the paint. 

To the left, the ceiling rose in a gradient, and the room stretched far further. There were sky panels that resembled a large ceiling window, even mimicking the sound of rain with the grey clouds it projected. The workshop had tables and desks too, but they were clunky, sharp, metal things. Projects were stacked in every nook, yet it was still impeccably organised in groups of half-finished, half-welded robots, knives, and even small piles of nuts and bolts. Without a doubt, the thing that took centre stage was the mech, wrapped up in tall scaffolding, the reason for the ceiling’s height easy to see. Three recoiled, then hesitated and awkwardly twisted to grab my hand.

The Octarian leader took a minute to emerge from behind his doors, not seeming surprised to see us. “You’re early,” he remarked, and took a seat at his table. Three hovered behind my shoulder, grip tightening. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you again, Three, but it’s rather unpleasant.”

The tension mounted in the silence, but Octavio didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. A tentacle beckoned us forwards, and I obliged, Three taking the seat beside me, glaring daggers across the short distance.

“What do you want, Octavio? A power play? Punishment? Revenge?” Three made sarcastic gestures to match their venomous tone. “Or is it just because you can?”

“Well, we’re all in trouble here, aren’t we, Agent?” he spat. “I don’t want anything to do with you either, but if you’d rather be childish rather than listen to someone of superior rank to you, in my country, you can find somewhere to stay beyond the borders of the domes. Does that sound preferable?” Silence. “No? Didn’t think so. Now shut up and listen.”

I sank into my seat, hoping he would keep his attention away from me, but when he continued, it was with pointed, piercing eye contact at both of us.

“You’re both competent. I’ve seen that in you, Three, and… what’s your name? From the Metro, you must be one of th–”

“Eight. It’s just Eight.”

He paused. “I suppose Cuttlefish can’t count, with his age and all.”

Three interrupted again, unable to hold their tongue. “Their name is Eight. Cap’n would still best you in a fight.”

Octavio laughed, resting two of his tentacles on the wood. It was a jarring sound, a laugh of amusement, but not one of good humour. “I could have him arrested and thrown to Tartar’s zombie army as a traitor, and he wouldn’t be able to raise a tentacle against me. You should know when to keep your mouth shut. But it’s okay. You’ll learn.”

The implicit threat sent a shiver down my spine, and I spoke up, trying to defuse the tension. “Clearly you need something, or you wouldn’t be toying with us.”

Finally, Octavio answered the question we’d been asking since our arrest, his tone serious and losing the hostility – the kind of tone used for business, even with an irritating client. “You’re correct. The domes can’t handle this capacity, they were never built for this. There’s no reason for hostilities between us anymore. The Inklings would wipe out as a population above ground, and I would never wish that on anyone. Even you, Three. Even Cuttlefish.” He was silent in consideration for a moment. “I wish to propose… an alliance. Between you, the Agents, and the Octarian military. Alone, I think we might all go under. Together, utilising our combined strength, we might prevail.”

Three watched him with wary eyes. “Why would we trust you? The first thing you did was threaten Marina, and she’s grief stricken.”

“Exactly. I needed her to have focus, and trying to ask her instead of order would just lead to rebellion and further resentment. Do you understand?”

I nodded, but Three looked betrayed by my gesture. I ignored them and pressed on. Octavio backstabbing us was always an option, but we had no choice at this point. It was either take Octavio’s tentacle to pull ourselves to safety, or risk going under with everything else. I didn't want to lose what little we had left for the sake of pride, and admittedly, I wasn't even sure what the grudge between the Inklings and Octarians was. Octavio had only been trying to save his people, and Three had been doing the same. There weren’t enough resources for everyone, and to hate others for trying to protect themselves seemed ridiculous – but I’d spent a long time on the Metro with nothing at all to my name. I remembered their concert duel well, and the song that had fused itself onto my brain. Octavio had wanted to keep his kingdom to rule over, even in its disintegrating state, but this time, to approach us at all, seemed different. “What are you asking of us?”

Octavio’s expression lost a fraction more of its coldness. “First of all, I want you to work with Marina. When she has those suits drawn up, which should hopefully be soon, I think you both would be best to go above ground in the prototypes. If anything goes wrong, you might be able to handle yourselves. That, and you clearly know how to wipe the floor with the Sanitized.”

“Don't you want us to try to rescue them? Those Inklings–”

“They're dead, Eight. The Sanitized are dead. If anything up there is moving, it’s better off that way. Dispose of them.”

My heart twisted at the thought of Pearl. After giving everything to save us all, her vibrant energy would be lost. All because of what I couldn't do, she would be dead. I could only hope that it gave her peace instead of pain. She didn’t deserve it. The grief buried itself deeper into my chest. Three had been right. There was no way Pearl could be alive. It was time to let go, and work for the people we had left, just as a soldier would do.

Three didn’t say a word, arms folded, still staring the leader down. He wasn’t impressed. “I also want to offer you a place in the Octarian army.”

My stomach dropped, and Three lurched to their feet. “No. We’re done here. Throw me to the Sanitized. I won’t fight for you. We’re not your Agents, we’re our own.”

Octavio scowled, shaking his head. “Sit down.” When Three didn’t budge, glowering until their pointed teeth were visible, he pushed himself up onto the table. “ Sit. Down . I won’t ask you again.”

Reluctantly, they slumped back into their chair. I yearned to take their hand again, but I couldn’t with my hands bound.

“I didn’t mean it like that, anyway,” Octavio elaborated. “I want you to join their training routines to keep you in shape. The world above us wants all of us dead. You’re useless to me if you give up on yourselves.”

Three wouldn’t meet my eye, so I had to make this decision for myself. Three was so important to me, but this was bigger than us. At this point, we had no right to put ourselves first. “I’ll agree to your alliance, on the condition you don’t try to control us. I won’t sign any contract, I won’t wear your uniform, I’ll work with you but never for you. Lay a finger on Three or Cuttlefish, and I’ll take my chances alone.”

“What they said,” Three muttered. “Can we be done with this now? I don’t enjoy negotiating as a prisoner.”

“I couldn’t have you splatting my trusted guards. I know what you’re like.” Octavio waved a dismissive tentacle. “You can leave now. I expect to see you at training in two days, or I’ll bring the fight to you instead. Bring your best armour, don’t bring a weapon.”

He turned his back and left, heading for his workshop area. Three couldn’t have looked more despondent, and I wanted to hold them close and tell them we’d made it through worse. Instead, I kept quiet. The doors behind us swung open with a crash that made us both flinch, and we were escorted out by our previous guard. Once we were back into the concert room, our hands were untied, and we were let out through the normal doors.

We didn’t get far before Three confronted me. “I thought we were a team! You were ready to sell our freedom to him!”

“We don’t have any freedom, Three! This place is a cage!” I didn’t like the anger bubbling in my stomach. It wasn’t Three’s fault. “If we don’t do something, we’re going to be stuck here until we die. I don’t want to spend any more of my life in a system of underground rooms against my will.”

I expected them to fire back, but they hung their head, thumb subconsciously rubbing the side of their scar. “I… didn’t think of it like that. Octavio has been my enemy – the enemy of the whole Squidbeak Splatoon – for forever. I thought we were walking into a trap, and you were ready to let it happen.”

“We still might be, but face it. We can’t do this alone. If he thinks he has a plan, and we get to keep our distance but be a part of it, that’s the best we’re going to get before I suffocate in these domes.”

We walked a bit further in silence.

Eventually, they sighed, tugging on their twin tentacles. “I’m sorry. He’s going to hate me even more now, isn’t he?”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. He needs us, we need his numbers. Even if we could live above land, we can’t clean up by ourselves. If he tries any tricks, then we can betray him instead. We don’t have to trust him. Besides, I don’t want to die before I’ve lived.”

The journey back to the Can was uneventful, and the conversation warmer and amicable. Slowly, Three thawed, conceding that being Sanitized was likely worse than anything Octavio could throw at us. It felt nice to set foot on the cliff path again, its familiar path somewhat worn from our walks back and forth to the park.

Three hesitated a few hundred metres from home. “Do we tell them?”

I considered it. “I think so. I don’t want to blindside them.”

The metal felt cold under my hand as I struggled with the door. Three helped me, their hands over mine, and the moment there was a gap, I could hear Marina and Cuttlefish arguing tersely on the other side. Our lives had become a lot easier, or a lot harder, and I dreaded to find out.