Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today is a special day. 

The freshest, coolest, newest squids on the block have all gathered here for their first day of turf war training. They've been waiting for this moment their entire lives, all here with dreams bigger than the city itself. They talk about their dreams, becoming the best, making a mark in the inksports scene. It's like they're standing on the threshold of something great, something monumental… 

…And they believe it, every single one of them, with all their hearts. Some are laughing and joking around, others are intently discussing strategies. They look around at each other, seeing allies, rivals, maybe even legends in the making. Today is a day brimming with possibility, a day where dreams are tantalizingly within reach… 

But who gives a FUCK about all that dumbass bullshit. I don't, cuz I'm not FUCKING STUPID.

-Brandon

 

-

Across from Blackbelly Skatepark, settled within a swathe of greenspace usually reserved for quiet moments, stood rows of tall metal bleachers, hastily set up in front of a large outdoor stage. Banners with the SquidForce brand’s iconic logo rippled in the breeze. Large LED screens on the trusses of the stage displayed short highlights from past ink battles, promising fame, and perhaps even a corporate-sponsored career. 

The seats of the bleachers slowly filled to capacity with eager recruits; All young inklings, each one of them adorned in the same bright yellow t-shirts and gray headbands. There was no doubt that this was going to be one of the most important days of their lives. 

It was the first SquidForce™ Inkopolis Testfire of the summer, for a new generation of inklings to take their first steps into the world of inksports. 

Everyone was excited. 

Everyone, that is, except for Brandon Humboldt. 

The 14 year old inkling sat quietly in his seat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He stared blankly just beyond the stage, towards the colorful Inkopolis skyline in the distance, watching the palm trees sway back and fourth. He let out a sigh.

This day was supposed to be unforgettable. It was the kind someone would reminisce years later with all of the new friends they’d be making. 

But he was alone.

And bored. 

And very tense— ready to throw a punch if necessary. 

As much as he wanted to pull out his phone and distract himself with Squid Jump, he couldn't afford to let his guard down. Not here, surrounded by so many inklings his age, any of which could potentially recognize him and try to start a fight. 

They'd even have a perfectly good reason for wanting to literally kick his shit in, since he was, well, infamous amongst his peers. 

Luckily for him, he didn't see anyone he knew as he gave a quick inconspicuous glance around the crowd. Although looking at the collective enthusiasm did make him want to puke. Obviously there were a few inklings there that looked like they were dragged here as well, but the vast majority of the growing crowd was prepared for the day ahead of them. 

Brandon never cared about inksports, despite its prevalence in Inkopolis culture. Even as someone who was raised in the city, when his street lit up with music and lights during the Splatfests from several years ago, not once in his life has any kind of ink battle ever interested him, yet here he was, forced to attend this event anyways.

He shifted his gaze to the large stage, watching the employees below continuing to set up the event. He hoped that the show would start soon— not because he was in any way curious of what SquidForce had in store for everyone, but only because the sooner it starts, the sooner he can immediately leave once its over. 

Time practically slowed to a crawl as he waited there. To escape the boredom for a moment and keep his brain from completely shutting down, he thought of his own villain monologue, insulting everyone in his mind. But much like the wait for the testfire to start, it dragged on for way too long. He sighed again, continuing to stare out into the distance with a look on his face that screamed “I really wish I weren't here right now.” 

Unfortunately for him, his brooding was interrupted by a friendly shout that cut through all of the indistinct chatter. 

“HEY! HEEEY!!!”

Startled, Brandon looked up.

The voice sounded vaguely familiar and... didn't sound like they wanted to start a fight. Sure, it could’ve been meant for someone else, or some kind of auditory hallucination since he was close to losing his mind due to the sheer boredom.

But he had the gut feeling that it was calling out specifically to him, even if it was in a friendly tone. Which was rarer than rare. 

Brandon didn't get his infamous reputation for nothing. No one was ever friendly to him, because he was never friendly to anyone from the start.

He was, to put it simply, a bully. To everyone. Or at least to anyone that was unfortunate enough to annoy him, which was usually everyone. 

Before the summer, when he was still stuck attending the hell hole known as Goby Middle School, he would get into constant fights with others. And those fights would be brutal— usually starting because his opponent said “no” when he asked to borrow a pencil or something similarly mundane. The thought of running into one of his many enemies from the past. Or worse, any one of the meaningless school girlfriends whose names had already faded from his memory, filled him with a mix of both dread and irritation.

Mostly dread. 

He was sure the moment someone recognized him, they would throw something directly at his head and scream about how much of a dick he was to them for whatever reason. He prepared himself for What's-Her-Face from 6th grade to show up out of nowhere, still petty that he dated her and Whoever-She-Was at the same time. 

He was prepared for confrontation. A fight. Anything. 

But not... this. 

A friendly “hey!” was the last thing Brandon expected to hear.

He scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on an unfamiliar inkling boy below, nearly five rows away, waving energetically in his direction. He was staring right at him.

Brandon stared back, confused. He pointed to himself and mouthed a silent, “Me?” 

The kid nodded. 

Brandon was still confused. He didn’t recognize this kid at all— even if he did stand out with his spiky, almost gravity-defying vibrant orange tentacle hair. He wasn't a past enemy from school, or so he thought. He could've been pretending to be nice to let his guard down for a second, but that smile looked one hundred percent genuine. 

Maybe he'd mistaken Brandon for someone else, looking for another inkling with an unfortunately emo-styled teal hairstyle just like him. Admittedly, it was hard to tell anyone apart from each other, considering everyone was wearing the exact same gear. Provided by SquidForce™, of course.

Brandon's eyes followed this living embodiment of an exclamation mark who was now making his way toward him, squeezing past everyone with the apology-ridden agility of a commuter on a crowded train. Finally reaching where he sat, the stranger plopped down into the empty space next to him. 

“Oh man, it’s so good to see a familiar face!” The stranger exclaimed, sounding relieved. 

Brandon gave him a confused squint. “Huh?” 

The stranger’s smile faltered for a moment, but quickly recovered. “Oh, we uh, we met yesterday, in the line for sign-ups,” he explained, his voice a bit shaky. “You said you’d love to talk more but couldn't at that moment…”

A flicker of recognition crossed Brandon's face as he tried to recall the memory from the previous day, which consisted of standing in a seemingly endless line at the Inkopolis Plaza Battle Lobby. He’d mumbled something sarcastically to himself about how stupid the entire idea of this thing was, and the boy standing next to him had mistaken it for an invitation to chat.

Brandon didn’t really know why he didn’t shut him down completely. But he remembered being mildly amused by the kid’s lack of understanding the concept of sarcasm. They engaged in a brief conversation, every single one of Brandon's words being filled with sarcasm, yet this stranger never picked up his tone and acted as if he was just as exhilarated as he was. That momentary distraction while waiting in line, even if it was from the ironic amusement from their contrasting psyches, was, well, something at least.

And now, here the kid was again, his smile wide, as if they were long-lost friends reunited after years of separation.

“Right…” Brandon replied dryly.

“Your name is… Brandon, right?” He pressed on, still cheerful.

“Mm hm.”

“I'm Hunter, if uh, you don’t remember. Hunter Jackson.” He outstretched his hand in a nervous, yet friendly gesture.

There was a brief pause as Brandon looked at Hunter’s offered hand. “I remember,” he replied, looking away. 

Hunter awkwardly retracted his hand and stood up. “Sorry, sorry… I can go, if I'm bothering—”

“No, no, no,” Brandon groaned, gesturing towards the empty space next to him with a flick of his wrist. “Just sit down.”

Hunter stood there in complete silence for a moment. “So… I can stay, right?”

“...Yes?” 

“Hooray!” Hunter happily sat back down, smiling ear to ear.

“Just shut up,” Brandon muttered, finally reaching for his iKaPhone 2 from his pocket to distract himself with Squid Jump.

As he waited for the game to load, he glanced at Hunter. The kid sat there, bouncing his leg with frenetic energy, looking towards the stage. The yellow SquidForce tee he wore looked comically oversized on him, and in all fairness, it was probably in the smallest size that was available. 

Not that it was any different for Brandon, as the both of them were easily the shortest, least athletic looking squids in the whole audience. 

Hunter was, in both physique and personality, a complete dweeb. A geek. Or any other insult for a social outcast— that was him. He radiated a certain kind of enthusiasm for this day that set him apart from the rest of everyone else, something about him that was both hilarious and a bit sad. It was clear he fumbled his way through more than a few painfully awkward encounters this morning.

Brandon could imagine him approaching a group of strangers, his smile a little too wide, his voice a little too loud, his eagerness spilling over into an incoherent avalanche of words that left them with nothing but a blank stare and a “Who the fuck are you, and why are you talking to us?”

Despite how funny he thought it was, Brandon could tell he was alone, just like him. 

Or whatever. He could’ve easily told Hunter to fuck off and go sit somewhere else, but at least having someone next to him could help him relax, in a way. And feel less like a loser all by himself. Maybe the company wouldn’t be so bad, as long as he could keep his mouth shut and sit quietly.

Unfortunately for Brandon, there was only about two minutes of silence between them. 

“You excited for training today?!” Hunter asked, unable to contain his eagerness.

Brandon groaned. Instead of punting Hunter for immediately breaking his one rule, he just responded without looking up from his phone. 

"Oh yeah. Ecstatic.” 

“Right? It’s gonna be awesome!" Hunter continued. 

“Fo sho, bro.”

Hunter sounded as if he was about to tear up from joy. “We’re finally gonna be able to participate in turf wars…” 

“Mm hm.”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life… Ever since I was a little squid I wanted to play inksports.”

“Truly groundbreaking aspirations no one has ever had before,” Brandon replied dryly, tapping away. “Dare to dream big, Hector.”

Hunter, either missing the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it, lit up even more. "Oh, it’s a dream come true!” Without warning, he jumped up and stood on his seat, his sudden movement drawing stares from those around them.

“Look, look!” Hunter yelled. “I’ve been practicing going in and out of swim form. Watch me!” He shifted into squid form. “I'm a squid now!” And then back into inkling form. “I'm a kid now!”

“WHAT?!” Brandon finally looked up from his phone.

“Squid, kid. Squid, kid. Squid, kid,” Hunter chanted, rapidly shifting back and forth. 

“Wh…?”

Brandon watched as the orange squid flopped about. He was baffled. What triggered this to happen or why he would even want to show it off as if it was an impressive skill, was a mystery. It was less a showcase of skill and more a slapstick performance that could be taken as an innuendo for… something else. 

The spectacle drew in pointing and laughing from onlookers within the crowd.

“Your friend is hilarious!” An inkling chortled from behind. 

FRIEND?!

Brandon cringed. His begrudging acceptance of Hunter’s company evaporated in an instance. He couldn’t just get up and leave, because now he was a part of… whatever this was.

Everyone around them was watching. And laughing. 

THIS FUCKER DRY HUMPING THE SEATS ISN’T MY FRIEND, STOP LAUGHING OR I'LL FUCKING KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF—

Brandon blanked out for a second and shook his head. Whatever was going on, it had to stop. Immediately.

“STOP.” Brandon yelled, reaching out his hand. "Just, stop. We get it.” 

Hunter finally paused, looking at Brandon, and then at the laughing spectators. “Ooh…” He blushed and sat back down, sinking into his seat. “I guess I got a bit carried away, huh?”

“Yeah, no shit stupid,” Brandon muttered, scooting barely an inch away from him. “We’re in public. Don’t fucking do that.”

“Oh…”

Finally, blessed silence descended upon them. The laughs from everyone watching faded as they all turned away, almost as if nothing happened. 

“Sorry,” Hunter whispered. "I'll... I'll calm down." 

Brandon ignored him and resumed his game of Squid Jump. He quickly glanced around to make sure that no one else was staring— and they weren't. 

Maybe it was true. No one cared that he was there and he had his guard up for nothing. No one holding a grudge was going to walk up to him and try to fight. No one was going to point and laugh about how ironic it was that he's conversing with a loser. 

Or maybe it's just that inklings have a short attention span, and terrible memory. 

Either way, he felt somewhat okay for once. Somewhat.

Away from the audience’s view, behind the large temporary stage, SquidForce employees were nearly finished setting up the event, transforming the area into a makeshift backstage. Clusters of wires sprawled across the grass, snaking their way from one area to another. They connected to what looked to be an unnecessary amount of very expensive audio and visual equipment, including a fog machine and confetti cannon. 

This event was going to be big. 

The CEO of SquidForce, Mr. Ashley V. Anchor, strolled through the setup with a tablet in hand. Several employees greeted him as he passed by. 

"Good morning, Mr. Anchor!" 

“Looking sharp, sir!”

“Yooo, Ashley!” 

Ashley smiled and returned their greetings. “Good morning, good morning. Great job, everyone.”

He glanced down at his tablet, marveling at the turnout for the event.

"Look at all these new faces," he mused, scrolling through the list of names. "Quite the turnout indeed."

The SquidForce financial director, who was trailing the CEO from behind, finally stepped up to him. They nervously adjusted their glasses. 

"Mr. Anchor..." 

"This is just, just fantastic," Ashley continued to himself, his eyes remaining fixed on the tablet.

"Yes, it is..." The director replied with a bit of concern. "But..."

"Ah." Ashley finally looked away, giving them his full attention. "Something wrong?" 

"We've gone a little over budget on all of the equipment.”

Ashley remained relaxed. “Ah, hmm. A little over isn't too bad.”

The director hesitated. “By a few hundred million G…”

Ashley paused, but then chuckled. “Well, the audience will uh, be in for quite a show,” he said, handing the tablet to them. 

“It's what Kaito wanted,” The director added.

“Hmm…” Ashley scanned the stage in front of him until his eyes landed on Kaito Grey, who was perched on top of a large speaker.

The 27 year old inkling was absorbed in his phone, smirking as he scrolled through his Inkstagram feed. He was wearing his usual fit, a dark unbuttoned blazer and a graphic tee underneath. Not only was he the co host of the testfire, but he was the brand ambassador of SquidForce. He was the face of the company, and he loved it. 

An unknown inkling woman lounged beside him, and an assistant fixed his hair.

Ashley walked over, waving to the assistant. "Good morning, Hazel.” He turned to Kaito, speaking a bit louder. “And good morning, Mr. Kaito.”

Kaito, still distracted, didn’t look up.

“Good morning,” Ashley repeated, and then turned to the obvious groupie. "And might I inquire who this young lady is?” 

“Oh, hey Ash!” Kaito finally looked up with a grin spreading across his face. “You mean her?” He wrapped an arm around the woman next to him, pulling her closer. “Honestly, no clue. I think she’s an intern or something. We met like an hour ago, heheh.” He blew her a kiss as she stood up and walked away. “Call me tonight, babe.” 

Ashley observed the unnecessary amount of technical equipment on the stage. “Mmm. So I see you've gotten, uh, quite a show planned for today.”

“Oh hell yeah, for sure,” Kaito replied, still half-distracted by his phone. “Peep that crowd— at least 500 squids out there. I know we already discussed everything before buuut I had to make some last minute changes. It'll be worth it.”

Ashley nodded. “That’s true, yes. Good quick thinking. But, uh, Mr. Kaito…” His voice had a small hint of concern. 

“But… what?” Kaito finally put his phone away, raising an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“Let me know first before you, uh, make any changes,” he replied, thinking of the budget. 

“Oh, yeah,” Kaito said, brushing it off nonchalantly and hopping down from the speaker. “Right, right. No problem, I gotchu.” He patted Ashley on the back. “But I think you’re gonna love this.” 

Kaito took a step back and cleared his throat. “So when you go on stage, there’ll be the regular intro music playing and you’ll say ‘welcome, welcome, blah blah blah’...." he waved his hand dismissively, mimicking a standard opening. "But when I go on… BOOM!” He struck a pose. “We’re gonna drop the sickest fuckin’ bass, and set off the confetti canons, man we got fog machines and everything. It's gonna be dope, just watch.”

Ashley grinned. “Ah, I believe it,” he replied. “You certainly have a knack for this, really.”

“Cuz I’m awesome.” Kaito snapped a quick selfie of himself before slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Everybody knows that I'm the shit. And if they don't know, then they'll know soon. Heh."

An assistant tapped Ashley's shoulder. “Sir, we’ll be ready in 5.”

Ashley gave them a nod and then turned back to his co-host. “Ready, Mr. Kaito?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Kaito laughed, slicking his tentacle hair back. “I’ve been giving these pep talks for like, what…” He paused, calculating the years. “Uh…”

“Eight years,” Ashley replied. 

“Really? Daaaaamn… soon it’ll be ten years.” The ambassador grinned with pride.

“Yes, that is a fantastic milestone,” Ashley said. “But you know, one day, you'll have to think about, uh, passing the torch. Er, give another young inkling the chance to inspire others as you have.”

Kaito's smile immediately faltered. He turned away, almost wanting to puke from the thought of giving up the spotlight. He could practically feel the bile rising up in his throat. Taking in a deep breath, he quickly whipped back around, smirking. “Hah! What, you think I'm getting old? C’mon, man."

“Ahaha!” Ashley laughed, shaking his head. "Ahh, hardly! You're still young, Mr. Kaito.”

“Obviously, hahaha.”

“But it's not about age, it's about... keeping the cycle of inspiration going.”

“Aaand nobody does it better than me!” Kaito laughed, but then sighed. “Look… I get what you mean, I really do. But I’m like… a fine wine. I get better with age." His smile came back as he threw his arm around Ashley’s shoulders, giving him a playful shake. "You know what I'm talking about, hm? Old maaan? Haha!" 

“Yes...” Ashley gently but firmly removed Kaito's arm from his shoulders. "You are a legend, no doubt about it. But..."

Kaito frowned. "More buts?"

“It's uh, ever too early, you know, to start thinking about the future.”

“Right, right," Kaito mumbled, a bit uneasy. He quickly forced a smile back onto his face. “Y'know... speaking of the future… we've got a whole new generation of players out there, just waiting to be inspired... by me!"

"Ah, yes." Ashley grinned, paying no mind to the shift in conversation. "You're right."

"And I know they're not ready to let go of ya boy just yet," Kaito said, pointing to himself. "Everyone out there loves me!"

Ashley nodded. "That they do. Now, let's put on a fantastic show!"

-

A SquidForce employee made his way down the stairs of the bleachers. "Please put all devices away and bring your attention to the stage," he firmly instructed everyone.

Brandon looked up. "Why?" he asked loudly, not even trying to hide his irritation.

The employee simply repeated his request. "Please put all devices away and bring your attention to the stage. We will be starting soon.” He continued to walk down. 

“Looks like you better put your phone away,” Hunter repeated, giving Brandon a nudge. 

Brandon swiftly drew back his fist, ready to punch him directly in his face. 

Hunter immediately cowered in fear. 

Brandon raised an eyebrow, then punched him twice in the arm. “You flinched, fucking pussy.” 

“Oof!” Hunter winced, but then grinned. “Ohh, you were joking!” He laughed and lightly punched him back.

Just for that, Brandon punched him back even harder, almost knocking him out of his seat. 

“Ow…” Hunter rubbed his arm and smiled through the pain. “Haha… but I think you should still put your phone away, though.” 

Brandon shrugged. “Yeah whatever,” he muttered, sliding his phone into his pocket. He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I don't want these fuckers taking my shit anyways. I mean, this phone isn't even mine— I stole it from some asshole I hate, but, y'know. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said. “Wait, you what?”

Suddenly, the stage lights came on. A cheerful synthy tune that sounded like it was pulled straight out of a 1990’s royalty free music stock library started to play as the CEO of SquidForce made his way onto the stage, waving to the audience with a warm smile.

“That's Mr. Ashley V. Anchor!” Hunter yelled, pointing. 

“Ashley?” Brandon raised a brow, thinking how the only time that would've been appropriate for a man's name would’ve been during the Great Turf War. 

The applause quieted down as Ashley stepped up to the microphone. 

“Ah, welcome, welcome everyone,” He said, looking at everyone. “It's truly a... remarkable day, isn't it? Yes, yes, the sun is shining, and here we are, gathered to dive— uh, quite literally— into the wonderful world of inksports.” 

A single “WHOOP!” echoed from within the crowd, followed by a few laughs. 

Ashley smiled. “In this world, you'll learn to move, to adapt, to, uh, synchronize with your team. And, yes, you'll learn to win and, inevitably, to lose.” 

Brandon nudged Hunter. “You better listen, buddy.” 

“Buddy?” Hunter smiled, not picking up on his sarcasm at all, just glad to be considered a “buddy”.

Ashley continued on. “But, uh, remember— it’s all part of the journey. You start writing your own stories. And speaking of stories, I am not just here to talk about the paths you will pave. I’m here, uh, also to introduce someone who has carved his own impressive path in the colorful arenas of our sport.”

Hunter’s smile grew wider as he watched the stage, leaning forward.

“Please join me in welcoming my good friend and our brand ambassador, Mr. Kaito Grey!”

As Ashley stepped away from the mic, fog quickly rolled onto the stage, followed by a dramatic drum roll, and—

BOOM!  

Without warning, the most outdated, most 2008-sounding electronic dance song erupted from the speakers. The bass was so powerful that it not only shook the bleachers, but felt as if the entire structure was going to blow up and launch everyone into the stratosphere by sheer sonic reverberation. Confetti cannons exploded on each side of the stage, showering the audience in with shimmering, glittery plastic hell. 

With undeniable, exaggerated swagger, Kaito jumped on stage. 

“WHAT’S GOOD INKOPOLIS!?” The SquidForce ambassador’s voice echoed through the air. He threw up his arms up in peace signs, accidentally nudging the microphone and sending a brief screech of feedback.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Brandon remained unimpressed. He glanced around, baffled by the unabashed joy that surrounded him. The whole event was obnoxious. Loud. It was… cringe.

Hunter couldn't contain his enthusiasm. He grabbed Brandon's arm and gave it a vigorous shake. “That's Kaito!" He pointed towards the stage, as if the identity of the man captivating the audience wasn't already obvious. 

Brandon quickly pulled his arm away. “I know,” he snapped. “I'm not stupid.” He repositioned himself in his seat, putting a subtle distance between the two of them.

Hunter paused, his excitement slightly dampening. “Sorry,” he said, looking down a bit. “Kaito’s my inspiration… I’ve looked up to him my whole life.” 

Brandon crossed his arms. “I remember this fucker from commercials when I was like, 7. He's still at it? Dude didn't retire yet? Isn't he, like, 40 now?” 

“He's a legend,” Hunter said, watching his hero at the mic. 

Kaito nodded as his gaze flitted across the audience of eager newbies. “Look at this turnout! Super stoked to see the house packed today. Hella dope, hella dope.”

Brandon sank deeper into his seat, wishing he could phase through and disappear from existence to escape the extreme secondhand embarrassment. He couldn't comprehend how anyone could even slightly tolerate the onslaught of outdated slang being coughed up by this jackoff. 

“Listen up,” Kaito continued, not dropping his energy but quieting everyone down. “I wanna keep it 100 with y'all. This isn't just a game. Nah, it's a way of life. It's a part of us. That urge you'll feel when you first grab your weapons and dive into the stage, that thrill when you splat your first rival, it’s natural. And oh yeah, it's the BEST.” 

He slowed down, looking more sincere. “Back in the day, I was right where you are now, no joke. But I had that fire, that drive that’s wired in all of us. I never stopped the hustle, I wanted to push my skills to the next level, turn it all the way up— And look at me now!” He raised his fists up.

Brandon scoffed as everyone around him cheered. 

Kaito paused. "But don't get it twisted, my dudes. Getting where I am now— it wasn't only about having skills. It's about knowing it’s in your DNA, embracing that competitive spirit that's been pumping through our veins since way back. So when I say anyone can be a champ, I mean it. You got that same ink in your veins that I do. You got that same history, that same raw potential. All you gotta do is tap into it, let it out, and make it big!” 

His energy peaked as he threw his arms up again. "So let’s get out there and light it up! Bring your A-game, push your limits, and who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one standing here someday, inspiring everyone with your wisdom, just like ya boy here.” He pointed to himself, giving a cocky smirk. 

Hunter was engrossed in awe. “I wanna be just like him one day…” 

“Uh huh,” Brandon mumbled. 

“It's in all of us!” Kaito continued on. “To make waves, to make history. And it starts today, right here, right now, with y'all making your mark!” He pounded his fist against his chest and threw up a peace sign. “Stay fresh out there. HOLLA BACK!” 

Hunter stood up, clapping wildly. He even wiped away a tear, genuinely touched by his hero's speech. 

Brandon buried his face in his hands. “Wow.” 

Ashley stepped in with a calm demeanor, taking the mic. “Thank you Mr. Kaito,” he began with a smile. “That was certainly an, um, energetic introduction. Kaito is, uh, a vivid testament to where passion and perseverance can lead. Remember, this adventure into the world of Inksports is about discovery. Discovering your skills, your limits, and pushing beyond them. Uh, it’s about teamwork, learning from each other, and, yes, about having a spectacular time.” 

A motorized screen began to descend down from above behind Ashley, and a projector casted a slightly skewed image of a slideshow onto it. It wasn’t even in fullscreen.

“Now, um, let’s delve into, uh, the fundamentals of Inksports,” Ashley said, facing the screen with a little red laser pointer in hand. 

“Whoa, a presentation!” Hunter was all giddy and turned to Brandon. “And from Mr. Anchor himself!” 

“From Mr. Anchor himself?” Brandon yelled back mockingly, mimicking the shit-eating grin Hunter had on his face.

“Yeah!” Hunter brought his attention back to the stage. 

Brandon frowned and rolled his eyes. The projection on the screen being slightly off-center pissed him off even more. 

“Ah, yes, if you look here, you’ll see the, um, Turf War…” Ashley trailed off, noticing the skewed image shifting around on the screen. He turned to see the employee manning the projector, who was making an attempt to readjust it. “Uh, excuse me, I believe the image is, um, a bit off. And, uh… small.”

“Sorry, Mr. Anchor,” the employee said, fumbling with the controls. “Just a moment, trying to figure out how to fullscreen this…” 

Ashley continued, ignoring the technical difficulties. “Ah, anyway. Turf War, mmm, it's deceptively straightforward. Teams paint the area with ink, covering as much ground as possible…”

Any entertainment Brandon took from this, whether it was from watching the incompetence of the stage crew or the naivety of Hunter— it all started to fade away. He tapped his fingers on the metal seat, growing more and more impatient as Ashley droned on. The boredom was genuinely starting to get truly agonizing.

But realization suddenly dawned on him. He remembered; he didn’t have to sit through this crap. Well, he did, but there was no rule stating that he had to sit there with everyone else before the actual training even started. He had an easy way out. 

Brandon glanced around to ensure no one was watching. With a fluid motion, he quickly transformed into his squid form and slipped seamlessly through a gap below him in the bleachers, making his quiet escape.

Hunter didn't even notice, as he was completely encaptivated by the CEO's presentation. "Wow..." he said, before turning towards Brandon to share his excitement. “Isn't this awesome? I—”

He found himself speaking to an empty space. 

Hunter paused, blinking in surprise. Brandon was indeed gone, having left without a word.

Chapter Text

"OW!!!”

Unfortunately, Brandon's escape from the boring presentation was less inconspicuous than he had hoped. As he fell at least ten feet through the gap in the bleachers, he hadn't anticipated landing directly on top of… someone else. 

The unfortunate figure he accidentally body slammed was a light blue inkling in squid form. She too wanted to have a moment of peace and quiet, hidden away from the boring event and overwhelming crowd. 

But she didn't expect some asshole to land on top of her.

“WATCH IT, FUCKHEAD!” The inkling snapped sharply, shoving him off.

“Find your own spot,” Brandon shot back, not even the slightest bit apologetic.

“Uh, no. I was here first. Now fuck off.”

“No.”

“Do it, or I’ll fuck you up.” 

“Hmm… No.” 

Brandon crossed his tentacle arms, acting as if the blue inkling wasn’t sharing the same space as him. Even if they were nearly the same size, she was barely a threat to him and didn't even make him tense up at all. He could tell she was bluffing and would leave him alone to rejoin the rest of the crowd. 

This was his quiet place now. He leaned against one of the metal supports, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Finally, he could have a moment by himself, alone. 

Comfortably alone. 

No SquidForce reps telling him what to do, no overwhelmingly cheerful squid desperate to be friends bothering him. Even a slight headache that grew from the agonizing boredom went away. It was just him, and the muffled sounds of Ashley’s presentation morphing into indistinct white noise. 

He needed this moment, he deserved it, after being so tense earlier, bracing himself for a confrontation that never came. Even after that stupid, socially-inept Hunter’s embarrassing display that made them a laughing stock for a second— No one called him out or recognized him.

He didn’t have to worry about his past reputation, because thankfully, everyone is stupid and forgetful. 

With that stress gone, the only blight on his mind was how he was going to get any enjoyment out of playing in inksports— And becoming a decent inksports player at that, when he never had any interest. It’s not like he had a choice in the matter.  

But that didn’t matter now. Nothing did. The silence comforted him like a weighted blanket, blocking out any and all worries at the moment, and the world slowly faded away... 

“Hey, DUMBSHIT.” 

The blue squid jolted him back to reality with her yell. “I’m not gonna say it again. Leave… or I'll make you.”

“Uh huh.” Brandon scoffed dismissively. “Yeah.” He closed his eyes again.

Without a second to react, the blue squid lunged at him.

The sense of security Brandon had was completely shattered in an instant. He was so caught off guard by the sudden attack that it took a second for his fight instinct to kick in and register what the hell was going on. 

The squid ensnared him in a tangle of tentacles, strangling him. As she nearly had him pinned down, he got the sinking feeling that this stranger was definitely someone he wronged in the past, finally getting their revenge. 

Aw, fuck, this is What's-Her-Face, isn't it? 

Or probably one of their friends, avenging them. Either way, his only other thoughts were “Why the fuck did I let my guard down?” and “FUUCK THIS BITCH IS STRONG…”

As for the blue squid, her only thoughts were a continuous loop of “FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FU—”

Not backing down, Brandon fought back with the equal amount of strength and force. The two rolled through the dirt and gravel under the bleachers, tentacles coiled around each other in a relentless and increasingly tight grip.

They slammed into the metal supports, sending vibrations through the framework. The sounds from below started to alert the attention of the crowd above. 

“What was that?” 

“Someone’s fighting down there!” 

“OMG, there’s a fight!”

Finally noticing all of the commotion, Ashley, still speaking through his presentation, paused mid sentence. He glanced around, confused as the bleachers slightly rattled more and more beneath the weight of the audience. 

“Whuh…?” He raised a brow.

Kaito, who was flirting with another intern away from the view of the audience, suddenly took note of the sudden chaos as well. He hurried back onto the stage. 

“What the—” He peered into the crowd. “What did I miss? The hell’s going on down there?”

“I think someone's… fighting?” Ashley speculated. 

Kaito winced. “I hope they're just fighting.”

Locked in combat, the two squids tumbled out from under the bleachers and into the sunlight. Everyone watched as the blur of teal and blue rolled aggressively across the grass, closer and closer towards the stage. Someone in the crowd was definitely recording all of the action, ready to share it on WorldStarFish.

The dust settled and revealed the outcome of their clash. 

The blue squid, clearly proving herself as the stronger of the two, had pinned Brandon down. Her tentacles wrapped around him in a painful grip, holding him in place. 

“OW! OW! OWWW!” He yelled, trying to wriggle free from her grasp. “You're fucking crazy!”

“Yeah, yeah, keep crying, you fuckin’ pussy,” she hissed. 

Still watching, the crowd fell into a stunned, semi awkward silence with some scattered laughs. The tension grew, Ashley and Kaito exchanged a glance. 

Kaito cleared his throat and stepped forward, leaning down to meet the two squid's level. “Well, looks like we got some real passionate fighters here, huh?” 

The audience collectively laughed. 

“Alright, alright!” Kaito leaped back up. “I know we all got that fighting spirit in us, right? It’s natural for us to be competitive and territorial— that’s just how we roll! We are inklings, after all! But, dudes. Come on. Now ain’t the time to flex that here. We gotta keep it chill, respect the vibe, and save that heat for the battlefield, not the bleachers, ya hear?"

Brandon and the blue squid stared in confusion. 

“Indeed,” Ashley added, speaking up to everyone. “While it is commendable to embrace our spirited nature, we must also, uh, remember to be good sports. Engaging in these physical altercations outside of the sanctioned events is, quite frankly, not acceptable.” 

“For real,” Kaito said. 

Ashley then turned his attention to Brandon and the blue squid. “I suggest you both make amends and, uh, shake hands. It’s important to model good behavior and sportsmanship, even in the face of disagreement.”

In order to shake hands, well, the two had to have hands. They both glared at each other, then shifted back into their inkling forms, dusting off their tees and readjusting their headbands from the tussle. 

The blue inkling was a girl with long, side-swept tentacle hair that fell in a somewhat disheveled cascade over one eye. She scowled at Brandon. 

He stared back at her. This wasn’t an ex, a former enemy, or anyone he could even remember. He had no idea who she was. 

They stood facing each other, tension still growing. Everyone’s eyes were on them.

Brandon reluctantly extended his hand to the girl. She looked down at his hand, hesitated for a breath, and then rolled her eyes. Their handshake was brief, followed by some applause.

“There we go, that’s more like it!” Kaito gave them thumbs up. “Now, let’s keep those tentacles to ourselves, yeah?” 

Brandon grimaced. 

“Alrighty!” The ambassador clapped his hands together. “Now, how about you two take a seat over there…” He pointed to an empty spot up front, wide enough for two. 

Brandon and the girl glared at each other, not moving an inch. 

Kaito leaned in, dropping his tone from friendly to mildly threatening. “You better do what I say. Now.” 

They nodded and shuffled away quickly.

“And let’s not have another interruption like this, yeah?” Kaito hollered, bringing back his cheerful tone with another thumbs up as he watched the two inklings walk to their designated seats. “Keep it cool, keep it respectful!” 

“Thank you,” Ashley said to his co-host, patting him on the back.  

“Fucking annoying little bastards,” Kaito muttered under his breath, adjusting his blazer. He walked away to let his boss have the stage again. 

The event resumed its rhythm as if nothing happened, with Ashley grabbing everyone’s attention again with his presentation. 

“Now, you see, this fancy little podium here is, uh, what we like to call the Tower…” 

The two squids settled into their new seats, tension still lingering in the air. They faced away from each other with a few inches of space between them. 

Brandon was absolutely pissed. He was pissed earlier, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. Yet the second he could finally relax, he got his ass handed to him.

And now here he was, sitting here beside the girl who’d just humiliated him in front of a crowd of strangers.

He glanced at her for a brief moment, but he couldn't tell what she was feeling from all of this, as her disheveled hair shielded her face from his view. Whatever she was thinking, it definitely wasn’t positive. He scowled, trying to summon the usual surge of spite, the familiar feeling of unadulterated hate that fueled his interactions with, well, with pretty much everyone.

But it wouldn’t come.  

For some reason, he didn’t hate her. He couldn’t feel any hate towards her. Not like the raw, unadulterated, teeth-gritting hatred he felt whenever Hunter would open his mouth to spew another inane observation. It wasn’t even a negative feeling. Even after that humiliating defeat and public display of weakness, he felt neutral towards her. 

Maybe even a little bit of respect. 

She wasn’t like any of the losers and weaklings he would torment in the past. The ones who'd crumbled under his threats or lash out with predictable anger, ultimately ending with their defeat and his victory. She actually fought back with a ferocity that matched his own, and won.

The girl didn’t pay any attention to Brandon. She was busy sulking, eyeing the SquidForce reps that were patrolling around the stage, waiting for them to look away so she could make a quick escape again. Maybe hide away under the bleachers again until the whole presentation was over.

But there wasn’t much point in doing that now. As much as she didn’t want to interact with some asshole that ruined her quiet time, deep down she had a feeling he wasn’t just “some asshole”. There was something about him that felt as if they were on the same wavelength. 

Or maybe he was just an asshole. It wasn't that deep, he could've just been another kid hiding away from the adults to go smoke or whatever. It was hard to tell with him, but there was only one way to find out.

The girl decided to break the silence with a chill, nonchalant tone. 

“So are you like, emo or something?”

“What?” Brandon replied, confused and slightly offended. 

She gestured to his hair. "Dunno, you just give off that vibe.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Just saying.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Look asshole, I don't wanna be here either,” The girl said, giving up and dropping the chill façade. “...Even more than you.”

Brandon rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to force himself to be nice to this stranger just because he had some respect for her. She did attack him, after all. In front of hundreds. Technically yeah, it was his own fault, but he didn't care. 

“The fuck are you even here for?” He snapped. “Why even show up if you're just gonna bitch and cry about it?”

“You tell me, dickhead,” she growled. 

“Oookay. Shut the fuck up.”

There was silence between the two again, and both had decided that they wouldn’t speak another word to each other. Which was needed, since they were raising their voices a little too loud, much, almost loud enough to be heard over Ashley’s presentation or “shush’d” by anyone in the crowd. The last thing they needed was even more public humiliation. 

Thankfully, after what felt like an eternity, Ashley was finished. The projection clicked off and the screen retracted back. 

"And so, that just about, uh, wraps up the basics of inksports," Ashley announced. 

Finally. 

Brandon braced himself to stand up, expecting everyone to be herded into a line, led off to the proper training grounds where they could actually move around and do something. As much as the entire event in general disinterested him, the thought of being able to at least try out an actual weapon was a tiny bit interesting. Probably. 

But before he could even push himself out of his seat, Ashley's voice cut through his anticipation.

"Ah, but, before we move on…" The CEO continued with a grin. "We have another presentation for, uh, all of you champions in the making."

Brandon slumped back, annoyance rising. “Mother FUCK…”

Ashley gestured toward the screens mounted on the trusses of the stage. "This time, we will be showing, uh, a video— A video about weapon handling and, of course, safety, provided by our friends at Ammo Knights.” 

As the upbeat intro music of the video loudly played through the speakers with an irritatingly noticeable echo, Brandon slammed his fist against the hard surface of the bleacher. He was going to snap.  

“This shit never fucking ends,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Oh my goddd….” He buried his face in his hands, muffling a series of incoherent guttural noises.

Hhhhrrrggggh…

The girl, who had been just as bored and annoyed that this ordeal wasn’t over yet, couldn’t help but find Brandon’s overreaction pretty funny. She stifled a laugh as she overheard him mumbling next to her. She knew they were definitely on the same wavelength.

Sure, he was an asshole, and probably not worth talking to, but at least it was funny. 

On the screen, a colorful cartoon proudly sponsored by the aforementioned companies played. It looked like it was made at least ten years ago. An animated inkling holding a small ink gun popped up, its expression overly happy as it stood in a stylized training ground.
 
“Hello, future turf war superstars!” the video’s narrator yelled out. “Let’s dive into the essential basics of handling your Splattershot Jr.— A weapon that, with the right care and safety measures, will become your best friend when you make your first step into the battlefield!”

Brandon was thankful that it was at least an animated video. He didn’t give a shit about what the video had to say, but he couldn’t deny the fact that anything animated, despite how lame it was, had a way of grabbing his attention. 

Truth be told, he loved cartoons. He didn’t even try to hide it. He was the kind of kid who would spend hours on message boards, typing out overly long essays about how becoming a teenager didn’t mean you had to grow out of animation. And of course, everyone on the board would agree, because they were all cartoon fans too. He'd usually get banned from commenting, since his rants would always end up spiraling into unnecessarily profane walls of text that clogged up the forums. 

But anyways, Brandon stared at the screen, mostly just focusing on the visuals and tuning out whatever was being said. 

Next to him, the girl was deliberately looking away, clearly uninterested in the video. She couldn’t stand the forced cheerfulness of the narrator, all of the fake enthusiasm in every word. It was the kind of shallow, corporate crap she couldn't stand, and she wasn’t going to give it her attention. 

“This is stupid,” she muttered out loud. 

Brandon’s irritation spiked as he overheard her. His immediate thought was that she was one of those people— the ones who thought watching cartoons was embarrassing, since she was making an obvious effort to not even look at the screen. 

But the rational side of his brain took over. He knew her disdain was directed towards everything regarding the event. He loosened up a little, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out a breath. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “This whole thing is stupid.” 

The girl turned back toward him, a little caught off guard. His tone was softer, more open than it had been before, begrudgingly so. 

“Y’know…” She sighed. “...I was forced to come here. I didn’t have a choice.” 

Instead of shutting her down again, Brandon listened, albeit giving her the side-eye. 

“But you probably could already tell,” She continued. “Cuz, I was hiding. Yeah. My dad was like, ‘it's not good for you to have no friends and no goals in life, blah blah blah’, so he made me sign up for this shit. I know he doesn't give a fuck if I make friends or not. He just wants me to play so I can get money to help pay bills. He tried to get all philosophical like ‘you can find your purpose in life ooooh…’ The hell does that mean? Huh? I never gave a shit about inksports. I rarely even go outside, dude. I can't even force myself to care about it. While everyone else is all happy, I'm just here like—”

“Oh my god you talk a lot,” Brandon interrupted. “I literally don't care. Shut up.”

The girl resisted the urge to punch him and remained chill. “Just trying to make conversa—.”

“Talk to someone else.”

“Well…” She gestured to the video on the screen. “It’s at least more interesting than whatever this shit is.” She looked back at Brandon. “And I know you agree.” 

“You don’t know dick about me,” He muttered, not really paying attention to what she was saying. But then he squinted at her. “Unless… Hold up…”

“Yeah?”

He leaned in. “Were you set up by Emma Marsh?”

“Who?”

“Emma, Emilie, whatever her fuckin’ name was. You look like one of her annoying bitch friends.” 

The girl stared back. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“By any chance, were you in Mrs. Pacifica’s class? Goby Middle? Last year?”

“Dude, no. I didn’t go to any schools here.” 

Brandon just stared at her, leaned back and turned away without responding. He felt stupid for bringing that up, but he had to ask since the suspicion was still there. 

“I’m from Calamari County,” The girl explained. “We moved cuz, uh… cuz of—”

“Well move back. Stop talking to me.” 

“I wish I could, rude-ass,” she grumbled. “At least my old town didn't really make a big deal about inksports. Can't even go one foot here without seeing posters about it.”

“You don't even know the half of it,” Brandon mumbled under his breath. “Now shut the fuck up.”

“...Okay.” She decided that would be the last word she’d ever say to him. He was impossible. 

Honestly, Brandon didn’t know why he kept shutting her down at this point. He noticed the way she was resolutely facing away from him, done with whatever attempt she had made at being civil. It’d be easier to stay quiet, to let the silence stretch on until they could both leave. 

But without fully thinking it through, he muttered something under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Sorry.” 

She looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Look,” he continued. “I didn’t… uh… mean to be a dick… earlier.” His mumbling was nearly incomprehensible, but she heard him. 

“Sorry for kicking your ass,” she replied. 

Brandon didn’t respond. He just subtly scooted himself back, looking away again, his face a mask of indifference. 

That was it. 

He felt that was decent enough closure as the silence between them settled again, but he wondered if he should speak up again. Maybe tell him her name, or something. Anything. He actually wanted to keep talking, which was rarer than rare for him.

But before he could decide, he caught sight of something that made his stomach drop. Not in fear, but annoyance.

It was Hunter, scooting down from where he’d been sitting. He squeezed himself into the seats directly behind him, wedging in between two other Inklings with a bright, oblivious grin.

“Hey, Brandon!” he hollered, leaning forward and trying to keep his voice down a bit. “I saw that tussle you got in… how'd ya get down under the seats anyways? Did you ‘squid’ through by accident?” 

He placed his hand on Brandon's shoulder, making him tense up immediately. 

“It takes practice going in and out of squid form,” Hunter continued. “If you need help, I can—”

Brandon glared at him with a look that screamed “I will rip your hand off and shove it down your throat if you don’t remove it immediately.”

Hunter quickly snatched his hand back, ears drooping. 

“Sorry… Uh, I…” His expression brightened as he remembered why he had come down. “Ooh! Wait, right! I wanted to give you this.”

He held up a plastic card. It was Brandon’s turf war license, the one he’d received during the sign-ups the previous day. 

“Must’ve left it by accident,” Hunter continued. “Here.”

“Oh, wow,” Brandon said, taking the card. “That’s nice, you really shouldn’t ha—” His words stopped abruptly as he swiftly stood up and chucked the card far away to the right, sending it flying. 

Hunter watched, eyes wide and mouth agape in horror as it vanished into the crowd. 

“Oops,” Brandon said, sitting back down. “Dropped it.” 

Hunter blinked, momentarily frozen before quickly composing himself. 

“I’ll… I’ll be right back,” he said, forcing a strained smile. He carefully scooted out of his seat, making his way toward where the card had landed and slipping into the crowd to retrieve it.

Brandon relaxed himself and turned his attention back to the corporate cartoon that was still playing on the screens. 

“Friend of yours?” The girl asked nonchalantly. 

“Mm,” he replied, barely paying attention. He hesitated, realizing what he said. “I mean, fuck no.” 

“He seems nice,” she remarked sarcastically, glancing in the direction where Hunter had gone. “Like, fake nice.” 

Brandon scoffed, shaking his head. “No. He’s like…” He paused, swirling his finger in a circle near his temple. “Y’know. One of those.” 

“Ah,” She said, nodding and looking back down. “Gotcha.”

“At least you get it.”

“Hm?”

“Y’know. Not falling for the hype of all this bullshit.” 

“Yeah." She nodded. "Like, I said I'm just here for the G. But also cuz my dad—”

“And I'm just here for the G too.” Brandon cut her off before she could repeat herself. “I mean, yeah, I know it's not much, like barely anything. Like, actually fuckin' nothing. Completely worthless. But whatever. Dunno if I shoulda just got a regular summer job. Woulda been lame tho, plus I didn't have a choice."

"Me t—"

"But like, still. I don’t give a shit about inksports. Or any sport, honestly. Fuck all that. I always thought it looked stupid and gay as shit. I dunno why everyone spanks their shit over it.” 

“Probably cuz—”

“I mean I do get why,” Brandon cut her off again. “Obviously I know, I'm not a fucking dumbass. It's huge here. They shut down malls for a day just so some assholes can play turf war, y’know? And everyone cums buckets. They fuckin’ love it. But I never gave a single fuck. Not one fuck. Ever.”

The girl wanted to speak but hesitated for a moment just to make sure he was done talking so he wouldn't interrupt for the 400th time. 

“Yeah,” she replied in a slightly louder tone. “But I was gonna say that everyone is excited cuz like, it's an inkling thing.” 

Brandon glared at her. “Oh, what, are you gonna be like that dickweed that was up on stage yapping about how it's ‘in our DNA’?” 

“No, I meant like—” 

“So there's something wrong with me cuz I don't care about inksports, right? I must be fucked up in the head, right? Go fuck yourself.”

Her patience snapped. She wanted to slap his stupid face for interrupting for the millionth time. No, not a slap— an actual punch, strong enough to knock his glasses off and send him flying out of his seat. 

“Dude, calm the fuck down,” she grumbled, clenching her fists. “With that logic, I'm also ‘fucked up in the head’.” She sighed. "And it's probably true."

“Well I'm soooo glad I'm not alone,” Brandon replied back in a bit of a sarcastic tone, but paused. He continued, but this time without a drip of irony. “...I mean that.” 

They both hesitated, the tension between them slowly diffusing as the sharpness of their exchange dulled. 

“Yeah?” The girl asked, her tone softer, more curious than before. 

Brandon shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

“Whatever,” he muttered, brushing it off. “I dunno.”

She just nodded, letting his words hang in the air between them. She already knew there was more to his hostility than just anger. The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before, almost comfortable in its quietness. 

The girl spoke up again. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Didn’t ask,” Brandon snapped automatically, his defenses kicking in. As soon as the words left his mouth, he internally cringed.

Why the fuck did you say that, you stupid piece of shit. Can’t you be nice for once? Who cares if she kicked your ass. Eugh, what if she’s a typical fake bitch just pretending to be nice so she can humiliate you again? Bitches are always like that. But what if she isn’t? You dumbass, of course she isn’t. Why the fuck do I keep doing this? Oh my god can this fucking thing get over with already so I can LEAVE.

His mind was racing with conflicting thoughts. But then he noticed Sam’s reaction. She just exhaled a light laugh and rolled her eyes, clearly not bothered by his abruptness anymore. She understood that's just how he was.

Before Brandon could figure out how to respond... he came back. 

Hunter squeezed himself down right between the space between Brandon and Sam, shoulder to shoulder, practically wedging himself in.

“Found it!” he announced triumphantly, holding up the card. He handed it back to Brandon with a grin. 

Instead of chucking it away again, Brandon silently took the card and shoved it into his pocket. He turned his attention back to the screen, trying to focus on the cartoon, but the presence of the annoying little shit right beside him was impossible to ignore. 

Hunter glanced at the screen, then back at Brandon. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to tell me what I missed,” he said eagerly. “I’ve seen this so many times on SquidTube, haha!”

“Uh huh.”

“Whatdya think of the part where they talked about the ‘Jr’s ink efficiency? Pretty cool it can fire two hundred shots before needing to refill, right?” 

“Yeah,” Brandon replied, not trying to sound interested so Hunter could read the room for once.

“Ooh! And the way the ink spray spreads differently if you’re on the ground versus in the air? It’s so precise—12 degrees on the ground, 18 degrees in—”

“Hey.”

Sam cut him off, leaning forward and giving a single nod. “Hi.”

Hunter blinked, momentarily thrown off by her interruption. 

“Oh, uh…” His enthusiasm faltered for a split second before giving her a quick, cheerful wave. “Hi!”

“Who are you?" Sam asked bluntly.

“Hunter Jackson!” He extended his hand cheerfully. 

“Hey.” She took his hand, replying in the driest tone possible. “Eileen Dover.”

“Nice to meet ya, Eileen Dover!”

“Oh…” Sam immediately let go of his hand, pretending to be disgusted. “Mkay.”

Nobody noticed Brandon stifling a laugh from her shitty joke. 

Hunter blanked out for a second, very confused.

“It’s Sam, B-T-dubs,” she clarified. 

Hunter squinted at Sam. “Wait, you’re…” He looked back at Brandon, then back at her. “Oh! You!” He pointed at both of them, eyes wide with realization. “You’re the other squid from the fight!”

“Yeah.”

“So are you a friend of Brandon?” He asked. “We're y'all having a friendly tussle under there or—”

“No, I'm not a friend of Brandon,” Sam replied, saying his name in a mocking tone. “And it wasn't a… friendly tussle…?” She raised an eyebrow, hoping Hunter wasn’t implying anything weird.

“Ohh, ouch…”

“Yeah,” Sam continued. “He took my quiet spot.” 

Hunter gasped. “He didn’t…”

“He did,” Sam said. “I don't like big crowds… I just wanted a little breather...” She shot a sideways glare at Brandon. “But this asshole ruined it.”

Hunter looked at Brandon, then back at Sam, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Hmm, I haven’t known him for that long... but just between you and me, he’s kinda… a little…” He held up his hand, swirling his finger in a circle near his temple.

Brandon noticed the gesture and immediately gave an angry shrug as if to say, “What the fuck?”

Hunter quickly backtracked. “I mean, he’s just grumpy, I get it. But I appreciate his company. It’s… It’s been hard for me to make a new friend.”

Sam, intrigued, looked at Brandon. “I thought you said this guy wasn’t your friend.”

Brandon shrugged. “He’s not. We talked for like, two seconds. He won’t fuck off.” He stared at Hunter. “I don’t know why he can’t take the fucking hint.”

Hunter’s ears drooped as he realized he’d overstepped again. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean… I just thought… I’m really sorry. I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” Brandon continued, his voice flat and devoid of the usual sarcasm. “I don't think you have the fucking capacity in your stupid brain to even understand.” 

Hunter raised an eyebrow, and then grinned. “You're making a joke, right?” 

Brandon grabbed Hunter by his shirt collar and aggressively pulled him closer. “Am I?” 

Hunter’s smile faltered instantly, his heart racing. “Uh…

Brandon glanced over at the SquidForce reps standing nearby, warily checking if anyone was paying attention to them. Deciding it wasn’t worth the risk getting in trouble again, he loosened his grip and shoved Hunter away. 

Hunter readjusted his shirt nervously, looking at Brandon with a mix of confusion and fear. Brandon scooted himself slightly, trying to put a bit more space between them.

Sam watched the whole thing unfold with an indifferent expression, her eyebrow raised slightly, mildly surprised Brandon had actually held back from kicking his ass on the spot. 

Without looking, she nudged Hunter lightly.

“He’s more than just ‘grumpy’,” she whispered, smirking. 

Hunter hesitated for a moment before letting out a nervous laugh. “Yeah,” he whispered back, starting to feel more comfortable with her. “I can see, haha.”

Brandon rolled his eyes. He turned to Hunter and quickly pulled back his fist, the sudden movement making him jolt in fear. The terrified inkling swiftly pushed himself out of the spot between the two, scrambling into the empty seat in the row behind.

“I—I’m sorry,” Hunter stammered, his voice shaky as he quickly wrapped his arms around his legs, pulling them up onto the seat. “I get it… personal space…” 

There was no nervous laugh this time, no attempt to lighten the mood. His usual enthusiasm was completely gone, replaced with a sense of defeat as he withdrew, giving the two inklings space. 

They both stared at him in silence.

“I—I’ll leave y’all alone,” Hunter finally said quietly. “Sorry...” He stayed curled up, trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible.

Brandon rolled his eyes and turned away.

“See?” He said, facing Sam. “He still won’t leave.”

“To be fair, there’s like, nowhere else to sit,” Sam said, looking around the crowded bleachers. 

“I don’t care where he goes, as long as it’s away from me,” Brandon muttered. “I'm serious, I fucking hate people like him. So fucking annoying.” 

Sam shrugged. “I think he should stay.”

“Why?” 

“It's funny.” 

Brandon squinted at her for a second, but then he caught on. He remembered why he even talked to Hunter in the first place during the previous day. Sure, he found him annoying, especially how relentless he was now in trying to be friends, but admittedly it was entertaining how oblivious he was. 

“If I’m gonna be forced to be here no matter what,” Sam continued, “I might as well try to make it fun.”

Brandon agreed, but before he could respond, the cartoon on the screen faded to black. The audience around them erupted with excitement with anticipation for what was coming next. 

It was over. Finally. For real this time. 

Brandon leaped out of his seat. “YES! THANK FUCK!”

Kaito energetically took the stage, waving to the crowd. “Aight, alright, settle down guys! We’re ‘boutta get this show on the road!” He gestured toward the bottom of the bleachers. “We’re gonna call your rows one by one, and you’re gonna come down, grab your gear, and head over to Blackbelly Skatepark for some real action. Got it?”

Another wave of excited shouts and cheers rippled through the crowd. Sam and Brandon, sitting in the front row, were the first to rise. 

Sam looked over to Hunter, still sitting slumped over in the second row. She reached her hand out to him. 

“Hey,” she said. “Wanna cut in?”

Hunter looked up, taking a second to realize. “Hm? …Oh!” He pushed himself from his seat and stood next to her, grinning, albeit a little nervously. “Thank you so much, I—”

Without warning, Sam suddenly grabbed Hunter's shirt and pulled it over his head. 

“Hey, what the—” Hunter’s voice came out muffled as he wriggled and twisted, trying to free himself.

Sam and Brandon burst into snickers and quickly shuffled ahead as the line moved, leaving Hunter behind, tangled in his own shirt. The line crept slowly toward a group of SquidForce reps, each one busy handing out Splattershot Jrs, and meticulously strapping and adjusting ink tanks onto each recruit, one by one. 

Brandon, growing increasingly impatient, turned around to see Hunter still struggling with his shirt and failing to catch up. He turned to Sam, who stood with her arms crossed and eyes fixed ahead. 

One of the inklings, not prepared for the weight of the tank being strapped to their back, wobbled for a moment before toppling over, drawing a few scattered laughs from the crowd.

“Didn’t realize they were that heavy,” Sam said, her eyebrow raised but her expression impassive as she watched the commotion.

“Only if you’re weak,” Brandon replied, stretching his arms casually overhead. He then checked his phone for the time and groaned. “How the fuck has it only been an hour. Eugh. When I get my splattershot, I hope I can splatter-shoot my brains out, good fuck this is taking forever.”

“I'll help you with it,” Sam replied. 

“What?” Brandon raised an eyebrow. “Okay, you're kind of a bitch, y'know?” 

“And you kinda have no chill,” she said, grinning. “It's funny. You're like, ten times more over dramatic than anyone I've ever met. If anyone's a bitch here, it's yooouuu.” She laughed, poking a finger at him. 

Brandon smacked her hand away, but he wasn't annoyed by her at all. In fact, he was starting to find her teasing kind of amusing. 

They continued to talk, standing side by side as the line inched forward. 

“So what, you think I’m funny?” Brandon asked. 

“Yah,” Sam said. “If I didn’t, I’d literally be out of this shit-dump by now. I don’t give a fuck. It’s not worth the G.”

“What, so you’re saying you don’t wanna paint the floor with your own bodily fluids?” Brandon asked back sarcastically. 

Sam paused. “Okay, when you put it that way, it kinda sounds badass.” 

“No, it’s like pissing all over the place and calling it a sport.”

“Dude, ink is not like piss. But… competitive pissing would be interesting.”

Brandon stepped an inch away from her. “Mkay.”

“Meh.” Sam shrugged. “I mean, whatever. At least we’re gonna get paid for it. That’s why we’re here, right?”

“Who the fuck gets paid for it? Competitive pissing isn't a thing,” Brandon said, wincing. “...Yet.”

“Bro, what? I'm talking about inksports.”

Brandon paused. “Right, gotcha.”

“Y’know,” Sam continued. “It’s kinda weird we get paid for it.”

“Uh, not really.” Brandon stepped back closer to her and dropped his tone to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know why?”

“Because most of us don’t get real jobs and quit school early?”

“Okay yeah, fair, but hear me out." Brandon cleared his throat. "So. SquidForce is the main sponsor of all major inksports games, right?”

“Sure?” Sam raised an eyebrow, unsure of where he was going with this.

“They give us money for playing. And then, with that money, we go buy SquidForce branded gear, clothes, hats, whatever the fuck they sell. And we can’t resist it because it makes us ‘fresh’. Y’know? Like, they exploit that innate desire. So that means all of the money they pay us goes right back to them when we buy their shit. They pay us, we buy their gear, they get their money back, and—”

“Hold up, hold up, hold up…” Sam cut him off. “...Bro, didn’t you say that I talk too much?”

“Fucking let me finish,” Brandon grumbled, stifling a laugh. “Oh my god. You brought it up, now I’m gonna talk about it.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Alright. So. They pay us, we buy their shit, they get their money back, and more, because they know we're all fucking stupid and always chasing the next best thing. It always does a full loop-de-loop right back into their pockets. You get it?”

Sam blinked. “I think you’re… overthinking it? A little? But yeah. For me, I hate the forced-happy corporate-cringe shit.”

“Uh huh. SquidForce sucks. All these inksport companies suck fat balls. And the way they do their shit fuckin’ sucks. It’s evil. Like a never-ending, self-perpetuating cycle of monetary masturbation.”

“Monetary what?”

“Thinking for the right word here…” Brandon tapped his chin. “Onanism?”

Sam blinked. “Dude, just say ‘jerking off’.”

“I was trying to sound, y’know. Intellectual.”

“Aight."

The two inklings finally approached the SquidForce reps, one of them staring at them with a somewhat disgusted look, as he definitely overheard what they were talking about moments before. 

A rep stepped up with an ink tank and effortlessly swung it over Brandon’s shoulders, pulling tight on the straps. The weight of the tank hit Brandon almost immediately, much heavier than he expected.

Fuck, I’m WEAK.

Brandon felt the tank pulling him backward as the rep finished adjusting the straps. He almost stumbled over before quickly regaining his balance.

“Good?” the rep asked, stepping back.

“Yeah,” Brandon mumbled. He shot a quick glare at Sam as she snickered, clearly having noticed his near-fall. He rolled his eyes and readjusted the straps to make them more comfortable.  

Brandon stepped up to the next SquidForce rep, who held out the aforementioned Splattershot Jr. This was it—the first real weapon he’ll ever touch, the one all the hype was about. For a brief second, he hesitated, feeling the gravity of the moment even if he didn’t care about inksports the way others did. 

Just as his hand reached out to grab it, the rep pulled the weapon back slightly.

“Remember to be careful,” the rep said. “This isn’t a toy. But, you know—have fun out there too.”

Brandon raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure how to respond. With a short nod, he took the gun, his fingers curling around the plastic grip. It felt cheap and flimsy in his hand, more like a toy than an actual weapon, despite what the rep said. He couldn't imagine this thing doing any real damage at all.

Yet, as he stood there, looking down at the small weapon, something in him shifted. He knew this was a gateway into something bigger than himself.

Inksports was huge in Inkopolis. Obviously. It was everywhere— on posters, on TV, in conversations. It shaped their world whether he cared about it or not. And now, holding this Splattershot Jr, he realized it was actually kinda cool that he was participating in it, even if he’d never admit that out loud.

Still, he acted indifferent, glancing sideways at Sam to see if she could read on his face that he was kind of having an epiphany. She didn’t seem to care. She twirled the Splattershot Jr she received in her hand by its trigger, looking unimpressed by the moment.

Brandon let out a small breath, forcing his expression to stay neutral, acting like this was just another boring day, just as he thought previously. But deep down, he knew everything was going to be different now.

Without a word, they both followed the other recruits, stepping forward into Blackbelly Skatepark. 

Chapter Text

Blackbelly Skatepark was temporarily transformed into a training course for the SquidForce™ Testfire, with dozens of yellow balloons sporting the company logo scattered throughout the area. The new recruits gathered into the park, fidgeting with their newly acquired Splattershot Jrs and chatting amongst themselves with anticipation. 

Kaito, perched atop the highest concrete ramp, swept his gaze across the eager crowd. He smirked and they all gathered onto the asphalt below, waiting for his instructions. His ego practically thrived off of their excitement that rolled towards him in waves.

“Aight, guys!” The ambassador announced loud enough for everyone to hear. “Y’all ready for this?”

“YEAH!” The crowd unanimously cheered.

Kaito grinned. “Awesome! Looks like we got everyone, so—”

"Wait! I'M HERE!"

A high-pitched, slightly panicked voice cut him off. Everyone turned to see a small inkling sprinting into the park. 

Hunter, who was nearly left behind due to being tangled up in his own clothing, finally made it. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the crowd, chest heaving and frantically pulling at the hem of his shirt. 

"Sorry!" He gasped, readjusting the heavy ink tank on his back to keep himself from falling over. “I’m here! I’m here…”

“No worries, lil’ dude,” Kaito said, clearly embarrassed for him. “Glad you could join the party.”

That tiny bit of acknowledgement left Hunter absolutely starstruck. 

“Ooookay!” Kaito clapped his hands together, turning back to his audience. “So, here's the plan… We’re gonna be practicing our aim! See those balloons we got everywhere? Those are your targets and you gotta aim for ‘em!”

The ambassador's voice droned on into background noise as Sam and Brandon stood together within the crowd, barely paying any attention to anything he was saying. 

“Fuck this guy,” Brandon mumbled, squinting.

Sam leaned into him. “You think he gets off to his own selfies?” 

“Worse,” he whispered back. “I think he fucks a fleshlight with a pic of his face taped onto it.”

“True..”

“I bet if you told him to ‘go fuck yourself’, he’d get a boner.” 

“...You didn't have to go that far, but yeah.”

Kaito continued his speech, pointing to the balloons scattered around the park. “The more accurate you are, the better you’ll do out there in the real matches. Mastering the basics is what separates the good from the…”

He trailed off, noticing Sam’s hand shoot up in the crowd.

“Gotta question?”

“Yeah!” Sam yelled out. “So like, uhh, are we gonna be able to splat anyone today?" 

Without warning, she held her Splattershot Jr directly up to Brandon’s head.

Kaito forced a smile through gritted teeth, muttering to himself. “These fuckin’ kids again…”

Brandon stared back at Sam with a “what the actual fuck” face.

She shrugged, unfazed.

Kaito cleared his throat and chuckled, shaking his head. “Love your enthusiasm gal, but nah. Today's about precision, not combat. We’re all gonna have matching ink colors, so no one’s gonna be splatting anybody.”

“Damn...” Sam snapped her finger. 

Kaito addressed the entire crowd again. “Aight! Let’s see those baller sharpshooting skills in action! Take it slow, aim for those balloons, and good luck out there, dudes!”

The crowd quickly dispersed, with each participant finding their own spot to practice. Everyone’s ink color shifted to the same assigned matching shade of yellow that SquidForce set. 

Everyone had to be matching, since being any other ink color wouldn't work. 

In fact, the ink tanks had a type of built-in safeguard system; If anyone tried to change their ink to a different color other than the one that was set for them or their team, the tank would detect the mismatch and lock, preventing the release of any ink.

All of that was to keep away any unsanctioned splatting, to the disappointment of many. 

Yellow ink flew all across the skatepark as the recruits enthusiastically shot at the balloons and the walls, swimming up and jumping all around practicing both movement and aim. Sam and Brandon stood next to each other, eyeing the balloon floating in front of them. It was several feet away from them, and a good few feet up in the air.

It looked easy to pop. Not a challenge at all.

"This is fuckin’... augh...” Brandon angrily kicked at the ground. “So fucking duuuuumb.”

“Literally,” Sam agreed. “Why don’t we have, like, moving targets.”

“Well… actually we do…” 

Brandon glared at some random inklings in the distance, and swiftly shifted back into his usual shade of teal. He pointed his Splattershot Jr at them, furiously tapping the trigger. Only the dry click-click-click of a locked tank echoed back at him.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, I wish.”

Annoyed, Brandon shifted back to yellow. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with.”

“I mean, we don't have to,” Sam mumbled, fidgeting with the weapon in her hands. “We could just chill.”

“Uh huh?”

“Y'know man, I was only forced to come here cuz my dad—”

“Holy shit,” Brandon cut her off. “You told me about your dad like, 3 fucking times already.” 

Sam blinked, slightly taken back but not upset since his tone was more matter-of-fact rather than completely dismissive.

“Damn, I'm surprised you listened,” she said. 

“Not entirely,” Brandon mumbled, looking down. 

“Anyways,” Sam continued, “I just had to show up. Nobody said I actually had to like, actually do anything. We can just wait around till they say we can leave.” 

“Nah, nah…” Brandon shifted his gaze to some inklings in the distance popping multiple balloons. 

Something about everyone else looking like they were already mastering their skills this early made his blood start to boil. 

“We’ll look fucking stupid if we’re just standing around doing nothing,” He continued. “I don't want these dumbshits thinking I'm fucking stupid.”

“I mean…” Sam smirked.

“Nevermind.” Brandon turned back to the balloon. “Let’s just do this.” 

“Aight, aight.” Sam stretched her arms and straightened up her posture.

“It's not fuckin’ hard anyways,” Brandon said. “Watch.”

Without paying much attention, he aimed his Splattershot Jr and the balloon and tapped the trigger. 

Thwip!

Brandon froze. He quickly shifted his eyes back and forth to see if anyone noticed. 

His shot missed. By a lot. 

Sam immediately burst out laughing. "HOW DID YOU MISS THAT?” 

Brandon rolled his eyes, muttering an incoherent sound of annoyance.

“Errggg…” he growled.

“Duuude, it's literally in front of you.”

“Yeeaaaghh...”

Sam wiped away a tear, still caught in her laughing fit. “Are you fucking blind or something?” She then hesitated for a second. “No, for real, are you?” 

Before Brandon could reply, Sam snatched the glasses off his face and quickly slipped them on. Her surroundings instantly morphed into a blurry haze. 

“Holy shit you are blind…” She looked around with exaggerated difficulty. "I thought you just had these to complete the emo-nerdy-hipster look you got going on. How do you even see out of these?” 

“Well—”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” She flipped him off.

Brandon scowled, growing irritated.

“I'm just fuckin’ with you,” Sam laughed. “But seriously, what the hell. How'd you miss that.”

She tossed the glasses back to Brandon They nearly slipped through his hands as he almost fumbled the catch. 

"Shut the fuck up," Brandon muttered, putting his glasses back on. "That… that was just a fluke. You try it." 

“Aight.” Sam shoved him aside, taking aim at the balloon and mimicking his stance.

Thwip— SQUAWK!

Her shot also missed, but managed to hit a pigeon that unfortunately decided to fly right in front of them at that moment. It plummeted to the ground, leaving the two inklings in silent shock for a split second.

“Nice…” Brandon said. “But you still missed.” 

“At least I hit something.”

Sam kicked away the dazed bird and took aim at the balloon again. 

Thwip!

Her shot missed… again.  

Sam squinted at her Splattershot Jr. “Shit’s broken, man.” 

Brandon scoffed. “I think you’re just bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You suck.”

“And you swallow.” 

“Okay, what the fuck?”

While the two inklings bickered, Hunter Jackson stood at the center of the park, fully engrossed in examining the intricacies of the Splattershot Jr he held in his hands. 

He was alone. 

He was still standing where the crowd was before, but it took him a moment to register that everyone had already dispersed. 

Looking up, he noticed Sam and Brandon some distance away. His heart sank for a moment as he remembered how they'd yanked his shirt over his head earlier, laughing at his expense. But he shrugged it off, since he’d been through worse.

At least they actually talked to him, which was more than what most people did.

Ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him to stay away from those assholes, Hunter adjusted the ink tank on his back and jogged over to the two familiar squids.

"Hey, wait for me!” He called out with his usual cheerful energy. “I wanna try!”

Sam nudged Brandon. “No way, our friend’s back.”

“Are you fucking kidding me…” Brandon groaned as the annoying little inkling approached them. 

"I hope I didn't miss anything," Hunter said, slightly breathless from the short sprint. “Phew…”

“Welcome back,” Sam greeted with a smug look. “Sorry about.. y'know.”

Obviously her tone didn't come off in any way genuine. 

“Oh…” Hunter chuckled nervously. “It's okay…” He shifted the ink tank again, feeling its weight pulling him slightly off balance. “Man, these are kinda heavy!” 

“Nah,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Brandon scoffed, despite the tank he was wearing was weighing him down a bit. “It’s not heavy. You're just weak.”

“Right…” Hunter’s grin faltered slightly. “I guess I’m just… not as strong as you guys.”

“Uh huh,” Brandon muttered in his usual dismissive tone, not even glancing in his direction.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe.”

Hunter turned his gaze onto the balloon still floating above them, realizing it was still unpopped. 

“You didn’t pop it yet?” He asked.

Sam paused, glanced at the balloon, and then back at Hunter. 

“Uh, we did,” she said. “We popped it. They just, uh, gave us another one to practice with.”

“Yeah, duhh,” Brandon agreed. “Are you stupid? I think you’re stupid. Yeah. You're stupid.”

“Right…” Hunter paused for a moment, his eyes still lingering on the balloon. 

“Can I give it a try?” He asked, raising up his Splattershot Jr. His voice was hesitant, but retained an eagerness that even he found hard to suppress. 

Brandon scowled at him. 

Sam didn't say anything, staring back with her usual unreadable look.

Hunter didn't know what the silence meant. 

“Can I—”

“Yes,” Brandon snapped abruptly. “If it makes you go away…” 

“Yay!” Hunter leaped up with joy and then quickly recomposed himself to focus. 

Sam and Brandon both watched. 

Taking in a deep breath, Hunter pointed his Splattershot Jr towards the balloon and steadied his aim. Just as he was about to pull the trigger—

THWACK!

Brandon suddenly kicked the weapon clean out of Hunter's hands. It clattered to the ground, leaving the poor squid momentarily stunned.

Sam bursted out laughing. “Wow.”

“My bad,” Brandon said, shrugging nonchalantly.

Hunter clenched his fists, but just took a deep breath.

“I’ll try again,” Hunter said quietly, bending down to retrieve his weapon. He gripped it tighter in his hands. 

Sam, admittedly, found herself a little impressed by his persistence, even if she wouldn’t say it out loud. 

Brandon just wanted to kick the Jr out of his hands again, but it wouldn’t be funny a second time. 

Hunter straightened up, eyes locked on the balloon, and pretending he didn’t notice the two asshole inklings exchanging glances behind him. 

“Okay…” he said to himself. He raised up the Splattershot Jr, hands shaking slightly, and took aim. 

POP!

A stream of yellow ink struck the balloon right in the center. Hunter stood frozen, eyes wide in disbelief.

“YES!” He cheered, throwing his arms up in joy. He swiftly turned around to see Sam and Brandon's reactions. 

Sam raised an eyebrow, placing her hand on her chin. 

“Huh,” she muttered. “I mean, it was easy, but like, whatever. Good on you, man.”

“Thanks!” Hunter said, lighting up. “That felt so cool!” 

Brandon annoyingly stammered a bunch of incoherent grumbles before speaking clearly.

“Er, oooookay?” He scoffed. “It’s not impressive. At all. He’s—”

“He’s better than you at this,” Sam snickered, before pausing and thinking to herself. “And better than me, damn.” 

“Nah, I bet you guys are great too!” Hunter replied genuinely, without even a hint of sarcasm. 

Suddenly, in a burst of rage, Brandon grabbed him by the shirt collar.

“What’s your fucking problem?” He snapped, yanking the terrified squid closer.

“What?” Hunter blinked, completely taken aback.

“You think you’re better than us? Huh? Is that it, gaywad? Is your tiny, one-inch dick getting hard from one-upping us?”

“No! I— I’m not—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Brandon cut him off. “I know what you’re doing. You ain't shit.” 

“Yeeaah, you ain’t shit,” Sam echoed back, grinning. 

Hunter took a deep breath. “I’m not… ‘one-upping’ anyone, I just wanted to practice with you guys!”

“You’re such a liar,” Brandon muttered. “Just because you’re a fucking nerd about this stupid shit doesn’t mean we’re gonna think you’re cool or whatever. It’s annoying. You’re fucking annoying.” 

“I… uh…”

“Uh huh?” 

Hunter faltered. “...I’m sorry.” 

Brandon squinted at him for a moment, loosening his grip slightly. Before he could let go of him, Sam suddenly chimed in again.

“Damn,” she said. “So you’re really gonna let him show you up like that?” 

Brandon absolutely snapped. Hunter didn't even have a chance to add anything before he was aggressively yanked forward by the collar, nearly stumbling over his own feet. Brandon dragged him across the asphalt towards an unpopped balloon.

Sam followed behind them, biting back laughter at the whole situation.

“He’s not ‘showing up’ anyone,” Brandon snarled. “Anyone can do this shit. It’s not that fucking impressive. Watch.”

He practically threw Hunter down and shoved him aside as they stopped in front of the balloon, standing the same distance away like the previous one.

“WATCH.” 

Brandon lifted up his Splattershot Jr, frustration radiating from him as he aimed. Hunter stayed quiet, heart pounding as he watched. 

THWIP!

Unsurprisingly, Brandon missed. 

“Womp womp…” Sam teased from behind. “Womp womp womp…”

“Motherfucker,” Brandon huffed, ignoring her.

He quickly adjusted his stance and took aim, but hesitated for a moment. He carefully eyed his target, focusing.

Brandon fired again… and it missed.

“What the FUCK!” Fuming, he almost threw his weapon onto the ground. “This is so fucking STUPID!”

Hunter watched, slowly growing more confused rather than fearful. He hesitated for a second, thinking maybe he could offer help, despite everything. 

He reached for Brandon’s Splattershot. “Can I just show—”

“Touch me and I will FUCKING kill you,” Brandon snapped, tensing up. 

“Sorry, sorry—”

“I’m not kidding, I will literally cut the fucking circulation from your neck if you don’t back the FUCK off.”

“Okay!” Hunter threw his arms up, but still prepared to offer help.

“You got this,” Sam yelled out to Brandon sarcastically. “I believe in you.” 

Brandon readjusted his position and took aim again, continuously tapping on the trigger and missing the target every single time. 

“Fucking— why— won’t— it— hit!” he yelled, angrily punctuating each word with another failed shot.

“Hey,” Hunter said softly, trying to get his attention again. “Um… You…” 

Brandon ignored him. 

“You gotta—” 

“WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?”

Brandon finally stopped, immediately whipping around and facing Hunter. 

“You gotta hold down on it,” Hunter explained, pointing towards the trigger of the Splattershot Jr. “You keep tapping it, but you gotta hold down.”

Brandon blinked, momentarily thrown off. 

Hunter quickly positioned himself and demonstrated, holding down the trigger on his own weapon. A continuous stream of ink shot out. 

“See?” He explained. “It's easier that way. It's like… it's kinda like a hose, if ya think about it.” 

Brandon paused, glanced at his Splattershot Jr and back at Hunter, making him flinch for a second. He then looked back at his weapon, aimed it towards the ground and held down the trigger, watching a steady stream of ink shoot out. 

“There, see?” Hunter said with a smile. “It’s not too bad once you get the hang of—”

Brandon shot a stream of ink directly at him, cutting him off.

Hunter, now covered and dripping in yellow ink, just stood there for a second. 

“Well that was… unnecessary,” he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand and shaking off the ink. 

Brandon immediately shot him again, aggressively holding down the trigger.

“Alright, alright!” Hunter said, trying to block the ink with his one free hand. 

Sam, still watching, let out a snort of laughter. 

Suddenly, the ink stopped firing and all Brandon got was a sharp clicking sound as he held down the trigger. He narrowed his eyes at his weapon, angry but mostly confused.

“Ooh, right,” Hunter said, shaking the ink off his shirt.

Sam lightly punched Brandon in the arm. “Nice going, dumbshit. You broke it.” 

“No, the fuck I did not,” he snapped back. “It's empty. Whatever. I don't fuckin’ care. I’m done with this.”

Brandon pulled his phone out of his pocket and started to type something.

“Hold up!” Hunter pointed to all of the ink covering the ground below them. “When your tank is empty, you gotta dive into the ink to refill it!” 

“Oough, you gotta dive in to refill it,” Brandon mumbled annoyingly to himself, still typing away.

Hunter shrugged. “Well, that's how you—” 

“I literally don't fucking care,” Brandon cut him off. 

“Okay…” Hunter turned to Sam. “You want me to help show you how to do it?” 

“I think I got it,” Sam said, gesturing at him to go away. 

“I guess… I guess I’ll go practice somewhere else…” Hunter started to slowly walk away.

Brandon still didn’t respond, nor did he even look up from his phone. He was texting his mom that he’d be coming back home early, since he didn't have to stay for the entire day of training. Technically, he was already done with everything that was mandatory. 

But he hesitated before sending the text. 

He looked at Sam, who was smirking maniacally as she aimed her Splattershot Jr directly at Hunter as he walked away. She looked back at Brandon, shrugging. 

He had to admit it— he was actually kind of having fun, despite all of the annoyance. 

“Wait, wait!” Brandon yelled out to Hunter. “Come on. Stay with us, man.” 

Hunter turned around. “...Are you sure? Cuz you seem kinda… I don't wanna—” 

“Shut up, shut up. You wanna practice with us? Then let's fuckin’ do it.” 

“...Okay!” Hunter lit up, just slightly. “Do you, uh, you want me to ask someone for another balloon?”

“No.” Brandon took aim at him. “Start fucking running.”

“Wh… huh?”

“START FUCKING RUNNING, NOW NOW NOW!” 

Brandon lunged right at him, rapidly firing ink. Hunter bolted instinctively as he gave chase. Sam was confused, but caught on. She joined in on the chase, all three rapidly shifting from squid to inkling form as they swam through the ink all over the skatepark.

Hunter ran for his life, narrowly dodging ink shots as he darted between ramps and rails. 

“Come on!” Sam yelled as she skidded through the ink. “You can’t outrun us!”

Realization dawned on Hunter.

“Oh, I get it!” He yelled, slightly out of breath. “You guys are testing me on my skills, right?”

Neither of them answered, but he took their silence as a yes. 

A few other inklings practicing in the skatepark began to take notice, unsure of what exactly was going on but clearly entertained. They laughed and cheered at the sight of Hunter frantically running from the two squids. 

Even if they were intentionally mocking him with their cheers, Hunter felt a sense of encouragement, and he had an idea.

Without stopping his momentum, he pivoted around smoothly with a confident smirk. Carefully running backwards, he raised his Splattershot Jr and took aim at Sam and Brandon. 

“Gotcha!” Hunter yelled triumphantly.

The two pursuers suddenly skidded to a halt, ceasing fire. The small crowd of onlooking squids stopped as well, all staring at Hunter. Before he could pull the trigger, the ground beneath his feet dipped sharply. His smirk vanished as his heel caught the edge to a drop off right into a very steep bowl. 

Hunter’s arms flailed as he struggled to keep his balance, teetering dangerously over the edge.

“Oh, shit!” Brandon exclaimed.

He suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Hunter by the arm, steadying him just long enough to keep him from falling in. 

Everyone in the crowd watched in silence.

Hunter blinked in surprise, letting out a sigh of relief. “Oh my gosh…. Thank you!” 

Brandon didn’t respond, only offering a small, almost genuine smile. For a brief moment, it seemed like an unspoken truce. 

Hunter grinned back. 

Without warning, Brandon swiftly drew back his leg and kicked him right in the crotch.

“AH—”

Hunter let out a single, high-pitched yelp of pain and tumbled into the bowl, landing with a thud. The onlookers gathered around the edge, completely speechless. They all unanimously stared at Brandon. 

Sam looked at him, clearly furious. “You fucking asshole. That was so unnecessary… Now he’ll never have a family.”

They both stared in silence for a second, right before bursting into collective laughter, along with everyone else. 

The only one who wasn’t laughing, was Hunter. 

-

On the other side of the park, Kaito was in his element. He had been busy offering some mild encouragement and taking pics for his Inkstagram. He had to show his fans that he cared, and that he was an amazing teacher, of course. 

"When you’re aiming, keep your eyes on the target, and trust the shot,” The ambassador announced, with both hands extended in front of him as if gripping an invisible weapon. “You wanna hit, not miss. Smooth, controlled, and confident. Know what I mean?"

An inkling tapped him on the shoulder.  “Uh, Mr. Kaito? Can I, like, take a quick selfie with you?”

Kaito grinned. “Oh yeah, fo sho! Let’s do this.”

He crouched slightly to fit into the frame, throwing up a hang loose sign for maximum swagger as the inkling took the picture. 

“Thanks!” They said. 

“No problemo my dude,” Kaito said smoothly, standing up and brushing off his jacket. “Love my fans. You guys are what keep me going.” 

“Well, I’m not actually a fan— my big sister is. She grew up watching you on TV.”

Kaito’s grin wavered for just a split second. “Yeah? I’m still on TV, y’know,” he said, carrying a hint of defensiveness. 

The inkling shrugged. “I don’t really watch TV anymore. But, like, I’ve seen clips and stuff. My sis shows me sometimes.”

“Right, right,” Kaito said, nodding quickly. “Well, tell her I said hey. And, uh, don’t forget to tag me in the pic, aight?”

“Thanks again!” The inkling yelled before running off.

Kaito stood there for a moment, biting his lip and holding back mild annoyance. He then adjusted his collar and cleared his throat. 

“Oookay!” He shouted, almost a bit too forced and upbeat as he turned to the recruits. “Let’s keep it going, aight?”

As the ambassador’s gaze swept across the park, he caught sight of a small group gathering in the distance, their sneers and laughter growing louder with every second..

He gritted his teeth. 

It wasn’t the obvious mocking tone in their voices that pissed him off, but it was the fact that something other than him was seemingly getting more attention. Sure it was a small crowd, but it looked maybe 1% bigger than the number of inklings surrounding him.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s up?” Kaito shouted, walking toward the group. “Why aren't you guys practicing, and why’s everyone over here and not with me? What's up with that?!” 

The ambassador pushed through the gathering squids, noticing them looking down into the bowl. 

“The fu— I mean, what the heck is going on?”

“Some nerd got rekt,” an inkling chortled. 

“The hell does that mean?” Kaito raised a brow. 

“He got kicked in the balls.”

“What?”

The inklings pointed into the bowl, and he looked in. He saw Hunter lying flat on his face at the bottom, his Splattershot Jr discarded beside him.

Kaito's ears dropped. “Of course it's gotta be that one…” He sighed to himself before calling out loud with a hint of concern. “You alright, little dude?” 

Without moving, Hunter lifted his hand to give a weak thumbs-up.

Kaito sharply turned on his heel, glaring at the snickering crowd. 

“You think this is funny?” He snapped, instantly silencing their laughter. “This is what I'd like to call textbook unsportsmanlike conduct. You know what this can get you? Yeah. It can get you banned. FOR GOOD.”

The surrounding crowd murmured nervously amongst each other. 

Sam leaned into Brandon and whispered, “Maybe if we confess, they'll let us leave…” 

They both snickered.

“YOU.”

Kaito’s voice cut through the nervous murmurs like a blade as he pointed directly at Sam and Brandon, making them freeze on the spot.

“Did you two do this?” 

“He did it,” Sam said, pointing at Brandon. 

“I did NOT,” Brandon yelled back. 

"Well?" Kaito crossed his arms.

“Yes…” Hunter's voice echoed from the bowl.

Now certain of their guilt, Kaito stormed up to the two squids and leaned in close. 

“I’ve had enough of you two assholes,” He hissed, his voice low but seething with anger. “First with the fighting and talking during the show, and now this shit? Now you’re out here bullying the…” He trailed off to reword his sentence. “The… I mean come on! The fuck is wrong with you two? Are you asking to get banned?”

“Kinda,” Brandon admitted nonchalantly. “It would be an easy way outta this bullshit.” 

"Oh really?" Kaito scoffed. “You think this is some kind of joke? You think you’re so clever, huh? Well, let me tell you something— you’re not just embarrassing yourselves, you’re embarrassing me. This is my event. And here you are acting like a couple of… uh… idiots, and drawing attention away from the training, away from me...” 

His voice escalated, sharp enough to make the bystanders shift uncomfortably.

“You think I got where I am by letting shit like this slide? Yeah, no. Brats like you aren't untouchable. If this bullshit keeps up, I have every right to kick you out of here for good. Permanent ban. Dunzo. Gone. You want that?”

Sam nudged Brandon, trying to hold back a laugh. They both shrugged.

“Don't fuck with me,” Kaito warned, his voice low enough so only they could hear him. “You better get your shit together, or I’ll make sure you'll be the ones everyone’s laughing at. Got it?”

The two inklings stared, completely indifferent by his words. 

“Whatever you say,” Brandon muttered.

Kaito stared at them for a long, tense moment, clearly irritated by their lack of concern. His eyes narrowed as he realized that they were completely unfazed. 

Outmaneuvered by sheer apathy. 

He let out a sharp breath, rolling his eyes in frustration as he stepped back and adjusted his blazer.

“This goes for any of you,” Kaito announced out loud. “If I catch anyone pulling stunts like this again— you'll be permanently banned. NO EXCEPTIONS!”

His final words boomed through the skatepark, causing the remaining onlookers to flinch slightly.

Sam and Brandon exchanged glances, barely holding back their laughter as the ambassador marched away. 

Finally regaining his composure, Kaito cleared his throat and leaned over the edge of the bowl. 

“Grab hold, buddy,” He said as he offered a hand to help.

Hunter reached for his hand, pulling himself out with the assistance. Kaito straightened up, but suddenly winced in pain. 

“Agh…”

A sensation he dreaded for so long finally hit him like a truck— It was back pain. 

“Thank you, Kaito…” Hunter said, now on solid ground. He looked up at his hero in awe. 

“No problem kid,” Kaito replied, still grimacing from pain and pressing a hand to his back. 

“I mean, Mr. Grey…”

“Don't worry about it.” Kaito forced a smile. “Just call me Kaito, y’know?” 

“...Are you okay?” Hunter asked, frowning. He could tell something was up. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just a little… stiff...”

The ambassador took a second to relax his posture and then gave an unconvincing laugh.

“Aha, alright!” Kaito yelled out to everyone that was watching. “Back to practicing!” 

Kaito then turned and shuffled away quickly without saying anything else. 

Hunter sighed, now standing all alone as everyone dispersed. Two pairs of hands slammed into his back, sending him stumbling forward. Regaining his balance, he turned around to face Sam and Brandon. 

“Wow, I can't believe we got away with that,” Sam laughed. “Did you see the look on that guy's face? He was sooo pissed.” 

“I kinda wish we did get banned,” Brandon muttered. “It woulda been funny.”

“Yeah, but my dad would literally kill me if that happened. He’d be like, ‘what the fuck? On the first day? The fuck is wrong with you?’ And then I’d just be like, ‘yeah’.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Hunter was still standing silently between them as they talked, glancing back and forth. 

He couldn't take it anymore. He finally reached his breaking point and suddenly exploded in anger. 

“You guys are JERKS!”

Hunter threw down his splattershot. For the first time today, he was actually pissed. He crossed his arms and looked down. 

Brandon's mouth fell open in shock before a grin slowly spread across his face.

“Wow,” he laughed. “Someone's pissy.” 

Hunter glared up at him, slowly clenching his fists. “SHUT UP!” 

In a split-second decision, he took a swing at Brandon and punched him right in the chest… but the impact was weak. 

Brandon didn’t even flinch. In fact, it felt as if the punch was held back on purpose. He grabbed Hunter's arm and pushed him away effortlessly, still grinning. 

“You’re not actually mad, right?” Brandon laughed, glancing to the left. “That was an accident…”

“YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!” Hunter shouted. “HOW DO YOU ACCIDENTALLY KICK SOMEONE IN THE… THERE?”

“Wow… so your brain does work sometimes…”

Hunter drew back his fist, ready to swing a real punch, one he wouldn’t hold back. But as his arm hovered in mid-air, he faltered. Genuine tears ran down his face as he dropped his fist. 

He was crying. For real.

“Motherfucker,” Brandon mumbled under his breath as he stepped back, looking up in annoyance. “You're fucking joking…” 

Sam glanced at Brandon, her smirk barely fading. “Wow, you actually made him cry.”

Brandon grumbled incoherently to himself as he stood there. Beneath his annoyance was a faint, unwelcome twinge of guilt. 

He glanced around quickly, checking to see if anyone was watching. A few inklings stood at a distance, their earlier laughter fading into awkward glances, even looking unsure if they should intervene due to Kaito's threats. 

But that uncomfortable sinking feeling he felt didn't come from their looks and whispers. It wasn’t anyone else’s judgment making him feel that way. It was his own.

Eugh…

Brandon's expression was neutral, but Sam could see through the surface that something was up. She leaned in slightly, speaking in a low, sarcastic scold.

“He liked you…” she said. “...And lookit what you did… You monster.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Brandon snapped. “I didn't mean to make him actually start crying.”

“You dumbshit, what did you expect would happen?” 

“I thought after caving his balls in with these free low-tops he'd finally take the fucking hint, but hoooly shit. He's like a fucking cockroach, goddamn.”

“Why do you care if he's crying?”

Brandon didn’t want to answer that.

Sam held back a laugh. “Go tell him you're sorry.”

Brandon paused, then turned around to look at Hunter. He was standing a few feet away, wiping his tears on his shirt, trying not to give them any eye contact. Brandon turned back to Sam.

“No,” he said. “He deserved it, fuck it.”

“HE SAYS YOU'RE SORRY!” Sam abruptly yelled out to Hunter.

Brandon punched her in the arm. “Shut the fuck up…”

Sam laughed.

Brandon was genuinely starting to get annoyed with her again. Despite being able to tolerate her, and even enjoying her company and banter— She was still, in his mind, a total cunt.

“You're just as fucking annoying as him,” Brandon growled. “I don't even know why I'm still talking to you— you’ve been a bitch this whoooole fucking day. You think I’m an asshole? Well you're a huge bitch. You think it's funny pissing me off? Fuck you.” 

Sam didn’t flinch. 

“Damn,” she said nonchalantly, tilting her head. “You really are soooo fucking dramatic… And yes, it is funny.” 

Brandon gritted his teeth. “Alright…” He turned on his heel and trudged towards Hunter without saying another word to her. 

Hunter still stood there sniffling, partially turned away from everyone. He was wiping furiously at his face with his shirt, clearly trying to make it look like he wasn’t crying, though he wasn’t doing a great job of it.

“Ugh.” Brandon rolled his eyes. “Can you stop?”

“Go away,” Hunter muttered.

“Alright, fine.” Brandon paused, almost as if he struggled to get the words out. “I’m… I’m sorry your feelings got hurt.. I mean- obviously, it wasn't just your feelings that got hurt, but. Y’know what I mean. 

Hunter’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s not really an apology.”

“Okay, well, it is,” Brandon shot back quickly. “It’s not my fault you’re so sensitive.”

“I know you hate me,” Hunter said firmly. “I'm not stupid.”

Brandon was surprised by his self awareness. “Then why the fuck do you keep bothering me?”

“I… I dunno." Hunter stammered. "I just… this is… This is important to me and… I just didn’t wanna be alone. I’m always alone. And… you guys talked to me and… I thought… ugh. I don’t know. You’re just being jerks.” 

“Wow… you really care about this... that’s sooo fucking gay, man. But look, look. You got the wrong idea. I wasn’t being a jerk. I didn’t mean to take it that far.”

“Well, you did…” Hunter started to walk away. 

Brandon suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder, stopping him. “Look, I just get way too competitive. And when I get hyped the fuck up, I can’t help it.”

Hunter stared at him, now extremely confused. 

“It’s true,” Brandon continued. “And y’know this inksports stuff is supposed to be super competitive, right? Somebody’s gonna get hurt eventually. It wasn’t personal or anything. But I mean, you kinda started it. I was just trying to win. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?” 

Hunter blinked, still confused by everything he said and trying to process it. It was a terrible explanation, but he was eager to believe the best.

“I think I get it,” he said. “So you were just playing?”

“Obviously, dumbass. We were chasing after you cuz you were kinda like, teaching us how to move around? Like how to shoot a moving target? Something like that. I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“Ohh…”

“Yeah.”

Brandon turned to Sam, gesturing at her to chime in and add something. She blinked, caught off guard for a second before going along with it. 

“Yeah, bud,” she said. “You’re, like, really good at inksports. We were learning from you.”

“Really?” Hunter asked, his voice soft but hopeful. “You… you think I’m good?”

“The best…” Sam was barely able to keep her tone from sounding sarcastic. 

Brandon rolled his eyes at her. 

Hunter hesitated for a moment, and then a small smile broke through his earlier distress.

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, relieved. “Thank goodness. I thought you were, like… making fun of me or something.”

Sam and Brandon exchanged a quick glance, trying to suppress their amusement.

“Nah,” Brandon said.

“Absolutely not,” Sam added.

Hunter’s grin faltered, like a brief hint of understanding washed over him. He knew, deep down, that there was truth to that suspicion. But before that feeling could fully settle, his optimism took over again.

“In that case..." He chuckled awkwardly. "You guys can chase me again if you want! To, uh, practice more! I’ll just try not to trip and fall this time, haha.”

Brandon shrugged, trying to look indifferent. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Hey, after that, can I try it on you guys? You run, and I’ll chase?”

“Fuck no. Go away.”

“I’m gonna get a head start!” Hunter yelled, too caught up in his own excitement to even notice their indifference.

He took off, running ahead with a sense of joy that seemed entirely misplaced given how they were treating him like complete shit. 

As soon as he was out of earshot, Sam turned to Brandon and shoved him in the arm.

“Why’d you do that?” She asked.

He shoved her back. "Do what?”

“You actually apologized?”

“Barely.”

Sam laughed. “You felt bad.” 

Brandon rolled his eyes. “Okay, well like, if you made the special kid cry, you’d feel like a real piece of shit too. I’m not that fucking evil.” He paused. “Well… eugh, forget it.”

“Uh huhh…”

“Doesn’t matter. Chances are, I’ll never see that annoying little faggot again. Ever.”

Before Sam could respond, a SquidForce rep approached the two of them with an unmistakable look of suspicion on their face.

“You two aren’t causing trouble again, are you?” the rep asked, shifting his gaze between them. 

Sam didn’t say a word and just slowly raised her hand to point directly at Brandon with the most deadpan expression.

Brandon slapped her hand down immediately. “No. We’re good,” he said quickly.

The rep raised an eyebrow. “Right. Well, just so you know, Kaito’s keeping tabs on you two. And if there’s any nonsense—”

“There won’t be,” Sam interrupted. 

“Alright then.” The rep didn’t look convinced but nodded toward a nearby balloon. “Fine. Let’s see you actually practicing. Go on.”

As the rep walked away,  Brandon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. 

“Great,” he muttered. “Now they’re watching us.”

“Meh, whatever.” Sam shrugged as she started toward the balloon, twirling her splattershot in her hand. Brandon followed reluctantly.

Not too far off in the distance, Hunter was still running around. But he finally slowed to a stop, glancing back over his shoulder. His grin faltered as he realized Sam and Brandon weren’t chasing him. Instead, they were standing by a balloon with a SquidForce rep watching them from behind. 

Hunter lingered in place for a moment, as if waiting for them to join him. But as the seconds ticked by and they made no move to join him, the realization hit. He thought maybe they’d been deliberately separated because of the recent incident. 

Or maybe they just genuinely didn’t want him around. He shook his head quickly, forcing a smile back onto his face.

“That’s fine,” he said to himself. “They’re just… I’ll… I’ll practice by myself. It’s fine.”

He turned away, raising his Splattershot Jr. and taking aim at the nearest balloon, trying to push the negative thoughts from his mind.

Inksports meant everything to him. This was his first chance to finally participate, and no amount of bullying and humiliation could ruin it. 

Chapter Text

Kaito made his way through the skatepark, avoiding all of the new recruits practicing and trying to forget about the sharp pain in his back that was getting worse by the second. He spotted a SquidForce representative standing nearby and tapped them on the shoulder. 

“Hey,” he muttered. “Keep an eye on everyone in there— especially those two shitheads.” 

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the direction of Sam and Brandon. 

The rep nodded. “Got it.”

Kaito exhaled out of relief as he watched the rep leave and continued to make his way out. 

Right by the entrance was a series of desks where SquidForce employees gathered, helping recruits learn how to sign up for ink battles and use the SplatNet app. They helped and signed them all up for tomorrow’s turf war matches.

Ashley was standing off to the side with his arms crossed, looking out into the park with furrowed brows. Kaito took a quick glance at him, speeding up his pace as he walked by without giving any eye contact. 

To his annoyance, he was stopped.

“Mr. Kaito…” Ashley said. “What… uh, what happened back there?” 

“Hm?” The ambassador spun on his heel to face him. “Yeah? What? Back where?” 

“In the park… I heard yelling. And it didn’t sound like the, uh, the usual shouts of unanimous joy from our new inksports players.”

“Um—” 

“It sounded… well, hmm. It sounded like someone was hurt?”

“Hurt? Nah…” Kaito waved a hand dismissively.  “Nobody got hurt. It’s fine. I’ve got it under control. Just some annoying asshole kids trying to get attention by being assholes. Y'know, the usual. Nothing new.”

Ashley raised a brow. “Mm. And you’re sure that’s, uh, all it is?” 

“Yes…?” 

The CEO's gaze lingered on Kaito for a moment, noticing how he clearly looked like he was in pain. 

“Because, uh, you look, well, a little worse for wear,” Ashley continued. “Hmm… are you feeling alright? Is your... back bothering you?”

“How did you—” Kaito shook his head and let out a nervous laugh. “I mean, whaaat? My back? Aha, nah. I'm—” 

Suddenly, the sharp pain returned with a vengeance.

“Hrrrggg…” He gritted his teeth, clutching at his side. 

“Do you, uh, perhaps need an aspirin?” Ashley asked, genuinely concerned. “I can go get some, if—” 

“No!” Kaito quickly snapped upright, forcing a grin on his face. “Look, man, I'm okay, aight?! I’ve never felt better.” He flexed his biceps. “Never looked better, too... She knows what I'm talking about!”

He pointed to a rep that walked by. 

“Shut the hell up,” she muttered. 

“I know you love me…” Kaito snickered and turned back to his boss, throwing his hands up. “See? She agrees.”  

“No I don’t!”

Ashley sighed. “Mr. Kaito, there’s absolutely no shame in taking a moment to rest.” 

“C’mon, Ash,” Kaito continued. “I don’t need rest. I’m still at the top of my game, man. I'm on fire!”

“Hm. Even the, uh, brightest flames need tending, or they risk burning out.”

“Huh?” Kaito shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m not gonna burn out. Eternal flame ‘fo life, baby! Mkay. I gotta go.”

He began to walk off quickly, but Ashley stopped him again.

“Mr. Kaito… Since, uh, you're stepping out for a moment... This would be a good time to remember what we discussed earlier...”

The ambassador froze, not turning around. “I know,” he mumbled. “My future or whatever. Yeah. Got it. Noted.”

“Eternal flames don’t just burn for themselves. They light the way for others.”

“Hooly sweet mother of FUCK, will you cut it out with the metaphors?!” Kaito groaned. “Damn! Okay! Thank you, Ash, really. Love the advice, love you, but y’know what? I’m already doing that! Inspiring everyone! Everyone wants to be me! Too bad they'll never actually get to be me…”

Ashley didn’t respond back. There was an awkward pause between the two.

Kaito readjusted his sleeves. “Aight, man. I definitely want to keep this conversation going but I gotta go, cuz I’m reeeaally busy. Like, I only had to step out cuz, uh… I… y’know, business shit. Yeah. Gotta answer all these voicemails that keep clogging my fuckin’ inbox.”

He started to pace as his rambling picked up speed. 

“All these hella annoying leechy-ass agents keep calling me, asking me to sign with them, blah blah blah. They’re like ‘we can get you so many deals’ and I’m like, c’mon. Bro. Dawg. Do you even know who you’re talking to? I don’t need help landing deals. I’m already the face of the biggest brand in Inkopolis! I don’t need a fuckin’ agent, I only work for SquidForce. And I always will. You’re my fam.”

As Kaito backed away towards the entrance to the parking lot, he threw up his hands, forming a heart shape with his fingers. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, byeeee!” 

Ashley raised a brow as he watched the ambassador speed walk away, disappearing into the distance. He stood there, letting his thoughts settle.

It was frustrating trying to get through to Kaito. Sure, he could still capitate an audience and was still valuable to SquidForce, but when there was any mention of considering what the future may hold, he would refuse to acknowledge it. 

Suddenly, one of the SquidForce representatives stepped up next to Ashley, squinting in the direction where Kaito had gone. 

“What’s the matter with that asshole this time?” They asked, obviously annoyed after overhearing everything.

“Mr. Kaito is… resistant to change,” Ashley said with a sigh. 

“Yeah, no kidding.” 

-

Kaito quickly made his way to the makeshift parking lot; Just another empty space of grass behind the outdoor stage where everyone had parked. He slipped inside his car and slammed the door shut, finally having a moment of solitude. 

“Back pain,” he muttered, growing angrier. “How could I have back pain? I don’t even have a fucking SPINE!” 

He gave the pleather seat an aggressive punch, but that just exacerbated the pain. 

“ERRRRRGGG… GODDAMN IT!” 

Kaito quickly sat up and rummaged through every compartment, mumbling bitterly to himself. He finally grabbed a bottle of aspirin, swiftly twisting open the cap and popping a few of the pills. 

FINALLY. He could relax. He slowly leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, waiting for the relief to kick in.

"Ugh."

Unable to sit still for even a second, he quickly pulled the vanity mirror down and stared back at his reflection, looking a little more tired than he remembered. He thought about what Ashley told him before the event when he jumped on stage to encourage his fans. 

The whole “passing the torch” and “think about the future” thing didn't sit right with him at all. Even being referred to as a "legend", as respectful as it was, didn't feel right to him either. In fact, it almost sounded as if everyone was trying to say, in the least blatant way possible, that everyone was ready to move on, and Kaito Grey was a thing of the past.

Surely he, the ambassador of SquidForce for nearly an entire decade that hasn't played a real inksports match in years and is known more for being a corporate mascot rather than an actual player, wasn't slowly becoming more and more irrelevant to the new generations... 

“Am I…” Kaito hesitated, lingering on his thoughts.  “Am I… getting old?” 

He laughed.

“I’m not old,” he snickered to himself, raising his hand to flip the mirror back up. “Aha, yeah. I'm only, like, what. Twenty? Twenty… something?” 

He froze upon realizing that forgetting your age was a sign of getting old. 

Kaito quickly leaned closer into the mirror to get a clearer look at his own reflection, tracing the contours of his jawline with even more scrutiny. 

As he expected, there wasn't anything “old” looking about him. Physically, for the most part at least, he looked fantastic. He was still fit, still athletic looking. Nothing to complain about. The same face that had been plastered on SquidForce ads for years. 

But something felt off, deep down at least. 

Kaito quickly shook his head, clearing any meaningless existential thoughts from his mind. None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that his back pain was gone and he could get back to encouraging his fans. 

At least he still had fans. 

-

The SquidForce Testfire was finally over. 

It was now late in the afternoon, feeling as if it was the end of a very long school day. Some inklings lingered around Blackbelly skatepark, chatting and watching the SquidForce employees packed away all of their event equipment.  

On a bench just outside of the park, sat Brandon and Sam. They left a decent amount of space between each other, sitting together in a comfortable yet mildly awkward silence. 

Their free Splattershot Jrs sat beside them, now tucked away in complimentary protective cases. Unfortunately the ink tanks weren't allowed to be taken home, but that was probably a good thing considering the weapons weren’t functional without them. 

Brandon was sitting on the far end of the bench staring into the distance at nothing in particular. Sam sat across from him, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. Even if he couldn't see her screen, he could tell Sam was on the Kelp app because every one of those 6 second videos played shamelessly at full volume. 

It was annoying, but not like some other things that annoyed him today.

Hunter Jackson wasn't there anymore. He didn't interact with Sam and Brandon much prior to being separated, whether it was from SquidForce reps or his own conscience telling him to stay away. He didn't even get another chance to interact with his idol Kaito, possibly because of the lingering embarrassment from earlier. However, he still seemed to remain positive for the rest of the day, despite everything. 

Brandon did catch a glimpse of the enthusiastic little squid leaving about an hour ago. He saw him happily hopping onto a white truck full of other inklings that looked more like strangers than family. Some of them didn't even look like they were inklings, more like a group of different species.  

Whatever, It didn't matter. At least he was gone.

Brandon leaned back, draping his arms over the back of the bench. At this point, he didn’t have any real reason to still be lingering. Unlike Sam, he wasn’t waiting for anyone to pick him up, since he could just take the train home whenever he felt like it.

He stayed because he liked Sam's company, and having a friend for once actually felt good. 

And Sam felt the exact same way. 

“So,” Brandon said, nonchalantly breaking the silence. “When's your match tomorrow?” 

“Dunno…” Sam shrugged without looking up. “Didn't see. I wasn't really listening when the guy was showing me how to use the app. Probably gonna delete it.” 

“Fair enough…” Brandon pulled out his phone, signing into SplatNet. “This thing takes up way too much fuckin’ storage. Why the fuck did it even ask for permission to use my camera?” 

“They’re always watching us…” Sam put on a sarcastic spooky voice. “Oooooh…”

Brandon squinted at his schedule listed. “I got signed up for Urchin Underpass at… 8 am? Eugh…” 

“Aight, lemme see what I got,” Sam said, checking her schedule. 

“I don't wanna get up that fuckin' early…” Brandon mumbled, letting his phone drop in his lap.

Sam looked up from her phone. “I mean, I'll be there.” 

“Oh yeah?”

She held her phone up to him. “I got Urchin Underpass at 8 too.” 

Brandon gave her a quick glance, then gently pushed her phone away. He couldn’t hide the faint smile on his face. 

“Mkay,” he said, pretending not to care.

“Hopefully they’ll assign us on the same team,” Sam said. “Not cuz like, I’m afraid of you being on the other side, cuz I’d fucking destroy you.” 

Brandon raised a brow, but didn’t argue with that. “Uh huh…”

“I mean it like, playing with strangers and randos would kinda suck.” She shrugged and went back to scrolling through Kelp. “It’s gonna be a trainwreck either way. At least we won’t be alone, y’know?”

The atmosphere between them fell back into a relaxed silence. Brandon picked up his phone again, scrolling aimlessly for no reason other than to avoid looking awkward. His mind wandered, debating whether to ask a question that had been lingering in the back of his mind. 

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “Do you use Inkstagram?”

Sam gave him a side glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, why?”

Brandon hesitated. “I dunno. Just… y’know, in case you wanted to keep in touch or whatever.”

“I never use it.”

“Oh, okay.” He tried to hide his disappointment as he shifted his focus back to his own screen. “Just asking.”  

“What’s your user tho?” she pulled up Inkstagram, ready to type it in. 

“Oh.” Brandon blinked, caught off guard and instantly regretted even asking in the first place. “Uh…”

“Hm?”

“It’s, uh…” He dropped his voice to a  quiet mumble. “...Xx_randobrando_xX.” 

Sam froze for a second before typing it in, blankly staring at the screen.

Oh my fucking god, he really is emo. 

His Inkstagram was exactly what you’d expect from someone who thought "Xx_randobrando_xX" was a good username. It was filled with mirror selfies of him covering his face, low quality colorful jpegs he thought were cool, and a plethora of pencil sketches in a crude style. 

Like REALLY really emo…

Sam restrained herself from saying any of her immediate thoughts out loud, scrolling as Brandon watched nervously beside her. He fully expected her to tear into him, because his profile was, admittedly, extremely cringe. 

Sure, Sam roasted him directly to his face multiple times already, and was definitely prepared to do it again. Brandon genuinely looked like the type of guy that would burst into tears if you trashed his art, and it would’ve been very funny to see that. 

But this time, she didn’t do it. 

There was something unapologetically genuine about it, in a good way. For someone who spent so much energy pretending not to care about anything, it was kind of fascinating to see this side of him laid out so plainly. She just kept a straight face, giving him a slow nod of approval. 

"Cool," she deadpanned.  "I’ll block you.”

Brandon tensed up. “Wait, wh—” 

“I'm joking, I'm joking.” She laughed and gave him a follow. “Didn’t know you like to draw, tho.”

“Sometimes.” Brandon leaned back into the bench, his posture relaxing. “Just when I’m bored, I guess.” 

“I think it’s pretty cool.”

Brandon glanced at her, waiting for her to follow up with something like “JK this is cringe, fuck you loser”, but she didn’t. She actually sounded serious, and that was more surprising than anything. Real compliments just weren’t something he was used to. He didn’t know how to even respond without sounding stupid, so he sat quietly as Sam went back to scrolling through Kelp, now at a less annoying volume. 

The quiet between them felt easy, carried by the distant ambience of the city. It was the kind of calm that neither of them wanted to break. But just as the moment settled back into comfortable silence, Sam’s phone buzzed in her hand.

She read the text notification coming from her dad: 

- Be there in 10. 

- Love gou.

- *You. Typo sorry.

Brandon caught the words on her screen out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. He gripped onto the handle of his Splattershot case, hesitating for a moment before standing up.

“Hey,” he said, holding up his gear. “Imma… I'm gonna head out now.”

Sam didn’t look up from her phone. “Oh, okay. See ya, man.”

Brandon was slightly offended that she seemed so “whatever” about him leaving.

“So… DM me later?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam replied. She looked up, leaning forward and holding out her fist. 

Brandon blinked, then smirked as he reciprocated her fist bump. 

“It was nice hanging with you,” Sam said. “Really. Even if you're off your fuckin’ rockers. You're pretty cool.” 

Brandon gave her a nod before walking away backwards. 

“Well… toodles,” he said.

Sam stared, still grinning but mostly confused as to why anyone would say ‘toodles’. She waved at him.

Brandon wanted to say something more, like “It was nice meeting you too, bitch” or “See you tomorrow asshole,” but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t even wave back. He turned on his heel and headed towards the train station.

-

Brandon stepped off the train, squeezing through the bustling crowd as he made his way out right into the heart of Inkopolis Plaza. 

Looming over the plaza and sitting right above the Battle Lobby building was the Inkopolis Tower, its intricate lattice of yellow-green tinted metal glowing faintly in the sunlight. Tourists would always annoyingly stop in the middle of the crowds to take photos of it, enamored by the iconic structure.

But what truly captured the awe of tourists, and even locals, was the majestic creature coiled around the tower's peak; The Great Zapfish. Most of the time, it preferred to soar lazily above the city, but today, it had chosen to rest atop the tower.

Brandon caught a quick glance of the giant fish as he pushed through the plaza crowd. He wasn't going to stop and gawk at it, but he had to admit that it was a bit of a sight to behold. It wasn’t every day you saw it perched at the tower, and this was the first time he’d seen it up close in months. 

His apartment was only about an hour away from the plaza, and the further he walked, the more quiet the city became. Compared to how loud and energetic the rest of Inkopolis was, it was almost like stepping into another dimension. 

A really boring, miserable dimension. 

After Brandon emerged from an alleyway, he was instantly hit by the welcoming air of cigarettes and stale gasoline. He was home.

The building itself stood across the street, nearly hidden between taller buildings and overgrown foliage. It looked more like a dingy, shitty motel in desperate need of renovations with its two floors of outdoor walkways and a cracked parking lot stretched out front. 

And just like the building in spirit, most of its residents were weird and reclusive. Brandon and his mom were no exception to that. 

He sprinted across the street and into the parking lot, dodging any broken glass so his new low-tops he just got didn’t get ruined. Unsurprisingly, one of the aforementioned residents was standing right in front of the stairs, locking eyes on him with a cigarette in hand. 

Well, in tentacle. 

“Hey boy!” Mrs. Yamada hollered, her voice gravelly but loud enough to echo through the air. 

She was an older widowed nautilus, and in Brandon’s mind, she was the meanest bitch on the street.

“How was the turf war?” She asked. 

“That’s tomorrow,” Brandon muttered, not slowing his pace as he got closer. 

“Ah.” Mrs. Yamada nodded, taking a long drag and exhaling a puff of smoke. 

Brandon barely made it to the first step of the stairs before she suddenly extended a tentacle, stopping him in his tracks.

“Your mom’s home,” she said.

“I know?” Brandon glanced at his mom’s car parked in its usual spot.

He tried to sidestep her, but she shifted just enough to block his path. 

“Don’t start,” Mrs. Yamada warned, her tone sharpening. 

“Okay,” Brandon replied flatly. 

Annoyed, he squeezed past her, not hard enough to knock her over— even if he wanted to do it so goddamn badly. She shook her head as she watched him run up the rattling metal stairs, taking another drag from her cigarette. 

Reaching the second floor, he unlocked his apartment and stepped inside, immediately kicking off his shoes. They landed right beside the thrifted faux mahogany sculpture that stood by the door; just one of many of the random decorations that filled the space.  

Almost everything in the apartment belonged to his mom. All of the knick knacks, the psychedelic rugs, and the thick colorful throw blanket with fringes covering the window that always made it dark as hell inside. The peeling burgundy wallpaper didn’t help with making it any less dark. 

His mom didn’t even seem to be the type that was interested in this incense-burning bohemian hippie aesthetic. Maybe she thought it was artsy, or maybe it was just the easiest way to fill the space with cheap thrift store finds. 

Then again, the mind of Lori Humboldt was an enigma.

Despite the apartment's small size, barely bigger than a studio, it somehow managed to fit in two bedrooms, even if they were so small that the doors couldn’t even open fully since they would hit the bed frames halfway. At least it wasn’t entirely cluttered and there was some order to all of the chaos. If not for all of the cheap beer cans shattered around and cigarette stains on the wall, maybe this place could be considered cozy and eccentric. 

Too bad it was just a tacky mess. 

As Brandon made his way into the living room and tossed the Splattershot Jr case by the couch, he noticed the bathroom door was shut. A faint glow of light spilled out from underneath and he could hear the muffled clink of makeup containers.

Lori was definitely in there, getting ready for whatever, possibly another night out. It seemed like she had just gotten back from work, since her uniform was haphazardly tossed right at the bottom of the bathroom door. 

She worked at a desk job at Mako Mart; Assistant something-or-other. Brandon didn’t really know or care what exactly she did. All he knew was that it was a step above bagging groceries or running a cash register. 

“You home?” Lori called out from behind the door, even though she clearly heard him come in.

“Yeah,” Brandon replied slightly annoyed, walking into the kitchenette to grab a Tenta Cola from the fridge. 

“Okay, hold on."

Brandon sat down on the pleather couch, kicked his feet up on the coffee table and pulled the remote out from under all of the random blankets. The TV lit up, showing an Inkopolis news broadcast hosted by the famous Squid Sisters.

“Breaking news!” Callie exclaimed. 

“It looks like a UFO crashed outside of Inkopolis,” Marie said, deadpan but curious. 

“Witnesses say that it might be octo—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Brandon mumbled, immediately changing the channel to something more interesting. 

Lori stepped out from the bathroom, adjusting an earring as she walked up to the couch. She had on eyeliner that accentuated the sharpness of her eyemask even more. 

“So,” she said, gesturing towards the Splattershot Jr case. “How did the thing go today?”

“Boring,” He replied, staring at the TV as he flipped through channels.

Lori stepped closer to the couch, curiosity getting the better of her. She opened up the Splattershot Jr case and ran her fingers over the weapon.

“Damn,” She said, half-impressed. “This is what they gave you? It looks like a toy.”

“I didn’t pick it out,” Brandon said, finally settling on a channel and tossing the remote down. 

“Hm.” Lori clicked the case shut. “Well, at least you’ll be making money. And there’s other weapons you can get when your ass gets some G. You gotta give me 40% of what you get to help with the rent too, y’know.”

“I know.”

“Mkay.” Lori casually swept her tentacle hair back. “Y’know, when I was a kid, they didn’t give out any prize money for playing. Well, for losing at least. You had to actually win to get G but now they just give it away even if you lose.” 

“Uh huh.” Brandon held up his Tenta Cola to drink.

“Hey—” Lori’s gaze shifted to the can in his hand. “What the fuck? That was mine.”

Brandon froze, looked her dead in the eye, and without breaking the stare, he took a long, deliberate sip.

“Whatever.” Lori rolled her eyes and waved him off. “So, you got any games tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking another sip. “A few.” 

“Where’s it gonna be at?”

“Urchin Underpass. I think.”

“Where the hell’s that at?”

Brandon shrugged. “Dunno. First one’s at 8, though." 

Lori blinked. “AM?”

“Yeah?”

“Damn.” She let out a low whistle. “You better get your ass to bed early.”

“I know.”

Lori just nodded, absentmindedly tapping at her pant pockets. Her gaze darted around the room until she spotted her keys on the coffee table. 

“Well,” She said, grabbing her keys. “I’m going. Liz invited me out.”

“Okay,” Brandon replied.

He had no clue who the hell Liz was. 

Lori would always bring up names as if he was supposed to know who she was talking about. But if he had to guess, this Liz was probably just another coworker trying to hook her up with their brother, cousin, or whoever they thought would “be good for her.”

That was usually the case. He wasn’t going to ask, though, because he'd rather dive head first into water and fucking die rather than listen to his mom yap about her dating life. 

“You better be in bed when I get back,” Lori said, heading towards the door and slipping on her shoes. 

“I will, I will,” Brandon muttered, more focused on the cartoon on TV rather than anything his mom was saying. 

“Also— there’s some leftovers in the fridge.”

“I saw.” 

Lori nodded, keys in hand and ready to leave, but stopped mid step. She turned back and pointed at him. 

“Behave,” she said flatly. 

Brandon stared at her. “Okay.”

She stood there for another second, narrowing her eyes before finally turning to leave. The door shut behind her, leaving the apartment quiet except for the sound of the TV and the box fan in the corner that hasn’t been unplugged for at least 3 years.

Brandon let out a breath of relief and relaxed himself, slumping further into the couch. He pulled out his phone, hovering his thumb over the Inkstagram app for a beat before signing in and checking his recent notifications. And sure enough, there it was:

sam followed you

He followed back without hesitation, scrolling through her account out of curiosity. 

Unsurprisingly, it was empty. No posts, no bio, and he was her only follower. She was following a bunch of seemingly random accounts; Bands he’s never heard of, meme repost accounts and other profiles he didn’t care about.

For a moment, he debated sending her a DM, maybe just a simple “hi” or something, but she said she’d message him first. 

Brandon didn’t know what else to do for the rest of the day, so he just sat there and waited. 

With nothing better to do, he laid down on the couch and switched over to Kelp, distracting himself with the 6-second skits. At least now he didn’t feel so embarrassed about having the shitty app downloaded on his phone, knowing Sam had it too.

As much as he wanted to believe he was above this lowbrow type of mainstream comedy, the vids were addictive to watch, no matter how terrible they were. 

He had no idea how long he’d been scrolling until he glanced at his phone’s clock.

11:56 PM.

Brandon jolted upright. “Shit.”

He’d just lost hours to Kelp.

Leaping off the couch, he quickly shut off the TV and made his way to his room, knowing Lori could walk in any second. If she caught him still up, she’d start arguing, and he didn’t feel like hearing any of that.

He carefully maneuvered through the pitch dark apartment, trying not to knock anything over. As he slipped into his room and stood there, a sense of realization dawned over him. 

Sam still didn’t send him a message. 

“Figures,” he muttered, tossing his phone onto his bed.  

He wasn’t even surprised. Mostly just annoyed that he wasted time even expecting anything.  He didn’t care. It didn’t matter anymore.

With a sigh, he took two steps forward in the dark room and— 

THUD!

His shin smacked right against the bedframe, making him trip and fall face-first into his mattress with a yelp. Cringing in pain, he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the dark ceiling. 

The room was quiet except for the faint noise of the fan and bitter thoughts of “well this day ended fucking terribly.” 

But Just as he was ready to crash for the night, his phone suddenly buzzed and lit up the room.

“Holy shit, fucking finally.”

-

11:PM, MAY 2015, M.E. 

sam_mav01: hi

Xx_randobrando_xX: Heyyy whatzup??

sam_mav01: talking to u dymbass

sam_mav01: dumbass

Xx_randobrando_xX: Oh XD

Xx_randobrando_xX: Btw plz don't look at my old posts I've had this account forever lol 

sam_mav01: k lol i wont

sam_mav01: so wyd 

Xx_randobrando_xX: Just chilling

sam_mav01: me too 

Xx_randobrando_xX: Thinking about today 

sam_mav01: o rlly

Xx_randobrando_xX: Yeah thinking about the training thing

Xx_randobrando_xX: That shit was so boring XD 

sam_mav01: ik

Xx_randobrando_xX: Waste of time

Xx_randobrando_xX: And that Squidforce guy ugh

sam_mav01: o

sam_mav01: u like him

Xx_randobrando_xX:  I ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DO NOT

sam_mav01: jk geez lol chill

Xx_randobrando_xX: That fucking guy hes so up his own ass I hate him 

Xx_randobrando_xX: I was cringing so hard 

sam_mav01: ye lol hes a dick 

Xx_randobrando_xX: For realzies

Xx_randobrando_xX: Anyways Idc much about tomorrow 

sam_mav01: ye same

Xx_randobrando_xX: I don't need strats 

sam_mav01: lol 

sam_mav01: legitness

Xx_randobrando_xX: Dont say that :I

sam_mav01: ok sorry 

Xx_randobrando_xX: No forgiveness. Turn urself into cringe jail now. 

sam_mav01: fuck yourself

Xx_randobrando_xX: Ok I will

sam_mav01: ?

Xx_randobrando_xX: Nvm

Xx_randobrando_xX: Ignore that

sam_mav01: lol

Xx_randobrando_xX: But yeah you dont need strats or whatver

Xx_randobrando_xX: Turf war is like 1000% luck 

sam_mav01: u can lose in the last 10secs 

sam_mav01: i think idk 

Xx_randobrando_xX: Wow I cant wait  ¬_¬ 

sam_mav01: ye

sam_mav01: btw do u listen to squid squad 

Xx_randobrando_xX: ???!! Never heard of em :0

sam_mav01: omg

sam_mav01: they r so good 

Xx_randobrando_xX: What kind music do they play?

sam_mav01: like rock ska punk and shit 

Xx_randobrando_xX: Hmm, Im more into edm :P

sam_mav01: ewww lol

Xx_randobrando_xX: Rude.

sam_mav01: idk its just kinda boring and repetitive  srry

sam_mav01: btw u kinda look like ikkan lol

Xx_randobrando_xX: Who?? 

sam_mav01: their bassist 

Xx_randobrando_xX: Oh

Xx_randobrando_xX: How come? 

sam_mav01: ur hair kinda looks like his lol

sam_mav01 sent an image 

sam_mav01: well if u were purple

Xx_randobrando_xX: Uhh Ok? :/

sam_mav01: no its cool 

Xx_randobrando_xX: Ohh 

Xx_randobrando_xX: I thought you were making fun of me XD

sam_mav01: lol no 

sam_mav01: i mean kinda 

sam_mav01: …

sam_mav01: sorry 

sam_mav01: come back

Xx_randobrando_xX: GTG my mom's being a bitch ugh 

Xx_randobrando_xX: Goodnight see ya tomorrow :3

sam_mav01: ok good night 

Chapter Text

“Get up.”

“HUH?” 

Brandon jolted awake, startled by flashing lights. He glanced around to see his mom standing at his doorway, flickering the light switch on and off.

“Get up,” she repeated.

“Eugh…” Brandon groaned, rubbing his eyes. “What the… what time is it…” 

“Time to get up,” Lori muttered back before walking away. 

Brandon turned his gaze towards his window, squinting to see that it was still, in fact, very dark outside. He checked his phone, and there was still at least fifteen minutes until his alarm would go off. But there wasn't any point in going back to bed. And before he could even think about making breakfast, he was already sent out the door, barely awake. 

-

It was about 7:30 in the morning at Urchin Underpass.

The tall Deca-line flyover arched high above the area, partially obscured by the morning fog. It casted a broad shadow as the sun started to rise above the Inkopolis skyline. Below the road was the designated battlefield, where a team was halfway through their turf war match, splattering green and purple ink across the asphalt. Inklings darted and jumped around in squid form, popping up just long enough to spray ink before diving back down. 

Everyone else that bothered showing up this early waited at a slightly elevated spot across the street, which had good view of the entire battlefield. They excitedly waited for their turn to play, because, for the majority of them, this was going to be their first real experience with inksports outside of training. 

Brandon wasn't exactly excited about being there. 

He stood by himself, Splattershot Jr case in hand, and groggy as hell. He was still wearing the same SquidForce gear he got during the testfire, just like some of the other obvious newbies that arrived early as well. He was certain that Sam would show up, yet here he was, all by himself. 

Again. 

She didn't even reply to his DM asking “where are you”. 

It’s not like he cared, though. He gripped the handle of the case tighter, tapping his foot impatiently. That feeling of defensiveness came back as he glared at everyone around him. He didn’t want to feel anything at this moment, since physically he was already kind of uncomfortable. 

But that was probably because he was tired, and the air around him was just gross; It was humid, kind of cold and smelled like sweat and exhaust fumes. That, plus the lingering scent of someone who had clearly decided to start their day with a joint. 

Brandon shook his head, trying to dispel the grogginess a bit. He didn’t want to waste the battery on his phone since this was going to be a long day, so, to distract himself, he took a glance at the ongoing match in the distance. It looked like it was about to end, since the entire battlefield was completely covered in ink. He then turned to the timer, which was on a worn down looking digital scoreboard on one of the walls.

The dot-matrix bar graph on the scoreboard tracked the ink coverage, displaying the fight for dominance in purple and green. A group of inklings and jellyfish surrounded the sign, cheering, while Brandon eyed it skeptically. 

It honestly felt cheap compared to the legendary “Judd” people had mentioned every now and then. Brandon had some hope that this “Judd” would announce the winner after each match, because even if inksports was lame, at least that would've been interesting to see... But he realized how stupid it was to expect a 10,000-year-old cat to judge every single one of the many ink battles happening on the same day, in locations miles apart from each other.

Whatever.

Suddenly, a loud whistle cut through the air. The scoreboard calculated the final ink percentage, and the purple team had won. The battleground fell silent after those three minutes of chaotic turf-warring, now followed by a few minutes of standing around while all of the ink disintegrated. After that, another scheduled group would rotate in, and the cycle repeated. 

It was… pretty repetitive. 

Brandon looked away, but then took a double take when he caught the sight of a player welding a very strange, mildly threatening looking weapon. It looked like a big paint roller and the guy was wearing some decently fresh gear. 

One thing was obvious— this guy was definitely not a newbie. 

Brandon's stomach dropped upon the realization that this player could possibly be on the enemy team, and he didn't want to be up against that. His mind raced, imaging how awful and unfair that would be and—

“WHAT’S UP?!”

A voice shouted from behind, jumpscaring Brandon.

“Sam!” He exclaimed, spinning around to see her. 

“Hi,” she replied, grinning. “S’up, loser.” 

“Holy shit, I thought you weren't gonna show up.” “Nope. I'm here.” Sam gave him a playful shove. “Gotta get that paperrr, Brendon.” 

“Right,” Brandon said. “Also, not my name.”

“Brayden?”

“Wrong.”

“Bartholomew?”

“Wronger.” 

“I'm fucking with you,” Sam laughed, giving him another shove. “Good to see ya again, 'Rando Brando'. I mean, 'XX underscore Rando Brando… underscore XX'.” 

“Mm hm…” Brandon nodded, looking down.

There was a bit of awkward silence between the two. 

Sam cleared her throat. “Sooo… this is what we’re gonna be doing for the next few hours, hmm?” She leaned against a nearby railing, looking out at the battlefield in the distance.

“Yeah,” Brandon replied, matching her bored tone. “Still wish we didn't have to get up at the fucking asscrack of dawn.” 

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

The two inklings stood quietly, watching as a new match played out in front of them. The ink from the last round had just finished dissolving completely, and now fresh waves of turquoise and yellow splattered across the asphalt.

“This is so stupid,” Brandon mumbled under his breath. “How the fuck does everyone get addicted to this?”

Sam shrugged. “Guess they’re stupid.”

Suddenly, a loud shrill sound echoed through the air, as if something launched into the sky. And right in the center of the battlefield, it came crashing down in a tall, spiraling funnel of yellow ink. The moment it struck the ground, an ear splitting BOOM erupted. 

Whatever the hell that was, it left both Sam and Brandon silent in shock. 

“The fuck?” Brandon murmured under his breath. 

“Okay, that was kinda sick,” Sam said.

Brandon leaned into Sam, whispering. “You think we’ll get one of those?”

She looked back at him. “How should I know?”

“Just asking.” Brandon stepped back, glancing away. 

“Why?”

“I dunno.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You nervous?”

“No,” he scoffed, watching as the match continued. “I mean. I don’t wanna, like... Y’know. Get fucked in the ass by these cunts. What if they match us up against someone that’s miles ahead of us? That wouldn’t be fucking fair.”

“Oh yeah, it would suck getting your assed kicked.” Sam waved her hand around, gesturing towards the inklings around them. “In front of all these people... Could you imagine the embarrassment?”

Brandon glared at her.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbled, not wanting to be reminded of how she kicked his ass the previous day in front of everyone.

They stood side by side, their conversation drifting in and out between stretches of somewhat awkward silence as they watched the matches come and go, each ending with that loud whistle. Brandon kept nervously checking his phone every time something loud happened or whenever another one of those ink airstrikes exploded again. Sam stood there squinting at all of the different weapons from the distance, trying to make sense of everything. 

Sam nudged Brandon, pointing at one of the players. “Look at that guy. Look, he's going fuckin ham with that thing, look.”

Brandon followed her gaze, spotting some player sprinting across the battlefield with a weapon that looked like a giant paintbrush. But from where they were standing, it looked like a mop.

“The fuck is that? Is that— Are they mopping?”

“Yeah, that’s a mop,” Sam said.

Brandon raised a brow. This whole thing really was stupid. He still didn’t fully understand all of the hype for inksports. It was still very much annoying how his city seemed to prioritize this dumb game over everything else.

But, despite all of his bitching and complaining and indifference about it all, here he was now, starting to get that nervous feeling in his stomach, genuinely getting excited to start. And weirdly enough, he probably wouldn’t be feeling that way if he was alone. Something about standing next to Sam, knowing they were about to step into the chaos together, made it even weirder. 

Not in a bad way, and not in a romantic way either. Sure, when Brandon was in middle school he was in relationships. A lot of relationships. But it wasn’t about connection, it was about status. They were surface-level, just another way to maintain some kind of edge. It wasn’t real.

This was different.

Or whatever. It was stupid. He felt stupid feeling this way. At least he wasn’t alone, though. 

-

Brandon and Sam moved with the crowd across the street, making their way towards the entrance to the battlefield. They made it to the front door at the walls, where a SquidForce rep stood at a kiosk. The rep scanned player’s SplatNet apps to confirm their match registration, letting groups of eight assigned players in at a time. When it was their turn, Sam went first, followed by Brandon, and the kiosk made a satisfying ding before the rep waved them through.

Inside was a locker room, there was a huge timer overhead displaying that there was only 7 minutes left until their match started. There was another SquidForce rep in there keeping an eye on everyone as they strapped on their ink tanks and took out their weapons from their cases. As their tanks filled, the colors shifted to their assigned team color. 

The colors were orange vs blue, and Sam and Brandon were repping team orange. Everyone split into their assigned team colors, waiting as the timer ticked down. The SquidForce suddenly spoke up, taking notice of the amount of level one newbies in the room. 

“Alright!” They announced. “Since we’ve got a lot of fresh faces in here, let’s go over a quick rundown of the basics...”

As the rep continued to explain things that everybody already knew, Brandon quickly nudged Sam while his hands were busy adjusting the strap of his ink tank. 

“Hey,” he said. “Can’t you see who's on the enemy team? Like— tell me what their levels are. Just wanna see what we’re up against.”

Sam had already half-tuned out the rep’s yapping, so she was more than happy to check the SplatNet app for their match details.

“Mkay, let’s see…” She muttered, scrolling through.  “Blue team… Level 1, level 2, level 1… level 20?”

Brandon froze. “The fuck you mean 20?” 

Sam quickly turned the screen towards him so he could see, and sure enough, there was a level 20 player on the enemy team. 

“Yeah…” Sam said, mildly annoyed. “Wow, that exact thing you were afraid of happening, just happened.” She shook her head, exhaling a laugh. “That’s fuckin’ ironic…”  

Brandon turned his gaze towards the blue team huddled on the other side of the locker room, spotting the only player that wasn’t wearing the basic free SquidForce gear or wielding a Splattershot. He didn’t even notice the guy was in the room until now.

It was the player he saw earlier— the one with the paint roller slung over their shoulder. 

Brandon glanced back at Sam, and then at their own two other randomly assigned newbie teammates, who were still fumbling with their gear in a way that did not inspire confidence.

FUCK.

“This isn't fair,” Brandon said out loud, looking back at Sam. “This is unfair.” He turned to the rep and raised his voice. “HEY!” 

The SquidForce rep, who had been halfway through explaining how to Super Jump despite the room not really paying any attention, turned to Brandon. 

“What’s wrong?” They asked. 

“Uhh?” Brandon gestured aggressively at Sam’s phone screen. “Why are we matched against some level 20 guy?”

“Wait, what?” One of their fellow team orange players asked after overhearing. 

Sam showed them her screen. “Yeah, look.”

Everyone turned to the level 20 player in the room, who just stood there with their expression unreadable. Their newbie teammates surrounding them either glanced around nervously or smirked back like they were glad their first match had an advantage. 

“Hmm… yeah,” the rep finally spoke up. “We try to keep teams balanced the best we can… Buuuut sometimes it’s first come, first serve, so we just fill in empty slots where we can.” 

“What do you mean?” Brandon stared back, confused. “How are we—”

“Just do your best and have fun!" 

The rep gave him a thumbs up and went back to explaining the basics. The level 20 player looked at Brandon and shrugged before turning around to face their own teammates, possibly giving them actually useful secret advice so they can fuck them up even more. 

“Well this sucks,” the other team's orange player said nonchalantly. 

Brandon stood there with an eyebrow raised and mouth agape as the rep continued to yap and everyone in the room just shrugged the unfairness of the entire situation.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” He growled. “THAT DIDN’T EXPLAIN ANY—” 

Sam smacked him on the shoulder, making him stumble. “Stop crying.” 

“I’m not crying. I’m just— Eugh.” Brandon pointed at her. “You’re in this shit too. You’re also gonna get fucked.”

“Okay yeah it sucks, but I’m not, like, gonna be a little bitch about it like you.” She stifled a laugh. “You’re just a little bitch afraid of getting splatted.”

Brandon rolled his eyes. “You literally never take a fucking break from insulting me, y’know? It’s really starting to piss me—” 

He stopped mid sentence. It just occurred to him that he had never been splatted before. Ever. In his entire life. 

Sure, he had thought about splatting other people, since that was one of the tiny things he could actually understand the appeal of for the entire concept of inksports. Yet for some reason, the idea of it happening to him had never actually crossed his mind at this moment.

Brandon never fell into water by accident as a kid, which was usually the number one cause of splatting outside of inksports. Probably because his mom had threatened to beat his ass if he even thought about playing near water, because she didn’t want to pay the tiny fee after respawning in one of the dingy public respawn kettles in the city. 

Inklings usually avoided getting splatted in general outside of inksports. It was messy, inconvenient and kind of embarrassing. Just a weird part of their biology. Accidents did happen, though. Especially since water is everywhere, and the occasional violent and illegal unregulated ink battle happens every now and then. 

“It doesn't hurt,” Sam reassured, noticing the genuinely nervous expression on Brandon’s face,

He looked back at her. “Really?” 

“... Actually I dunno. Can't remember. It happened when I was really little… I fell into a fountain.” 

“Uh huh…” Brandon looked away, annoyed. 

Sam suddenly raised her hand to get the reps attention. 

“Hey!” She yelled.

The rep glared back, raising an eyebrow and expecting more complaining. 

“So like…” Sam hesitated. “Does getting splatted hurt?” 

“Yes!” The rep answered a little too quickly. “It's excruciatingly painful. Especially the first time. You literally explode into a burst of enemy ink.” 

Some of the newbies in the room glanced nervously at each other. 

“But don't worry— you'll respawn safely.”

The room murmured in uneasy reassurance.

“Well, there you go,” Sam mumbled to herself. “Shit’s gonna hurt.”

She looked back at Brandon, who stood frozen in place. He couldn't help but feel any other emotion but completely fucked. 

“It'll be fiiine,” Sam said, hitting him in the arm. “Just think about the G we’re gonna get even if we do lose.”

“I know,” Brandon groaned, glaring back at the blue team. “Still… this is just... auuughh. I can't believe we're stuck with all the newbies and they get the fucking pro on their team. So fucking cruel. Literally. Un-fucking-believable. You can't just let someone much stronger take advantage of those who are obviously weaker. This system is fucking ASS. It's completely fucking broken! How do these cocksuckers expect us to have any kind of fun when we're just gonna be cannon fodder for—”

“Dude, shut the fuck up,” Sam cut off his rambling. “We’re about to start!” 

Brandon looked up at the timer.

One minute left. 

The two teams made their way out of the lockers and onto the battlefield. 

-

3… 2… 1…

GO!

The orange team leaped off the respawn kettle, Splattershot Jrs blazing. Sam bolted forward without a second thought, cackling maniacally and firing ink across the battlefield. Around her, teammates scattered in different directions, claiming as much turf as they could.

Brandon, however, just stood there for a second, watching everyone disappear towards the center. He took a deep breath, shifted into squid form and dove headfirst into the pool of freshly laid orange ink. He surged forward, gliding effortlessly across the battlefield from under the ink until he quickly spotted an open stretch ahead. He leaped out, shifting back into inkling form the moment his feet hit the pavement.

The world around him snapped into focus as the muffled quiet from underneath the ink was instantly replaced with the distant sound of rapid inkfire. It was overwhelming for half a second, but he blinked and shook his head. He pressed down on the trigger of his Splattershot Jr and fired away. Bright splotches of orange ink sprayed out in front of him as he moved, covering every inch of un-inked concrete in his path. Including the walls, since he was one hundred percent sure inking those definitely counted for something. 

“This is… kinda satisfying,” he mumbled to himself, watching everything turn orange right in front of him. 

There was a rhythm to the way his shots fired and how he stepped on the inked concrete. It was very satisfying, as well as rhythmic. He nearly zoned out, the way he was sliding and twisting around the ink. As he was practically dancing across the pavement, he started beatboxing to himself.

“Pssh-splat-pssh-splat-t-t-tat.”

He was thankful no one could hear him. 

“Sp-sp-splat-tat-tat-ta…”

Then, he just started to scat like he headlined a jazz club in 1936. 

"Splitty splatta-pa-dop…dop dap bada bop…"

He was extremely thankful no one could hear him. 

“Splatta-tatta-ta, da-ba-dop, splatta-tatta…god FUCKING DAMN IT this shit is BORING.” 

Brandon nearly threw down his Splattershot Jr, already over the repetition. He mumbled bitterly to himself and leaned against a wall. Inksports officially lost the tiny bit of appeal it had going for it. 

As he glanced around, he didn’t see any of his other teammates, or even the enemy team. He was starting to question how splatting was even possible at all, since the battlefield was huge, and everyone was so spread out from each other. He wondered if he could just pull out his phone and stand around until the match ended. 

Fwoooosh!

The sudden sound of ink flying by way too close to his ear jolted him back to reality, making him duck down in fear. 

Carefully, he stood up and slowly peeked around the corner of the wall. His heart raced faster, expecting to spot that level 20 guy with the paint roller. But instead, he saw two newbie players, one orange and one blue, trying to aim their Splattershot Jrs at each other. 

Every single one of their shots missed.

Brandon relaxed slightly as he watched, impressed by the incompetence. The dueling squids finally managed to splat each other simultaneously, leaving behind an explosion of ink in both colors. 

“Wow,” Brandon said under his breath. He snickered and shook his head. “Dumb fucks.”

Just as he was about to take a step forward, a wave of blue ink suddenly crashed down in front of him. He slowly looked up, mouth agape in shock. His heart instantly sank into his stomach.

Standing on top of the wall above him, to his horror, was the level 20 player, silhouetted against the sky like a final boss battle. For a moment, neither of them moved as they stared right at each other.  They drew back their paint roller, lifting it high above their head. 

“Oh SHIT.”

Brandon’s instincts instantly kicked in. He backed away, threw up his arms and dropped his weapon in surrender. 

"I'M NEW!” he blurted out, voice cracking.

The player paused for a moment, their expression completely unreadable. Without saying a word, they shrugged nonchalantly, leaped down from the wall and rolled away towards their side of the battlefield, leaving a blue trail of ink behind them. 

Brandon remained frozen before letting out a shaky breath of relief. He snatched up his Splattershot Jr off the ground, heart still pounding. But as relief settled, a different feeling crept in.

“Oh, fuck you..” he growled to himself.

He realized how patronizing their act of mercy was. The way they spared him so casually, like he wasn’t even a threat at all started to piss him off more than anything. He watched them roll away into the distance without a care, completely unbothered, and unguarded….

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in Brandon's head.

He dove back down into the ink, following the roller from behind as sneakily as he could. He carefully and quietly leaped between untouched patches of orange that had already been laid down by teammates earlier. He finally sprang out from under the ink, rapidly tapping on the trigger of his Splattershot Jr.

“GOTCHA, MOTHERFUCKER!”

Orange ink splattered out, but his aim was so off that only a few stray splotches of droplets actually hit his target, while the rest sprayed onto the pavement around them. He didn’t even get a fraction of a second to fix his aim. The instant he jumped out from the ink, the player had already turned around with their weapon drawn.

Brandon’s heart sank so deep it felt as if it flipped upside down and jumped into his ass. 

All he could do now was let out the loudest scream of raw, unadulterated fear as the roller came crashing down in an explosion of blue ink. 

SPLAT!

…

…

…

Brandon blinked open his eyes, standing right back at the respawn kettle. After standing completely frozen for five seconds, his body went completely limp and he face-planted forward onto the concrete. He instantly curled into the fetal position, shaking in fear. 

Sam suddenly popped up from the respawn kettle, having gotten splatted moments before as well. 

“That felt… shitty…” She winced, rubbing her forehead. 

“Auughh…” 

Sam looked down, noticing Brandon having an existential meltdown on the ground.

“You good?” She asked, kicking him. “Get up, bitch!” 

Brandon slowly pulled himself to his feet. Genuine tears were streaming down his face. He stared at Sam, and then at his shaky hands.

“What the… what the fuck?” He murmured in disbelief. “I'm… alive?” 

“Yeah, weird, right?" Sam laughed, stretching her arms and taking a quick glance at the scoreboard timer counting down.

“But… I was… they…” Brandon stammered, barely able to comprehend if anything was even real anymore. “I… died?"

“Honestly,” Sam said, “seeing you get fucked by that roller was kinda distracting. Like, bro, I literally laughed so hard I accidentally fell back into someone's inkfire… I'm so fuckin’ dumb.”

“I DIED!?” Brandon continued, nearly hyperventilating. “I FUCKING DIED!” 

The distressed inkling wrapped his arms around himself, his breathing ragged and wheezing. Sam watched, hesitating before saying anything. Honestly, even if she already knew he was super overdramatic, this was just a new level of sad. 

So she took her Splattershot Jr and whacked him right upside the head to snap him out of it. 

“OW!” Brandon yelped, shooting her an angry look. 

“Stop being a little bitch,” Sam said, holding back a laugh. “We still got time left, we got, like, a minute, let's GO!” 

She quickly shifted into squid form, but before diving back in the ink, she hesitated and looked back at Brandon. He still stood there by the respawn kettle, the echoes of his own fear still ringing. She really resisted the urge to call him a coward. 

“Yo…” She said. “Why don't we actually, like, stay close.”

Brandon squinted at her, and then shifted his gaze to the timer. There was still time before the match ended, and he was determined to prove himself on his own. He didn't need anyone's help or pity.

But he also didn't want to say no to her. He took a deep breath and dove back into the ink, following by her side.  

“Maybe we can actually win this thing,” Sam said, slightly muffled under the ink. 

“Yeah,” Brandon mumbled, pretending not to care. 

They both leaped out at the center of the battlefield, shifting back into inkling form and standing back to back like they were on a shitty movie poster. As orange and blue ink splattered all around them, a blue team newbie spotted them.

Brandon tightened his grip on his weapon. 

“Don’t be a pussy,” Sam said, lightly shoving him on the shoulder.

“I’m NOT,” Brandon snapped. 

Sam suddenly disappeared under the ink, abandoning him. He stood in shock for a split second. 

“What the fuck?”

The blue team newbie was now right in front of him, locking their Splattershot Jr on him with their finger on the trigger. Brandon did the exact same. 

Both of them had shit aim. They trapped rapidly at the triggers of their weapons, each missing their shots and dodging every little splotch of ink. Brandon felt there was definitely something wrong about how he was going about this, almost like his brain stopped working when he was afraid of fumbling again. 

“WHY IS THIS THING SO FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE TO—” He paused. “Wait, what the fuck am I doing?” 

Brandon repositioned himself, locked in, pressed down hard on the trigger and shot out a continuous stream of orange ink right at his target like a hose.

SPLAT! 

“YES!” Brandon threw his arms up. It felt just as satisfying as he expected it to.

Before he had another chance to gloat, suddenly, the roller player came out of nowhere, leaping from the ink ready to avenge their fellow teammate. 

“FUCK!” Brandon immediately tensed up, losing all focus.  

He closed his eyes as the roller drew back their weapon, but before it could strike him, it bounced against a protective barrier with a thunk.  

Brandon opened his eyes, finding himself safe inside a bubble-shield thing that felt as if it materialized by shere adrenaline alone. He laughed as he watched the roller hit the barrier again, unable to break it. 

The roller looked down as something tapped their shoe. Whatever it was, it immediately detonated into an explosion of orange. 

SPLAT! 

Sam leaped back from under the ink where the roller once stood, holding up two middle fingers.

“HELL YEAH!” She hollered. “FUCK THAT GUY!” She then noticed Brandon inside the bubble. “Bruh, how'd you do that?” 

“I don't fucking know?” Brandon pressed his hands up against the barrier. “How did you even kill that guy?” 

“Got him with a bomb!” 

“What?” 

“Dude, we got bombs,” Sam said, gesturing at her ink tank. “Use them.” 

“Wh—”

The barrier suddenly disappeared, making Brandon stumble forward. He swiftly got up, pulled his hand behind him and opened a compartment from the lid of his ink tank. He popped it open, and out came a pyramid-shaped looking ink bomb. 

“Oh,” he said. 

He threw it far in front of him, dove into the ink to hide, and watched it suddenly detonate and splat another blue inkling that suddenly came from around the corner.

Poor bastard didn't even see it coming. 

Sam and Brandon stared at each other for a split second before laughing out loud. 
 
This was actually fun. Right as they were going to keep running forward, the whistle blew and their ink tanks locked, rendering their weapons useless. The match was over. 

“That's it?” Brandon looked around, confused. 

“Yep, that's time!” The roller player yelled out as they made their way to the scoreboard. “Time flies when you're having fun!” 

Brandon narrowed his eyes. “TIME FLIES WHEN I’M FUCKING YOUR MOM, YOU STUPID FUCKING FAG—” 

“Dude, relax,” Sam said. “I think we won.”

The two inklings quickly hurried to the scoreboard, joining the rest of the players who had gathered to see the final results. The tension grew as everyone stood still, eyes locked on the numbers as they finalized.

They won. 

The blue team won by a total of 6%. A little victory jingle blasted through the speakers, followed by some disappointed sighs and cheers. 

Brandon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Oh, thank fuck.”

“We actually won?” Sam was in shock. “Damn, I was just joking. I had zero hope.”

The SquidForce representative was standing under the scoreboard, leading everyone out of the battlefield as they returned the ink tanks into the lockers so the next group of players could rotate in. 

“Don’t forget!” The rep yelled out. “You can check your earnings on the SplatNet app!”

Brandon instantly pulled out his phone to check. He earned a grand total of 300G, which was enough for a train ride back home. 

“Wow,” he muttered to himself. “This is… This is way more lucrative than I thought it would be.”

“And remember,” the rep continued, “You can cash out at the SquidForce lobby right under the Inkopolis Tower.”

Brandon quickly turned to Sam. “Shit, I’m gonna cash out now. Fuck it.”

“Huh?” Sam was barely paying attention. She noticed him already starting to walk away.  “Wait, wait, nah, sign up for another one.”

Brandon spun on his heel. “You sign up for another one, I’m gonna cash out.” 

“I’m not gonna be here when you come back.”

He stopped again. “Okay?”

Sam narrowed her eyes at him. He wasn’t walking away yet, but he wasn't exactly making a move to stick around either, like he was genuinely ready to leave. She thought they were on the same wavelength, especially now since they actually won a match. But he was still impossible to understand. She didn’t want to put any more effort into trying to understand what the hell his problem was, but still, for some stupid reason she really didn’t want him to leave.

“Are you serious?” She yelled. 

“...Yeah?” Brandon shrugged. 

Sam hesitated, thinking for just a moment to not say anything that might come off as, well, clingy. 

“You’re gonna be stuck playing with randos,” she continued. “You can’t solo this shit.”

Brandon instantly walked back up to her. “You think I can’t?”

“You were literally pissing and shitting your pants when that roller guy came at you.”

“I was distracting him,” Brandon scoffed. “If it wasn’t for that bubble-thingy, y’know, that thing that I manifested, he would’ve seen your bomb and your ass would've been clapped. So fuck you.” 

Sam tried to hold back a laugh from his wording. “...Dude, I’m literally just trying to say that we work well together. You needed me—”

“No,” Brandon cut her off. “No, I didn’t—” 

“You needed me,” Sam immediately repeated in a louder tone. “And I needed you for the distraction. So…”

Brandon paused. There was a strange, almost reluctant thought in his head that maybe she was right. Working together really did make the experience a lot better, even if it was only for a short time and completely uncoordinated. 

Still, it worked.

“Okay,” he muttered, pulling out his phone again. He hovered his finger over the screen for a moment. “...How the fuck do we sign up for the same match. We just got lucky we were even on the same team with this one.”

“Right, yeah,” Sam said dismissively, hiding a faint smile. “I definitely felt lucky carrying your ass.”

Brandon looked up at her with a completely deadpan expression, and then looked back down at his phone to find the “sign up for the same match together” option without saying another word. 

-

The light of the early morning sun barely filtered through the skylights at Walleye Warehouse. Conveyor belts carrying boxes stretched over the narrow designated battlefield, which sat atop the high mezzanine in the center of the dark, industrial building. 

It wasn’t exactly the most welcoming or ideal place for a turf war, especially for anyone new. Inklings waited below at the ground level, already geared up, all standing quietly by a service elevator to be taken up to the battlefield above.

Hunter Jackson stood alone, as everyone around him was level 25 and up. 

He was standing off to the side from his randomly assigned high level teammates, silently fidgeting with the Splattershot Jr in his hand. He was the only newbie there, and he stood out like a sore thumb with his basic, very unfresh gear. 

But despite that, he was still very excited. 

Finally, after so many countless hours studying everything about inksports, he was only minutes away from playing in his first real turf war match. He took a deep breath and turned to his assigned teammates, who already looked deep in conversation. One part of him didn't want to bother them, but he also knew how important communication was in matches.

He hesitated before stepping forward with his usual enthusiasm, albeit slightly toned down. 

“Hey,” Hunter said nervously. “I, uh, aha. I know I’m just level 1, but, I’ve researched a lot of tactics, and I think if we focus on controlling mid first, we can—”  

“Shut the fuck up,” one of his teammates mumbled, barely glancing at him. 

Hunter wasn’t exactly surprised to be cut off like that, as usual. He nodded, trying to stay casual. 

“Ah. Uh, right, yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be…. annoying. I was just saying that—”

“We get it,” another one said flatly. “It's just fucking turf war. It’s not that serious. Nobody cares.”

Hunter’s grip on his Splattershot Jr. tightened slightly as he nodded again, backing off without saying anything else. His teammates went back to murmuring among themselves, barely even acknowledging him. 

Maybe they were just moody because it was early, but it was more likely they weren’t exactly thrilled to be the team that was stuck with the newbie. He couldn’t make out what they were mumbling about, and every once and a while they’d laugh.

He wasn't sure if it was about him… but he was pretty sure it was about him.

He shook his head, trying not to pay attention to them. He quickly convinced himself that even if they were insulting him, it didn’t matter. They didn’t have to like him or even have to talk to him. He knew how turf war worked, and if he could prove it, then they would respect him. 

This was his chance.