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Agent 4 flicked on the lights to her apartment. She shut the door behind herself as she trudged inside. She collapsed onto the couch, hoping not to stain it with the muck and grime that was on her uniform. It was late at night, and she had just returned from a long shift at Grizzco.
She pulled out her phone–as well as put something from her pocket onto the table–and sent two messages. One was addressed to her roommate, Agent 8; it asked if she was still awake. The second went to Marie. It just said hello. She expected the latter to go unanswered, as had all other similar messages she had sent out over the last week.
It had been a month since the new recruit, Agent 3, had saved the world. One month since Agent 4 nearly helped destroy it. The revelation that her last five years at Grizzco contributed to the most recent disaster the Splatoon had dealt with made her feel worthless. No, less than worthless, for she already knew she was worthless.
Unlike everyone else in the Splatoon, who had famous careers, saved the world, or both, what had she done? Agent 4 saved the Great Zapfish. But the Captain did it first. Agent 4 saved Callie. But Marie had done all the real work in sniping off the hypnoshades and freeing her from mind control through song. Agent 4 was a high ranking employee at Grizzco, even earning employee of the month a few times. Congratulations, she thought to herself, as thanks for your efforts, your boss will bring about Armageddon.
Ever since the incident, Agent 4 had been trying to get a new job, but it wasn’t easy. The truth is no job was going to pay as well as Grizzco, especially at the entry-level she’d be joining in. It didn’t help that she lacked a calling like the others. They all had something they were passionate about. The Squid Sisters and Off the Hook had their music careers. The Captain had the Splatoon. Agent 8 had her job at Ammo Knights, running the location in Inkopolis Square.
What did Agent 4 have? She liked to sing or draw, but neither were really something she could make a career out of. The former was impossible due to her anxiety, and the latter because she just wasn’t good at drawing, no matter what her friends claimed. They were just being nice.
She sometimes played Turf War, but she did the research. In order to pay the bills, she’d have to consistently win multiple ranked matches every day. While the matches themselves were short, the time it took to travel between stages, and to wait for other teams having their turn, meant there was little room for error. There was a reason that, despite how popular Turf War was, so few people did it professionally.
And even if the stars aligned, she’d be making less than she was at Grizzco.
She felt selfish. Selfish that she was putting her desire to have a job with decent pay, a job she didn’t hate, a job she was good at, over the safety of the world. They didn’t even know who was running Grizzco anymore, or what the Golden Eggs were being used for now.
Her phone buzzed. Agent 8 had responded to her message, answering that she was awake, but not at home. She was having dinner with the Captain at a restaurant in Splatsville.
It reminded Agent 4 of yet another way she felt inferior to her friends. She didn’t have anyone she was close to. A friend she spent most of her time with. Just like this evening, her roommate was often with the Captain. The other person she was close to was Marie, but she would never come anywhere close to the bond Marie already had with Callie. She felt selfish about this jealousy. She was already a burden enough to her friends, and here she was wishing to weigh them down even more.
Because she was a burden. A burden to them, a burden to the world. Everyone around her shone so bright, and here she was, wallowing in self-pity. Everyone she knew had saved the world, and she nearly doomed it.
She pulled out her phone again. She tried calling Marie. To talk about what, she didn’t know. She just wanted to talk to someone. About anything. She felt so selfish. Marie didn’t answer, but it was for the better. If she did, Agent 4 probably would’ve just hung up, so as to not waste Marie’s time.
Agent 4 just held her head in her hands. She wished she could cry. It seemed no matter how bad she felt, nothing would ever come out. She couldn’t even remember the last time she actually shed a tear. She could certainly remember several times she wished she could.
Agent 4 lifted her head and sighed. There was no relief to it. She picked up what she had set on the table–a bottle of sleeping pills.
It would be better if she was gone. She’d quit wasting everyone’s time and energy. But she could never follow through with it.
One evening, she had stared off the edge of Hammerhead Bridge, gazing into the watery void below. But a construction worker had seen her. They asked what she was doing there. She didn’t answer. She just walked away.
Sometimes, when she did dishes, she’d look contemplatively at the knives. It was right there. Just one poke, and then, oblivion. But she feared the pain. She wanted to hurt herself, but she didn’t want to feel it. How selfish, she would often think as she put the knives away.
She finally had the idea one night when she had trouble falling asleep. She considered getting sleeping medicine so she could rest more easily. Then, it hit her. Overdosing on any medicine was bad, potentially fatal. If she overdosed on sleeping medicine, would dying be just like falling asleep? She hoped so. She never looked up the details, for fear that they might scare her away.
She changed out of her heavy Grizzco gear and into some comfortable pajamas; it was just an oversized t-shirt she once bought by accident and a pair of shorts. Then, she set out to write a note. Pen and paper in hand, she wrote the words she had decided on long ago. It read, “I’m sorry. Please don’t mourn me. Please forget about me.” When she thought about what the note should say, she felt she could never articulate everything. She could never answer every question they’d ask. So better to tell them not to ask any questions. Tell them to move on. It would be easier for them.
She felt selfish. She knew, no matter what she wrote, her leaving would hurt them. She was putting her own feelings above theirs. But they would get over it. She knew it would be worth it, so that they would never have to worry about her again. That they’d never again waste time pitying her. They could finally move on if she was gone.
She left the note on the table in the living room. Then, she took the sleeping pills and a glass of water to her room.
There was hesitance before she could pour the bottle into her mouth. Perhaps it was some last-ditch effort survival instinct from her brain. Her body asking one last time for her to turn back. But she already wrote the note. She couldn’t turn back now.
The water helped her wash it all down.
She became scared.
There was a surreal feeling when you know you’re going to die. When you can see your own lifespan coming to a close before you. How long did she have? Minutes? Hours? She didn’t know, but she knew it would be soon. This was her final chapter. The book was about to close.
She lay in bed and wrapped the blankets around herself. It would be just like falling asleep, she told herself. She tried to steady her breathing. Regrets started to claw at the back of her mind. Things she wished she had done. Things she wished she had said. She did as best she could to push them all aside. This was for the best, she told herself.
She lost consciousness just before she would have heard the front door open.
–
Private Messages [4tunate, Agent 2]
■Webmaster■ Agent 2 is now online.
Agent 2 > Hey, sorry about not answering.
Agent 2 > This week has been hectic working on the upcoming concert.
Agent 2 > And when we have any free time, the captain is calling us to Alterna for some last minute checks before we can (finally) move on.
Agent 2 > Did I tell you a second rocket showed up? We’re still trying to figure out what it’s even for.
Agent 2 > By the way, what were you calling about earlier? You never like phone calls, so I was just wondering. Or maybe it was an accident?
Agent 2 > …
Agent 2 > I’ll guess you’re probably asleep right now. Feel free to message me in the morning. I’ll try to answer sooner, okay?
■Webmaster■ Agent 2 is now offline.
■Webmaster■ Agent 2 is now online.
Agent 2 > Respond now.
Agent 2 > Please tell me she’s lying. That your roommate is just playing some sick Octarian prank.
Agent 2 > I’m calling you. Answer the phone so I know you’re okay.
Agent 2 > Tell me you’re okay.
Agent 2 > Please answer.
Agent 2 > 4 I’m begging you, pick up the phone.
Agent 2 > If you’re in on this joke, it isn’t funny.
Agent 2 > Answer.
Agent 2 > Please.
Agent 2 > Please answer me.
Agent 2 > answer
Agent 2 > please
Agent 2 > please answer
■Webmaster■ Agent 2 is now offline.
–
There was pain when she woke up. Agent 4’s throat and stomach hurt, as though they were voicing their protest over what she had just done. There was a smoky taste in her mouth she couldn’t place.
Why was she awake? She took a whole bottle of sleeping pills, how did she survive?
She felt sluggish. She couldn’t even lift her arms.
A part of her hoped this was just the afterlife, and that she hadn’t failed, but she knew this hope was in vain. She could tell she was alive. She just felt… alive.
She opened her eyes. She was in a hospital bed. The room was a sterile white, and she could swear she heard the lights buzzing.
In one corner of the room was Callie and the Captain. They were talking about something in hushed whispers too faint for Agent 4 to hear. Callie’s back was to her, but Agent 4 could at least see the Captain’s face. They usually looked tired, but they looked worse than usual. Agent 4 felt responsible for this, and a pang of guilt hit her.
In the other corner were a few chairs. Agent 8 sat in one of them. Her eyes were fixed on the ground with a faraway look. She was fidgeting with her hands. Next to her sat Marie, asleep. Someone had laid a blanket on her. She must’ve been crying earlier because her makeup had left streaks on her face.
Agent 4 did this to them. She hurt them. All of them. She was trying to free them of her, and instead she only chained them.
For the first time in years, she was finally able to cry. Her ugly sobs jolted Marie awake and drew the attention of the others.
Why? Why couldn’t she do one. Fucking. Thing. Right.