Chapter 1: Sacrifices must be made for the greater good
Chapter Text
Their footsteps echoed eerily throughout the complex, reverberating loudly down the darkened halls. The only source of light was from the faint wisps pooling through the windows, just barely able to pierce the murky depths of the water surrounding them. They didn’t know what was keeping the building from cracking under the pressure, but they were thankful for it. Carefully, the Splatoon treks through the underbelly of Alterna, looking out for threats as they steadily approach the patchy distress signal.
One month ago, they defeated Mr. Grizz and his plans to wipe out marinekind. Two weeks ago, Agent Three went missing. Yesterday, they received an emergency transmission from DJ Octavio.
The message… wasn’t pretty.
According to him, he and Three were trapped somewhere deep within Alterna, slowly being infected by that strange fuzzy ooze. He’d found a way to stave off some of the effects, but he couldn’t cure it completely and they were running out of time. He also warned them to be careful. Fuzzied octolings were roaming the halls, and they tended to get aggressive if they didn’t recognize you. It sounded like he wanted to say more, but he decided against it and told them that if they reached her, he would have more information for them.
Marie found it odd that he said ‘her’ and not ‘them’.
She looks down at the tracker in her hands, keeping an eye on the faint ping at the edge of the screen. She was the one leading the charge, Captain by her side armed and ready. Callie and Four were just behind them, and Eight was taking up the rear, pausing from time to time to set up another signal booster. At their base camp back in the canyon, they had a large transceiver hooked up to both a portable generator and Alterna’s main systems, giving them a stable means of communication with the outside world. Cap’n Cuttlefish was keeping an eye on things up there, and in the event that something goes wrong, he would radio their allies for backup. It also had the added bonus of keeping him out of danger.
Everything was quiet. The slow drip of water echoed from somewhere in the distance. Their shoes clicked against the ground, tension rising with each footstep. Any noise they made was magnified by the dead air, dark and foreboding.
Something shifts, scuttles, when they pass by an open hallway.
Instantly, the Captain points their gun into the darkened space, bracing for attack.
.
.
.
Nothing happens.
Slowly, they pull back, keeping an eye on the entrance as they all resume on their path. Not even five minutes later, they hear the sound again, seemingly from all around them.
“Something's following us. Marie, how close are we?” the Captain signs onehandedly, keeping their hero shot at the ready.
“Not too far, but the signal’s faint so it's hard to tell.”
Four jumps as a small clink sounds off to her right, hissing fearfully, “I hate this…”
“Me too…” Callie whispers, white knuckling her roller.
But again, the halls were quiet, completely deserted aside from them.
.
.
.
It’s only when a screw falls from the ceiling does anyone deign to look up.
Crouched among the pipes and ventilation above them was a dark figure, eyes reflecting in the low lighting as a tail flicked out from behind them. As soon as they spot the attention on them, they cower and scuttle away, disappearing behind the mess of machinery scattered this way and that. No one gets a good look at them, but they could tell that something was wrong.
A chill runs over the group.
“Was that…” Four breathes.
“A fuzzified octarian?” Marie finishes, “...Most likely.”
“At least they’re not attacking us?” Callie mumbles nervously.
“That’s what’s worrying me…” Marie grumbles, turning back to her tracker.
They were getting close, but the disquieting atmosphere was getting to all of them. Not to mention the fact that they were starting to hear more and more sounds of movement, along with the occasional smudge of fuzzy ooze in the shape of hand and footprints. Slowly, the fuzzied octarians tailing them start to get bolder, creeping closer and closer as they observe the Splatoon’s progress.
A tentacle here. A flash of a tail there. When one octarian vanished, another appeared, almost seeming to circle them. They no longer looked like people, more akin to the ancient human concept of a “furry”. Muzzles, tails, digitigrade paws and sharp, separated teeth. Their fur patterns weren’t consistent, and neither were their colours. Browns, reds, oranges, blacks. They had many different shades and sizes, but one thing was clear. They moved in a pack, and they were on the hunt.
In one quick motion, one of them lunges forwards and aims a swipe at Eight, missing him by inches and causing him to jolt back. He retaliates by firing a few shots at them, and luckily it causes them to back off with a growl.
“They’re completely feral…” he mutters quietly, voice trembling with emotion.
Unfortunately, the distance doesn’t last for long, and they close in again, intermittently lashing out at the group. Given no other choice, they defend themselves promptly, hitting the few who dared to attack with ink, all the while still trying to move forward. It wasn’t easy however. The circle grows tighter, bunching them in and making movement difficult.
The Captain and Marie share a look.
“We need to get out of here,” Marie states in their stead, “We’re not too far from the DJ’s signal. If we all aim our attacks in my direction, we can break a hole in their circle and escape.”
She gets a scattered burst of acknowledgment.
“On three, ready? One, two, three!”
The four of them release a wave of ink at the octarians, causing them to scatter to avoid being hit. Before the ink even touches the ground, they all start running in that direction, bolting away from the fuzzied troops as fast as they could. It isn’t long before they’re being chased down, claws scrabbling against tile as frustrated growls reverberate through the air.
Through one door, out the other. Down the hall and take a right. All while the howls of frenzied octolings echoed down the corridors, gaining on them.
Dashing into a room filled with crates, the Splatoon slides to a stop before a large metal door, keypad beside it glowing red and locked. The signal was coming from beyond the door, but they were still currently trapped if they couldn’t get it open in time. While Marie tries to quickly hack the lock, the others turn around to fend off their pursuers, waiting with bated breath. But as the infected octolings come into view, something… strange, happens.
The first one’s eyes go wide, and they slide to a stop, just barely entering the room only to immediately turn tail and run. The others follow suit much more successfully, hovering around the precipice as they all gaze at the agents with clear uncertainty. Something about the room caused them to halt in their tracks, but no one had any inclination as to what that something was.
At least it gave them enough time to open the door.
The lock turns green, and all of them step inside, closing the door behind them. They take a moment to catch their breath in this new wing of the facility.
“What… Was that?” Four wheezes, “Why did they stop?”
“Maybe something about this place creeps them out?” Callie suggests.
“Or maybe there’s something more dangerous than them over here,” Eight muses lowly.
This sends a shiver through all of them, and they decide not to prolong that train of thought.
“W– Well! Anyways. Now that that’s over, we’re clear to find Agent Three right?” Callie laughs nervously, rubbing her arm.
Her cousin nods, albeit slowly, “...Right. This way.”
She leads them down the hall, turning a corner before stopping in front of an unassuming door.
“...Is this it?” Four mumbles confusedly, “I thought Three would be trapped somewhere more… trap-like, than this.”
“The emergency signal from her communicator is coming from behind this door, so it has to be,” Marie shrugs, “Callie. Did you bring your lock picks?”
“Yeah, lemme just...”
Before she has a chance to move, the click of a lock rings out, followed by the slow creak of the door opening. Peeking out from inside the room was a small, fuzzy figure, purple eyes staring at them with full clarity.
“Agent Three!”
The five of them pour into the room, overjoyed to see their missing agent once again. She startles a bit from the attention, fur puffing up in waves, but soon enough she relaxes and gently shuts the door, locking it once again.
“Oh my goodness! We’re so glad that you’re– O…kay…” Callie squeals, slowly trailing off as they finally get a good look at her.
She was certainly fuzzy, that’s for sure. Short brown fur with dark spots grew all over her body, and whiskers sprouted from her upper lip. She did not have a tail unlike the other octolings they encountered, and her body wasn’t contorted out of shape like theirs. Her eyes were also normal, sclera white and untainted by the fuzzy ooze.
“...Are you, okay?”
Three remains quiet, turning to the computer at the other side of the room. Now that the rush of adrenaline was over, the Splatoon finally takes notice of their surroundings. At the opposite side of the room was a desk with a huge monitor, connected to a massive server bank and smaller main computer. To the left was another door, a hand drawn map of the facility, and a few large crates with some supplies on top like bottled water and a med kit. The right side of the room had a few lockers and more crates, but other than that it was fairly sparse. While they were all busy looking around, Three crosses the room and wakes up the computer by wiggling the mouse, drawing everyone’s attention. She then double clicks a file on the desktop, and it full screens, playing automatically.
“You all must be… very confused right now.”
“DJ!?”
The Splatoon crowds around the desk in shock, staring at the video before them. Sitting in the chair in front of the desk was a tall, fuzzied octoling wearing traditional clothing. His tentacles went past his shoulders, covered in coarse, dark fur that curled around his neck like a mane. There were markings on his face beneath his eyes, reminiscent of the deep purple eye bags he always sports, and a long tail with a tufted end flicks out from behind him as he speaks, voice coming out more like a growl through his muzzle.
“I’ll try to keep this short. I came here trying to find a cure for my Octarians, and your agent came here looking for scrap to sell so she could afford to eat. I got infected during my research and ran into the kid later. I tried to get her to leave but she wouldn’t, and she got infected shortly afterward.”
He gives a sigh, expression downcast and exhausted.
“There are five stages. The first is rapid fur growth, it spreads all across the body in a matter of minutes, eventually settling down into a more manageable state. It’s not painful, though it is damn itchy…” he grumbles, scratching at his neck.
“The second is ink acidity. You lose the ability to shift between forms or become malleable at all as the ooze converts your ink into more of itself. This takes a few days to fully finish, and it burns the whole way.”
“The third is the most painful. Once your ink has fully converted into the ooze, it starts to create a skeletal structure starting from your beak, warping it in the process. I suspect it would incapacitate most,” he shrugs, “It drastically shifts your form and makes it difficult to walk on two legs. This is also the point where the tail and… everything else comes in.”
He grows quiet for a long time, staring into the distance. When he comes to, his voice is a little… hazy.
“The fourth is memory loss. Animal instinct takes over and you start to… lose yourself. It’s slow, gradual. But bit by bit, time starts to fade, and you find yourself in places you don’t remember going.”
His eyes had a hollow look to them, and his shoulders were slumped.
“I suspect stage five is full transformation, losing your mind completely as you finally succumb to the infection entirely, no more than a wild animal…”
He clears his throat, shaking off the air of despondency, “There is a way to stave off the effects, however. If you inject the liquid from inside a power egg into the inkstream, it’ll eat away at the fuzzy ooze and return it to regular ink. I suspect that a golden egg will be able to reverse the changes entirely, but I’ve been unable to locate any so far and my time is quickly running out.”
He sighs and rubs a hand– paw? –across his face, blinking tiredly a few times, “...I recorded all of my research here on this computer, but it’s all in octarian. Sorry about that.”
He looks to the side, mumbling to himself near inaudibly. The only words anyone can catch are ‘anything else’. After a long moment, he perks up a bit and turns back to the screen, “I could only do so much to boost the frequency of Sumire’s communicator, so I don’t know how long it’ll take or even if it’ll reach you, but if you do find yourselves here listening to this, can you do me a favor?”
He looks into the camera for the first time, almost pleading, “Help my octarians. They didn’t do anything wrong. They’re hurt and scared and they don’t know what’s going on, so please, try not to hold it against them. If you can manage to contact the royal kettle and give them my access code, request to speak to Commander Kai and she’ll hear you out.”
He stills after this brief moment of energy, eyes going glassy. He almost seems to… slump a bit, head tilted to the side as his tail swishes lazily. It takes a concerning amount of time for him to snap out of it, and even then, he was still clearly a bit dazed.
“I… Think that’s it for me,” he drones, “I need to get out of here while she’s still asleep.”
He reaches over to stop the recording, but before he does, he mutters one last thing to the camera, “...Don’t be too harsh on her. She stayed down here because she was worried about me, so it’s my fault she’s in this situation. I’ve bought her as much time as I can. I only hope it’ll be enough.”
The video ends, leaving everyone in the room reeling. Three swivels around in the office chair, turning to the others.
“There’s more,” she mumbles in octarian, staring mostly at Eight, “I don’t know what he said in the video, but that was made a few days ago, and he disappeared right after. I went looking for him, but I couldn’t find him...”
There were tears in her eyes, and her voice was watery. She sniffles and wipes them away, trying to remain composed, “Did I do something wrong? Is that why he left me?”
“No! No. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Eight jumps to reassure her, “He was just trying to protect you, and now we’re here to take over for him. Everything will be okay.”
She still seemed a bit upset, but she nods, kicking her legs quietly in the tall chair.
“We need to establish contact with this Commander Kai and get this place on lock down,” Marie states firmly, “Eight. Can you translate for us?”
He nods, gingerly swapping places with Three, “Yes. I’ll try to stick to what’s important.”
Looking over the desktop, he opens up a folder right next to the video they just watched. Inside were many more recordings and a few pdf’s, “Judging by the dates on these videos, the DJ must have come back here shortly after Mr. Grizz was defeated.”
“Alone? All the way down here?”
The octoling just shrugs, pressing play on the first video.
14022-09-13.mkv
DJ Octavio sits at the desk chair, unfuzzied but no less tired, “The date is September thirteenth, fourteen thousand and twenty two.” –he sighs and rubs his forehead– “There’s not really a point to this recording. Habit, I suppose. But I need to talk out what the shell I’m seeing here, if only to myself.”
“Everyone I’ve come across is covered in that ‘fur’ and completely out of it. I’ve surmised it’s some type of infection caused by what the Squidbeak Splatoon call ‘fuzzy ooze’. I’ve avoided touching the stuff so far, and I seem to be fine, so it doesn’t seem to be airborne. I recall that during the fight up in space, that kid gave golden eggs to their little salmonid friend and it somehow managed to eat the ooze without any adverse effects. There might be some sort of component in the golden eggs that neutralizes the ooze, so that’s one possibility to consider.”
He places a hand on his chin, looking down at the table in thought, “…Curiously, while I have come across some fully infected individuals, they haven't exactly attacked me. Well– I mean– Technically they have, but the moment they hear my voice they stop, even if they don’t understand the words. Perhaps even in their compromised state, they still recognize me as their leader. Whatever the case, it’s kept me safe enough without the octobot so far.”
With a groan, he looks to the side, frown somehow deepening, “I should probably head back to the canyon, but I want to do one last sweep down here to make sure I’m not missing anything. Kai is going to have my head for sneaking off again, but hopefully the urgency of this information will be enough to distract her wrath. I would just send a message to her with all of the attachments, but the signal down here sucks. I’d need a dedicated transceiver to punch through the layers of sediment, and unfortunately that’s one of the things I didn’t fix during that slapdash repair job on the octobot…”
With one final sigh, he gets out of the chair and shuts off the recording.
~~~~~
14022-09-14.mkv
“There have been complications.”
Octavio was now freshly fuzzied, and pissed about it.
“I hit my head on a low hanging pipe like a dumb ass and apparently that was enough to knock it loose, dumping a whole bunch of that crap on me,” he growls, “I had no time to react and that stuff works fast.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, he takes a deep breath, continuing on irritably, “One thing of note from this experience, however, is that while I am covered in fur, I feel exactly the same as I did before this happened. This leads me to believe there are steps in the transformation process. The first is, clearly, the rapid fur growth. More observation is needed to figure out the rest, but that’s a minor task in favor of trying to find a way to cure this, and fast. I can't go back to the canyon like this, I can’t call for help, and I can’t leave my people behind.”
He opens his eyes, and they were hollow, “I’m running on borrowed time. But then again, I always am. What makes this any different?”
~~~~~
14022-09-19.mkv
The room had changed. Crates lined the walls where there once was empty space, a few of them cracked open but unviewable to the static camera. On the desk was a med kit, dusty and yet untouched. The DJ stares at it for a moment before speaking.
“It’s become harder and harder to shift back into swim form,” he drones, “Every time I try, it feels like my ink is burning. I thought that was just another annoyance I had to deal with, but letting myself become malleable enough to collect a few drops of ink quickly proved me wrong.”
With a groan, he crosses his arms and looks away from the med kit, expression troubled, “It had that same sheen to it that the fuzzy ooze does, rainbow and sickly. During my expeditions, I’ve been able to amass quite a stock of power eggs, so I cracked one open and let the liquid inside mix with the ink to see if it would have any effect, and it did. The yolk ate away at the sheen turning it back into what looked like normal ink. A test against skin only alleviated the itching sensation, and while ingestion did suppress the burning sensation for a time, it quickly faded and became useless. I suspect that the only way for the power eggs to have any efficacy is for them to be directly injected into the bloodstream, or even better, the ink layer.”
He closes his eyes, muttering almost inaudibly, “I have the tools. This needs to be tested. I just need to pick. Up. The needle.”
A glare is cast down at the box on the desk, fingers digging into his arms. After a deep breath, he lets go, left hand reaching for the lid–
And then a scream rings out.
Octavio startles, kicking away from the desk as his fur stands on end. He whips around to face the door, slamming a hand on the keyboard in the process.
All goes dark.
.
.
.
And then, light.
Visuals come back onto the sight of the med kit being picked up mid-motion, like the unpause button was accidentally pressed in the haste. The chair was pushed to the side, giving clear view of Three sitting on a large crate, pant leg torn as she quietly cries. She was a bit banged up, but she wasn’t fuzzy, mostly just scared and confused.
Octavio crouches down with the med kit and tends to the cut on her leg, giving her a stern look, “Why the shell are you down here all alone? Is the Splatoon so hard up that they can’t spare one agent to accompany you?”
“I’m not on a mission,” Three sniffles, “They don’t know I’m here.”
The fuzzied octoling pauses, glancing up at her, “Then why are you here?”
She fidgets in place, curling a tentacle around her finger, “This place has a lot of valuable scrap, I can’t afford to let anyone else get to it. If I just work hard enough I might be able to sell enough so I can go home.”
“…Is Splatsville not your home?”
She shakes her head, “Octo Canyon is.”
The DJ looked surprised, but before he has the chance to open his mouth she continues, “I didn’t mean to leave! I fell asleep at work and got shipped out with a delivery, but the convoy got hit by a waterspout over the ocean and it crashed in the Splatlands. I’ve been working really hard to get back home but… it’s not very easy…”
An expression of concern crosses Octavio’s face, only to be brushed off as he resumes bandaging her leg, “After you’ve rested for a bit, I’m taking you back to the surface.”
“What! No!” she protests, nearly kicking him in the face on accident, “I can’t leave you down here all alone! You’ve been fuzzied!”
“And I’m working on fixing it,” he counters, “You need to get out of here while you’re still safe.”
“But I can help! Bud can eat the fuzzballs which will clear up the ooze!”
“NO,” Octavio barks, shutting her down, “I’m not letting a child wander around down here on her own. You will go back to the surface before you get yourself into trouble.”
“And I’m not letting an old man wander around down here on his own,” she parrots, “You’re the one who’s in trouble, so let me help!”
He growls in exasperation, “I can handle it on my own.”
“But it’s hard,” she frowns, staring right into his eyes, “It’s hard doing everything on your own. I’ve been alone my whole life and it’s only when I met Bud and the others did things get a little easier. Don’t you want it to be easier? Aren’t you tired?”
He freezes for a long moment.
“…You’re very stubborn,” he sighs.
“Does that mean you’ll let me help?”
“On one condition,” he stresses, “You have to listen to me. No wandering off. No jumping into things. And no taking needless risks. Got it?”
“Got it.”
And with that, he closes the med kit and stands up, returning it to the desk.
The recording hits the time limit and shuts off seconds after.
~~~~~
14022-09-21.mkv
The lights in the room were off, making the only source of illumination the computer. The DJ was sitting in the chair, looking to the side with a dismayed expression on his face.
“The kid got infected,” he drones, voice barely more than a whisper, “It was an accident. It wasn’t her fault, but I… I yelled at her.”
He sighs, shoulders drooping, “I was angry at myself more than anything, for letting it happen, but still I… I made her cry. She’s sleeping right now, but she hasn’t said a word since then.”
He buries his face in his hands, leaning against the table, “Cod– This is why I don’t let people get close to me. Nothing good ever comes out of it. All I do is hurt people. I couldn’t keep my subjects happy. I couldn’t keep her safe. I couldn’t keep him from leav–”
He cuts himself off, taking a shaky breath.
“…I have to test the power egg theory,” he mumbles numbly, “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
He keeps a hand over his eyes as he stops the recording.
~~~~~
14022-09-23.mkv
“Kid, are you sure about this.”
“We have to test it, don’t we? And last time you passed out, so I have to do it.”
Three was sitting in the office chair, Bud beside her with the needle while Octavio hovered behind them worriedly.
“I just got a little lightheaded,” he grumbles, glancing away.
“It’s okay to be scared of needles.”
“I’m not scared!” he snaps, a little too quickly.
“Your hands are shaking.”
Octavio freezes and then crosses his arms, fully turning away with palpable irritation. Bud tilts his head at the octoling, and then says something in Salmonish, which Octavio shoots back to in the same language. He then skulks over to the other side of the room and sits down on top of on one of the smaller crates with a huff. The salmonid says something else to Three, who nods and holds her arm out. Carefully, the small fish injects the power egg solution into her veins, and then they wait. There is no physical change, but her shoulders lose a bit of tension after a few minutes.
“It’s working!” Three chirps happily, “The burning is going away.”
“That’s a relief,” Octavio groans, thunking his head against the wall, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
He gets up off the crate, making his way towards the desk once more, “Do you feel anything else?”
“Not really. The fur is still itchy.”
He grumbles in annoyance, placing a hand on his chin in that signature cross armed pose, “…We might need to increase the dosage then. And if that fails, locate some golden eggs instead.”
“There has to be some down here somewhere. Mr. Grizz was using them to power up his rocket after all,” she hums, “Maybe we should go on another expedition.”
“Tomorrow. You need to rest,” he huffs.
“Only if you do too.”
He rolls his eyes.
~~~~~
14022-09-26.mkv
The DJ writes something on a makeshift map taped to the wall, hands shaking. He looked much less octoling now and more… lion, but not as much as the first video. More like a… halfway point. “…That was a bust… and so was that path… Maybe to the west this time?” he mutters under his breath, marking off points here and there.
The closet opens, Three padding out blearily, “…Are you going out again?”
“Yes. We need those golden eggs.”
“But you're hurting,” she protests, coming up to him, “And you're not resting. Please. Go to bed. We can go out again in the morning.”
“No. You need to stay here,” he counters, not even looking at her, “We don't know if repeat exposure will worsen your symptoms or not. It's safer for you to remain here while I go out looking for the golden eggs.”
“But what about you!” she whines, grabbing onto his arm tightly, “I've seen you wincing when you move, and you can't take the power eggs due to your phobia. You got infected way before me, and you're pushing yourself too hard! You need to take a break.”
“I need to keep you safe,” he hisses, glaring down at her, “It doesn't matter what happens to me. If I can save at least one of my subjects from this, then that’s what I'll do."
“But–”
“No buts. You promised you would listen to me, and I'm telling you to stay here,” he growls with finality.
She frowns, looking crushed, “Okay…”
He softens a bit, tentatively patting her tentacles, “…Go back to sleep, Sumire. I’ll fix this. Just trust me.”
With a small nod, she heads back to the closet, closing the door softly behind her. Octavio rubs a hand across his face, that tremble in his hands building into a full body shake. Biting down a whimper of pain, he grabs a bag of supplies and heads off.
~~~~~
14022-09-28.mkv
“I believe I’ve finished the third stage of the process.”
Octavio sits in the office chair, feline ears flattened with frustration. His tail swishes behind him, barely visible in the darkness.
“The… agony has faded away, and I look like… this. Sumire seems to still be at the beginning of stage two thanks to the injections. It does give me some hope for her recovery but…” –he glances to the side– “…I’ve been noticing that my mind has been… slipping, lately. Losing track of time. And not like it usually happens. There is no distance from myself, no foggy recollections or dulling of the senses. One moment I’m here… the next I’m not. It’s… concerning, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
For the first time, there was fear in his eyes.
“I’ve taken Sumire’s communicator and been using the computer parts I’ve been scavenging from my excursions, plus my tablet, to boot the signal and try to contact the emergency lines, though it’s been rather difficult. Paws aren’t exactly the most dexterous appendages, but I’ve been managing,” he sighs, flexing his fingers a bit, “The frequency is patchy at best, static more often than not. I’m not even sure if anyone is listening, to be honest, but it’s her only shot. I just need to keep trying.”
He looks over to the closet, expression falling, “…I should try the lower levels next. Break past that rubble blocking the staircase now that I don’t feel like I’m on fire all the time.”
His voice dips lower and lower, almost to a whisper, “…Please let this work. I can’t fail them again.”
~~~~~
14022-10-02.mkv
“Is this working?”
Three, or rather, Sumire, sits at the desk like Octavio usually does, the older octoling nowhere in sight.
“I think it is. Ok so! Um,” –she sits up straighter in the chair, trying to look professional– “I’m doing the wrap up for today because Lord Takowasa… can’t.”
She glances over to the closet, “…He’s been acting kind of weird lately. Spacing out a lot and getting kind of clingy? He’s not aggressive like the other infected octarians, but he wont let me leave the safe room when the animal brain takes over.”
“Maybe he sees me as his cub?” she shrugs, turning back to the camera, “I dunno, but he’s not dangerous. More like… protective.”
The closet door creaks, slowly pushing open. A large, dark shape emerges with a low growl, padding into the light from the monitor on all fours. He bumps into her chair with his snout, chuffing sadly with a huff.
“It’s okay. I’ll go to bed in a bit,” she hums, patting him on the head.
He rumbles a bit and nuzzles into her side, ears flicking.
“See? He’s all lion right now.”
She frowns, ruffling his mane, “…I’m worried that he’s running out of time. He’s been using all of our resources on keeping me safe, going out on expeditions by himself and coming back exhausted. He doesn’t really like to sleep, and I know he’s been skipping out on rations. Him losing to the infection isn’t good but… at least when he’s like this, he rests.”
She sighs, expression falling, “I think this is all I can do for him until help arrives.”
~~~~~
14022-10-05.mkv
Octavio sits in front of the camera once again, head in his arms as he slouches against the desk. His fur was starting to mat, and his sleeves were fraying at the ends, small tears and stains in what was once rather fancy clothing.
He looked tired.
“I’ve been losing track of time more and more lately,” he mutters quietly, ears drooped, “So much so that I can barely even remember what happened these past few days.”
He sighs, gaze drifting to the side, “I’m… not sure how, but the transmitter has been finished, even though I have no recollection of working on it. I don't have time to check it over to make sure I haven't fucked up something during one of those blank spells. I can barely remain lucid enough as it is to record this report.”
“...Report. Who am I kidding?” he scoffs, slumping even more, “No one is going to watch this. I’m just talking to myself like a crazy old man.”
He falls quiet for a long, long time, a haunted look in his eyes.
“...I don't like how familiar this is. Swallowing down the pain, floating in a sea of static as time moves without me. Back then, I at least had him to reel me back in when I was drowning,” the octoling muses sadly, “...I still don't understand why he let me live. Why he didn't just leave me to bleed out like he left me before. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was tactics. Maybe he still…” he trails off, eyes going misty.
It takes him a hot minute to compose himself, wiping away the unshed tears with a stubborn huff, “...I need to contact Octaria, and if that fails, try on the Splatoon’s frequency. Preferably before I become… dangerous. If I can work through this brain fog, then I should be able to get my research in order and set things up to give Sumire the best chances of survival. I only hope that once it's done, I can keep it together long enough to get as far away from her as possible.”
The room was deadly silent.
“...We need to contact this Commander Kai.” Marie states after a few moments, “Eight. Find this access code the DJ was talking about earlier. I’ll get Gramps on the line so we can broaden the transmitter frequencies.”
“On it.”
“Captain. You, Callie, and Four do a sweep of the area and then establish a route out. We’re going to need to get this place on lock down before anyone else comes down here.”
They nod.
“...And the DJ?” Callie prompts.
“Keep an eye out for him, I guess. If you find him, tell us, but don't engage. He's bound to be far more dangerous than the other octolings we’ve encountered so far. We’re going to need more supplies and manpower in order to subdue and contain him.”
“Subdue? He's scared, Marie.”
“And that makes him a threat,” the idol shoots back, “We have no way of predicting what he'll do like this, so the best course of action is to be extremely cautious and get backup. We can't risk any injuries right now, or worse, infections.”
Callie doesn't seem all too pleased… but she drops it. For now.
“Three. Go with them. Take that map and be their guide.”
The girl nods after a brief translation from Eight. She still looked rather unhappy, but hopefully this chance to help will cheer her up a bit.
“And hurry. I don't know how much time we have to work with.”
The darkness seems to grow deeper as they trek onward. Darker. Omnipresent, even. Their only solace was the map Three held, guiding them dutifully towards an elevator that the DJ circled in red. A note indicated that there was a set of stairs as well, but it was blocked off by rubble that he couldn't remove on his own. If the integrity of the stairwell was intact, they should be able to clear out the blockage and have a direct path up to the surface. Or at least, they hoped so.
Luckily, they haven’t come across any infected octarians so far, but that doesn’t make it any less nerve wracking. Cracked pipes hiss steam, small puddles of fuzzy ooze scattered here and there. Odd noises came from the vents, small scratching sounds and reverberating growls. It was hard to tell if they were being followed or not, but it certainly felt like it.
“I hate this place,” Four grumbles, shivering, “So creepy…”
Callie shares that sentiment with an unnerved whimper. She didn't do well in the dark.
The four of them push open a large metal door, hinges creaking loudly from the strain. It opens up into a rather spacious reception area, with two hallways branching off from each side. The one on the left by the stairwell was completely blocked up, but the one on the right by the reception desk was clear of debris.
The same couldn't be said for the floor, however.
Torn up seating and smashed tables littered the ground, broken shards of pottery and glass gleaming dangerously. Their footsteps crunch loudly as they make their way inside, heading towards the two elevators stationed on the far wall. One of them was intact, while the other was very badly dented, the doors almost caving completely inwards. Callie all but runs towards them, spamming the buttons until the lights inside them flicker on.
"You're not supposed to rush ahead, Cal," Four complains, also rushing ahead.
"I don't want to be here any longer than I have to," the pink idol huffs.
With a soft ding, the cracked floor display above the intact elevator lights up, ever so slowly starting to tick down.
"There we go. Now we just have to clear out that staircase."
Three folds up the map and slips it into her pocket while Four tries her best to peek past the rubble. It was pretty thoroughly blocked, but the doorframe didn't seem to be too badly damaged, so there was a bit of hope that with enough time and some power tools, they'd be able to shore it up and have a second form of egress. They most likely won't be able to clear it out all the way with just their hands, but they could at least try.
Bit by bit, they start tossing aside small rocks, and then medium stones, and then working together to shift large chunks of rubble. Most everything gets tossed into a corner, the bigger pieces placed along the wall in precarious stacks. It was quite a noisy affair, with Four almost cursing up a storm when she pinches her fingers, and it would not go unnoticed.
Stone dust puffs into the air. The Captain sneezes like a clash blaster. Three trips and falls into the single pile of dirt in the room…
…And a shuffling, scraping sound comes from somewhere behind them.
“...Did you guys hear something?” Callie asks, pausing.
“Hear what?”
“I don’t know, it kinda sounded like–”
A low growl rumbles through the air.
“–Movement.”
The four turn, to the darkened side of the room, to the reception desk.
To what was behind it.
A large shapes rises from the shadows, a hulking mass of shaggy, brown fur. It slowly pads out into the light with staggered, loping steps, snuffling and grunting. There were large torn gashes in its fur, revealing sickeningly vibrant wounds in its loose and flabby skin, filled to the brim with fuzzy ooze. Rounded ears. Humped shoulders. Spit dribbling down from a gaping, panting maw. Its beady little eyes locks sights on them, cloudy and unfocused.
Mr. Grizz stands up on his hind legs, nearly brushing the ceiling, and roars.
The Agents yelp in terror, flicking out their weapons. Callie just barely has enough time to raise her roller before Grizz charges, biting down with a sickening crunch on the weapon. It bends and warps beneath his fangs, rendering it not much more than a pile of scrap metal. It does stall him however, granting Four enough time to slip around his side and blast him in the eyes with ink, temporarily blinding him. He lets go with an irritated huff, shaking his head to dispell the ink.
He didn't seem at all cognizant, just enraged.
Three scuttles away from the fight with a frightened chirp as the others surround him, fur standing on end. Out of the four of them, she was the only one who was unarmed.
The Captain strafes to the left, Four to the right, the two of them circling the bear to split up his attention. By the time he regains his sight, Callie had retreated to safe distance, wielding her roller like a bludgeoning weapon. A lunge for Four gets him a barrage of ink into an oozy wound, causing him to howl in pain. He was in a near frenzy now, slashing and snapping his jaws at anything that moved, unable to pick a single target.
Distantly, a rattling thump starts to echo from down the hall, but no one is able to hear it over the sound of Grizz's fury.
Quietly, Three creeps over to the open door, trembling. She watches in mute horror as Grizz suddenly charges, bodily slamming the Captain into the wall. They go completely limp and drop their weapon when he backs up, all of the air squeezed out of them like an accordion. Callie smashes her roller into his side in retaliation, jabbing it deeply into one of those wounds, only to be met with a swift swipe to the chest, scoring a large gash into her hero suit. Four tries her best to buy them time to recover… but he was already on the move, lumbering quickly towards the next closest body.
The thumping grows louder and louder as Three shrieks, scrabbling backwards with pure terror. Grizz lunges for her, razor sharp fangs glistening in the low light as his jaw opens impossibly wide, rearing for her head…
…And then a loud clattering rings out, followed by the swift wind of something leaping over Three to barrel into the bear, scrabbling at his eyes.
Grizz roars in pain, rearing up on his hind legs to try and shake it off, but it holds on stubbornly. It buries its jaw into the scruff of his neck, clinging to his back with a muffled growl as it claws gouges into his shoulders and face. It's only when he stumbles backwards and falls does it let go, scampering away to avoid being crushed.
Large paws tap lightly against the tile, tufted tail swishing slowly. It circles Grizz, baring its fangs with a low, angry growl. It was difficult to tell the colour of its fur due to the discoloured and torn haori it wears, but the shaggy mass of dark brown hair framing its face stands out prominently.
It was a lion. A very familiar looking lion.
Grizz stumbles back onto his feet, oil-like blood dripping from face incessantly. He huffs for air, bellowing with rage as he lunges for the lion, the two of them entering a delicate and deadly dance.
While they're distracted with each other, Four sneaks her way over to the Captain and hoists them onto her back, snatching up their gun in the process. Callie does much the same, practically army crawling over to the hall and leaving her wrecked roller behind. Three is the only one who doesn't move, curled into a tight ball on the ground as she stares at the battle happening mere feet away, tears soaking into her fur.
The lion, DJ, was much faster than Grizz, darting around the room with nimble feints. He's able to get some good swipes here and there, but piercing the bear's thick hide proves to be a challenge. Grizz, while slower, was much stronger than the DJ, smashing the already splintered furniture into smithereens with every failed slash. The two of them seem to be at an impasse… up until the DJ makes a daring leap onto the reception desk and then onto Grizz once more, burying his jaw deep into the bear's shoulder. Grizz was none too happy about this, thrashing around violently in a blind rage.
They stumble around the room, careening into this and that with impudence, up until Grizz finally manages to rid himself of his sharp pest with a sudden slam into those dented elevator doors. They shudder violently, curving in even more, and the DJ drops like a rock, too stunned to react to what happens next.
Grizz slams down on his side with a sickening crunch, following it up with a harsh headbutt to the stomach. Whatever pained sound he makes is muffled by the awful screech of aged metal giving way, sending the two of them careening into the heavily damaged elevator. Grizz hardly seemed to care, much more focused on burying his maw into the lion's mane, trying his best to rip out the man's jugular despite all of the hair in the way. The carriage shudders and rattles, a warning creak emanating loudly from it, but it was already too late.
The teething tracks give way, unable to bear the abuse and weight any longer. One second they were there, the next they were gone, a distant, rumbling crash growing quieter and quieter as time stretches on.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
* KR-SHOOOM*
The four of them look on in horror.
…And then the other elevator dings, doors happily sliding open.
Chapter 2: All the king's horses and all the king's men
Chapter Text
Things were quiet back at the safe room.
While they had managed to set up contact with the Octarian military, they were met with extreme scrutiny. The news of their truce clearly hadn't reached them yet, due to the DJ being stranded shortly after it was declared, so they were on very thin ice. Currently, they were on hold while the trooper moves their plea up the lines. Hopefully, this "Commander Kai" will be willing to have an audience with them despite the impossibility of the situation…
They wait an agonizing ten minutes, until…
"Squidbeak Splatoon. Come in. Do you copy?"
Eight scrambles for the receiver. "Yes. We copy."
"This is Wasabi 03 - Cassidy, speaking. All correspondences for the Commander will be gone through me until further notice. Additionally, all communications will be monitored. Proceed with your inquiry."
Interestingly, they were speaking Inklish.
"Alright, so– This is going to be a bit long, so bear with me," Eight starts, "One month ago, there was an incident in the Splatlands involving the theft of their Great Zapfish, which our former captain tracked to a crater in the Splatlandian desert. Upon recruiting a new Agent, the two of them discovered Octarian soldiers to be patrolling the kettles down there, along with a strange substance they dubbed "Fuzzy Ooze". While he did note that the soldiers were also strangely fuzzy, he assumed the theft was the work of DJ Octavio, which was quickly proven incorrect by the man himself."
"After their fight, all three of them fell into a dome beneath the crater dubbed "Alterna", and got separated. Agent Three proceeded to explore the dome in search of Cap'n Cuttlefish while clearing out the ooze under the guidance of Agents One, Two, and the Captain of the Splatoon. During the climax of these events, they discovered the source of the ooze and zapfish theft to be Mr. Grizz of Grizzco, a literal bear. His plan was to load up all of the fuzzy ooze he created into a rocket, to then spread it across the planet, mutating all of marinekind into mammals to bring them back from extinction. This is what happened to those troops from before. They managed to stop his plan with help from the DJ, and then went their separate ways."
"However, two weeks later we discovered Agent Three to be missing, and went searching for her. Our search turned up fruitless, but two days ago we received a transmission from DJ Octavio. I am unsure if I can send you the recording at this time, but the short of it is that he knew where Agent Three was. They were both in the depths of Alterna, and they were stuck and injured. We then embarked on a rescue mission."
"During our descent, we came across more infected troops, but things were worse. In the beginning, the ooze merely covers them in fur, but in the final stages, it completely warps the body into an animal form, rendering the person nearly unrecognizable. They cannot speak or think clearly, and they tried to attack us as we were progressing. Ink does not seem to hurt them, but it can be used as a deterrent to get them to back off. When we finally managed to get to the signal of the transmission, we found our agent, but no DJ."
"She was infected as well, but in the earliest stage. The two of them had set up shop in a room with a working computer, and the DJ had prepared a video for us to explain what was going on. He had apparently come down here shortly after the defeat of Grizz to try and find a way to bring the troops home, but he got infected. He discovered that power eggs injected into the inkstream could mitigate the effects and slow the infection, but it could not cure it completely. He could not use this knowledge on himself, however, due to what we assume to be a phobia of needles. He surmised that golden eggs could be the key to a cure, but he couldn't find any and his time was quickly running out. He attempted to contact Octaria, but did not have nearly enough signal strength. This is when he decided to contact us, as we were stationed much closer."
"I know it is difficult to believe, but we have multiple pieces of video evidence, which we will send you the entirety of as soon as we are able. Currently, Agents One, Three, Four, and the Captain are establishing a safe route in and out of the building, while myself and Agent Two are looking over the research and requesting your help. We need much more manpower, supplies, and technical knowledge in order to find, contain, and cure everyone who's been infected. Can we count on your assistance?"
"…This is a rather tall tale, Squidbeak. How do we know you're not lying?"
"I could try to relay the audio of the DJ's distress signal by holding the radio up to the speakers, but I'm not sure how well that will work. We have very few resources down here and I fear that if I mess with this communicator he cobbled together, I'm going to break something and we'll loose connection."
"You do understand that I need more proof in order to ensure the validity of your clai–"
"MARIE! MARIE COME IN WE FOUND HIM!"
Said inkling jumps nearly a foot into the air, scrambling for her radio.
"Callie what the shell! There's no need to scream into the receiver like that," Marie grumbles, ears flicking from the harsh noise.
In the background, from the other radio, comes the small sound of "…Callie?"
"But there is, there is!" the idol pants, sounding frantic, "The DJ he– We were at the elevators and–"
"Callie. Slow down. What. Happened."
Callie audibly sniffles, like she was on the verge of tears, "We– We got to the elevators no problem, but when we were trying to clear the rubble from the staircase, Mr. Grizz came out of the shadows and attacked us–"
"He survived the crash?"
"Apparently? He seemed really injured though. Like, no talking, just attacking kinda injured. Our ink only annoyed him, and he was trying to kill us when the DJ came out of nowhere and started mauling him. It gave us enough time to regroup, but Grizz won the fight and it sounded like he injured the DJ pretty badly. The two of them were inside the compromised elevator when it finally broke and plummeted to the bottom of the building, and now we don't know if they're alive or dead. There was nothing we could do, it all happened so fast…"
The room was awfully quiet.
"…Marie?"
"…Get that audio prepared and stay on the line," comes from Eight's radio, "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you," he sighs, the smallest hint of relief in his voice.
Marie steps outside to comfort her cousin, leaving Eight to droop with worry. They needed that backup, and they needed it now.
Things progress in rapid succession once Cass gets through to his boss.
First, a recon squad arrives within a few hours to make copies of those recordings and sends them back to Kai and her scientists. Second, a supplies drop and many willing hands are provided to shore up that stairwell and elevator shaft for the heavy use they're going to need to endure, plus any other repairs that are deemed necessary later on. Third, more soldiers are provided to keep the routes and personnel safe. And fourth, those scientists finally arrive with the Commander herself leading them, setting up shop in adjacent rooms for their cure research to get underway.
Their territory stretched down the entire hallway, soon to be the whole quarter wing once Four and the Captain come back with their scouting party. A few rooms were being cleared of rubble and disinfected so they could act as holding cells for any infected octolings they take into custody; an unfortunate necessity due to how aggressive the ooze makes them. Eight was helping direct troops with Kai, and Three was under observation to see just how much the power egg injections have been slowing her infection thus far. They still needed to locate a source of golden eggs for them to experiment with, but that was being put on hold until the most important task was completed.
Finding the missing Shogun.
Pebbles clatter ominously down cracked stairs, accompanied by clouds of dust kicked up by the steady tromp of steel toed boots. The bright beam of headlamps illuminate their descent down to that fateful bottom floor, with the two idols leading the charge. The closer and closer their destination gets, the stronger and stronger the reek of blood becomes.
It was not a reassuring scent.
As soon as they step out into the basement, they're hit with a wall of abject devastation. It was almost as if an explosion had gone off. Gnarled bits of metal and crumbled concrete lay scattered about in a wide sweep, with massive cracks running through what was left of the walls and into the ceiling. All of it emanating from the point of impact. Cautiously stepping around the rubble, they encroach upon the compromised elevator shaft, weapons drawn.
It was… difficult to tell what was inside of it. The thing lay crumpled like an abandoned accordion, doors jammed and slanted from just how hard it hit the ground. There was still a gap you could pass through to get inside it, but you would have to crawl…
Slowly, Marie kneels down, trying to peer further inside. Tufts of brown fur and scraps of fabric lay caught in multiple places, sticky with dried blood. Even more of it coated the floor, a sickly oil-like sheen on the pool of red. To the left was a large, fluffy shape, impaled in multiple places, including the head. It's jaw was slack, eyes glassy as it stared back at her.
Callie leans over, unable to get a good look, "Marie? What's in there?"
The green idol stands up, dusting off her gloves with an uncomfortable look on her face, "…Grizz. Deader than a doornail."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"And no DJ?" Callie presses.
"No DJ."
One of the soldiers then speaks up from further down the hall, voice slightly echoing, " Ma'am's. We've got paw prints leaving the area."
"…A trail?" Callie perks up.
"Yes Ma'am," they nod, "Blood splatters coming from the left side, with an odd lilted gait in the prints. Most likely limping."
"If he's injured, he'll be hostile," Marie warns, adjusting the strap of her tranq launcher "Stay on your guard."
"You could stand to have a little bit of faith in him, Marie," Callie grumbles, giving her the stink eye.
"I'll have faith when he proves he's not a threat," said cousin shoots back.
Onward they would go, following that scant, glistening trail further into the darkness. It drips and splatters, shining pearls of neon green staining the already grime covered floors. At one point, they come across a much larger smear of blood, like his strength had failed and he had to scrabble back to his feet… But eventually, they come upon the end. It turns into an empty room just as dark and desecrated as the rest of this cod forsaken place. The beams of their lights swirl around, searching… and there he was.
He'd hidden himself under a table in the far corner, laid out on an old, moth bitten rug. Despite the fur coating his body, it still couldn't cover up the multitude of scars marring his form. A few of them were torn open, most notably the large cross shaped one on his left forearm, still bleeding profusely despite the time that had elapsed since the fall. There were even more on his shoulders and flank, jagged scrapes from clawing his way out of that crash, with fur ripped out in large patches. He stirs when the light hits his face, tired eyes slowly cracking open with a confused flick of the ear.
Marie holds out an arm to prevent anyone from getting any closer. "Tranqs at the ready–"
"Marie, wait."
Callie shoves past her, kneeling down with open palms, "Hey… It's okay, we won't hurt you."
"Callie, what are you doing–"
"Everything's gonna be alright… I know you're scared, but it's okay. You can trust us."
The DJ shifts, raising his head and pushing up on his forepaws. He stares her down with a warning rumble, eyes narrowed.
She doesn't flinch, keeping her tone soft and calming, "You remember me, right? It's Callie. Your faaaaaavourite pink pest."
His tail twitches as he leans forwards, cautiously sniffing her hand.
"Callie get away from him."
"We're gonna get you outta here and patch you right up. You've just gotta hold on, okay? We're here to help."
He steps closer with a slight, pained rumble, almost touching…
"CALLIE!"
…And he's met with a tranq dart to the shoulder for the effort.
He rears back with a yelp as Callie is swiftly dragged away from him, back behind a line of raised weapons. She barely has any time to process what happened before another barrage launches at him, further punishing the already injured and terrified man. His warning growls turn into whimpers of fear as the sedatives quickly take effect, causing him to sway, stumble, and fall, all in a matter of seconds. All Callie could do was stare in horror as his consciousness fades.
"Marie, what the fuck!" she barks, whipping her head up to glare at her cousin.
"He was going to attack you!"
"No he wasn't! He was completely calm up until you shot him!"
"He's a wild animal right now, Callie! Your blasé naiveté is going to get you killed!" Marie insists stubbornly.
"At least I have some fucking compassion, unlike you," Callie growls.
Marie glowers at her, expression cold and angry, "I prioritize protecting my family."
"Acting like a control freak over every little thing I do is not protecting," Callie snaps, finally ripping herself out of her cousin's grasp, "I'm a cod damn adult and I can make my own decisions. You want to be in charge and boss everyone around because you believe everything you do is correct 100% of the time? Go ahead. Be my guest. Just leave me out of it and go tell the Commander how you "peacefully" subdued her boss. I'm sure she'll just be thrilled."
Marie's ears flatten, and she opens her mouth for yet another retort… but nothing comes out. She just whirls around and stomps out into the hall, slamming the door behind her. The troops flinch at her quiet anger, but Callie doesn't react in the slightest. She just sits there as he cousin's footsteps fade away, sighing.
"…Can we get that stretcher assembled, please?"
Quietly, the troops nod and set about to do just that, using the task to try and ignore the tension in the room. Callie, meanwhile, carefully approaches the unconscious lion, gently kneeling down at his side. Even while resting, he looked pained.
"…I'm so sorry," she whispers, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. A hand coasts through his mane, shaggy fur all gunked and matted, "…Please. Forgive us."
Everything hurt.
His paws, his teeth, his tail.
Octavio's head felt fuzzy, limbs lying heavy and sluggish. Unresponsive.
Slowly, very slowly, he opens his eyes to a stark white-grey room, the brightness hurting his head even more. He winces and growls, a low rumble in his chest that only serves to bring attention to the pain within. Fear drives him to move, pushing up on his aching paws despite the agony, and he pads forwards, the soft blanket beneath his feet making way for cold tile.
A sniff of the air revealed no new smells, simply an absence, cold and clinical. It scared him, but his brain couldn't recall why. Couldn't make the connections it once could. He circles the room, searching for something, anything, but there was nothing. Just the blanket. Just him. Just the odd object around his neck and the strange bindings on his forearm, itchy and uncomfortable. He bats at the neck thing, rubs it against the walls and corner, but no matter what he does, the thing won't come off. With a pained huff, he lies back down on that small blanket, curling up what he can with a small, scared yet saddened whimper.
What was happening…?
Two octolings stand in an observation room, peering through the one way glass.
"…His status?"
"Stable, though he doesn't like the cone."
"Unsurprising. I wouldn't either."
Some papers rustle, the only other sound aside from a ventilation fan.
"We've been able to stop the bleeding, but he's sustained some broken ribs and other minor fractures. Unfortunately, we can't really do much about them aside from slipping painkillers into his food. Progress on a cure is commencing, but we still need more time and that source of golden eggs. Even once it's complete, though, I hesitate to administer it immediately due to his injuries. It would be safer to wait until he's healed more before trying. The risk of a bad reaction or even death is far too high otherwise."
"I see…" Kai hums, taking it all in. "You are dismissed, Doctor."
The woman bows and leaves the room, door shutting with a solid *click* behind her.
The Commander is quiet for a long moment, staring at her superior through the glass. He hadn't moved a muscle since their arrival, still sleeping off the sedatives from his checkup.
"…We'll get you back to normal, sir. Swear on my life."
The DJ does not hear her.
The next few days are hard on everyone.
The DJ didn't tolerate anyone coming near him, and for good reason. He stayed near the edges of the room, camped out in the corner with his eyes on the door at all times. There wasn't anything else he could do, not in that barren room they locked him in. His sentinel made re-dressing his wounds difficult. Sleeping pills slipped into his food didn't work, as he wouldn't eat, and neither did lacing his water, as he hardly drank. The only way they could knock him out so they could tend to him without injury was with tranquilizer darts. His yelps and whines of fear tugged at the heartstrings of everyone tasked to subdue him, and especially so the lone watcher behind the one way glass.
Callie stews in discomfort as the nurses strap him down to a stretcher and wheel him out of the room. She felt awful, both with how they were treating him and with her complicity in the whole situation. She didn't know what else to do, though. It's not like she could smuggle him out of there. Her mind writhes, trying to think of something, anything, she could do for him…
Her eyes land on the lone item in that cell, a sad grey blanket.
…Well, if she can't smuggle him out, maybe she could smuggle something in.
The creak of a door sounds out, and then a voice, confused and a tad bit concerned, "Yo, Pinkie. You're still in here?"
The idol turns, and standing there in the doorway was Cassidy, 03 of the Wasabi Unit, and a dear, yet long parted friend.
She leans her head back over her chair, "Want to commit some light treason with me."
"…Girl, I've got a body cam."
"It's just shopping," Callie huffs, waving it off, "On my card even."
"Then how is it treason."
"Cuz Kai can't find out until it's done. We're gonna need a bunch more hands and a good distraction to get it all set up though," she clarifies, that scheming glint in her eye, "I can't in good conscience let the DJ languish in a room like that."
Cass looks through the window. "…Let me get the others and I'll see what we can do. No glitter, though."
"Fine."
"Everything's ready?"
"Yeah. Troops are in position. Just waiting on your cue for go time."
"Alright. They're getting him strapped down now, should only be a few more minutes…"
Callie watches from that observation room as the nurses once again wheel the DJ away for another checkup. He hadn't really been getting any better, since he wasn't eating, so they've had to extend his medical sessions by quite a bit so they could give him fluids and nutrients. Not great for the DJ's mental state, but it did mean they had more time to get things ready.
The nurses exit the room, go down the hall… and once they've turned the corner she flicks her comm back on.
"Now."
A door opens, and more troops come out, though these ones were on her side. They roll with them carts and dollies stacked with boxes, quickly ferrying them into the vacated cell. Callie joins them a moment later, and together they start unpacking and assembling their ill-gotten, (yet legally purchased), goods.
A sturdy mattress gets shoved into the DJ's corner, topped with a fluffy blanket and a plethora of pillows to make it that much more comfortable. Tethered above it goes a triangle shaped canopy, blocking out the harsh lights and creating a bit of a cave like feeling to the spot. Next comes a large rubber mat on which a shallow pool is set up with fresh, untampered water. A few troops pull out the ladders to switch the bulbs from that clinical white to a more natural orange, while others start drilling holes into certain parts of the floor for their biggest hurdle: a tall and tiered metal structure that they'll be wrapping wooden planks and bark slats around to act as a climb. Some carpets go down, mixing up the texture of the floor, and various other decor and enrichment are scattered about, turning the once barren room into a lush and cozy space. Well, as lush as you can get miles below the surface.
With their time coming to a close, the packaging is squirreled away and everyone vacates the premises. All except for Callie, that is. She adds one more thing, dumping it out on a clear patch of floor right beside the climb. Toys of various shapes and sizes flop into a heap. Some were stuffed, some were squeaky, some had interesting textures, and some made sounds. Job done, Callie retreats back to the observation room, and waits.
She didn't have to wait very long.
Not even ten minutes later, the door opens and the medics come in. They pause upon seeing the state of the room, no doubt wildly confused, but they press on and finish up their jobs by carefully depositing the DJ onto his new bedding. The door shuts and locks once more, and then it was just the two of them.
The clock strikes three. And then three thirty. And then four. All the while the lion sleeps. Callie almost dozes off herself, but at about a quarter to five she catches a brief glimpse of movement, which sends her bolting upright.
The DJ was stirring. Tail twitching, paws grasping. He sniffs the air, muzzle scrunching as his eyes slowly open, groggy and confused. She watches him knead the soft mattress below him, bump a pillow with his snout. Carefully, he stands up and cautiously slinks out of his little den, keeping low to the ground in clear apprehension. He stays close to the walls as he investigates these new changes to his surroundings, giving the water dish a skeptical sniff. He stays at it for a lot longer than Callie would have thought, even giving it a tiny taste. And that's where the first dividend pays off. He actually seems to like it, deeming it untainted and eagerly lapping it up. The poor dear hadn't had a lick of water in days, so to see him guzzling it down? It was huge weight off her mind.
Once his thirst had been quenched, (and the rubber mat below the dish thoroughly soaked), he moves on toward the inner parts of the room, cautiously stalking up to that structure they had made. He sniffs it, bats at it, scrapes his claws down the wood. When it simply sits there, (as objects were want to do), he rears up on his hind legs and climbs the first tier, gradually getting more bold. He dips into the dark spots, scratches some more, and then does a biiiiiiiiig stretch, finishing it off with a wide, toothy yawn. The descent was not as easy as the ascent, because the moment he drops down and bears all his weight on his front paws, he yelps and holds his left one up. An attempt to lick it better is made… but the cone blocks him from getting it anywhere near his mouth. His tail flicks, a sad, pained whine following, and after a moment to recuperate, he reluctantly continues his exploration.
Slowly, he limps toward that pile of toys Callie had dropped what seemed like years ago, snuffling around in them with a growing excitement. The ones that jingle scare him at first, and so do the squeaky ones… but after a moment of batting them around he grows to like them, repeatedly pressing down on a squeaker with a happy rumble. A bell one gets picked up, which he shakes vigorously, a pleasing little *jinglejinglejingle* ringing out through the cell. Sneakily, Callie pulls out her phone as he flops into the pile, rolling around and outright playing with the offerings. He slows down after a few minutes, though, attention getting caught on one in particular. It was a zapfish plush, one her grandfather had made ages ago, with that patchwork quality and visible seams. He captures it in his paws, staring at it… and then he shoves it into the cone and rubs his chin all over it, practically nuzzling into it. Staggering to his feet once more, he picks it up and carefully carries it in his jaws back to his den. He makes circles in the mattress, kneading at it, and then settles down, resting his head against the plushie with a soft chuff.
Cod, that was adorable.
Callie saves the video and sits back in her chair, satisfied with a job well done… that is, until the door opens and in comes her cousin and Kai, the former still speaking, "…so if we could just get to that restricted sector–" –she stops abruptly, taking in the myriad of changes through the window– "…What. The fuck. …Callie!"
"No need to yell. I'm right here."
"What did you do! Why is there a bunch of– of– stuff in there!" Marie waves her hand at the glass, incensed.
"A better question would be, why wasn't there any stuff in there?"
"He's a wild animal–"
"No! Don't give me that bullshit, Marie!" Callie snaps, jumping to her feet, "I get that he has an altered state of mind, but that's exactly why he needs this! How would you feel if you were locked in a stark white room for hours on end, and the only changes in your environment were when people came in to fucking shoot you with a boatload of sedatives! Not fucking great I imagine!"
She slams her hand against the glass, making her cousin jump, "He needs enrichment, and a soft place to lay his head, and a cod damn modicum of kindness while he's stuck in this state. Get pissy at me all you want, but I'm not about to just let him languish in captivity by inkling hands yet again."
Marie is quiet, staring at her in a cold shock mixed with lingering fury. The Commander on the other hand…
"…He told you, didn't he?"
Callie turns to her, rage smoldering, "…Bits and pieces. He doesn't like to talk about himself."
"That, is an understatement." –Kai steps up to the window, much more calm than one would have thought– "Has he woken up yet?"
"Yeah, about twenty minutes ago I think. He was pretty spooked at first, but he calmed down after exploring for a bit. I saw him drink some water, scratch and stretch on the climb, and play with some of the toys I offered him, but he still seems pretty woozy. He also irritated his left front leg when he dropped down from the platform, so the nurses might want to check it a bit closer next time they take him in for a checkup. All in all though he's much happier than he was before," the idol recounts with crossed arms, watching as the lion dozes, "…Next task on the to-do list is to get him to eat something…"
"…And how do you plan on doing that," Marie huffs.
"…You'll see."
"This is a bad idea."
"Oh hush, Marie. Kai okayed this, so you don't get a say anymore."
The two of them were standing outside the door to the cell, Callie holding one of those puzzle treat balls for pets, while Marie grumbles and gripes off to the side. They were joined by Cass and Stella of the Wasabi Unit, both of them wearing tactical body armor and wielding tranquilizer rifles.
"I'm allowed to have an opinion," Marie growls, standing to the side as the two octolings undo the many latches holding the door shut.
"And I'm allowed to ignore it," Callie shoots back.
The door unlocks with one final sounding *KLUNK*, Cass leveling his hand on the doorknob while another raises to his comm, "…Visuals?"
"Still on his cot."
"Alright." –to Callie– "Ready, popstar?"
"More than ready."
"Opening in three, two–"
One.
The idol dips inside swiftly, and the door clicks shut behind her, leaving her alone and seemingly defenseless in that cell. The DJ immediately turns to her, but he does not move, darting eyes full of distrust and apprehension. He simply sits there. Staring. Watching. Warily waiting for her to strike. Posture stiff as a board and ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
Slowly, Callie approaches, setting the ball down a few feet from the door and lightly pushing it in his direction. It jingles cheerfully, and he backs up… but nothing else happens. The toy simply rolls to a gentle stop, a small chunk of cooked fish and diced wasabi falling out of a hole in its side. His nose twitches as he sniffs, that tantalizing scent beckoning him closer… but he refuses to move, dutifully remaining stock still as he stares holes into the inkling.
"Come on... It's got wasabi... You know you want it..." she mumbles under her breath, making sure not to move in case she scares him.
He did indeed want it, as evidenced by his twitching tail and slowly shifting demeanor. Those large paws knead into the bedding, antsy with indecision and hunger. To an outside observer, it looked like a poor attempt at restraint, but could you blame him? He hasn't had anything to eat in a week, bare minimum, and if what Three says is correct, he hardly ate anything during their entrapment either...
Callie watches with bated breath as he slowly creeps closer, inch by inch, hungrily sniffing the air. His gaze was locked onto her… but his nose was locked onto the snack awaiting him mere feet away. It was kind of funny watching him slink so low to the ground, but that humor was a moot point to the anticipation she felt as he hovers over the morsel, still skeptical to trust it or not. He sniffs, gets reaaaaaal close, prods it with his nose… and still staring her down, licks it up in one fell swoop.
She just knew that beyond the observation glass, the Wasabi Unit was cheering.
Despite his misgivings, he ends up searching around for more, that powerful scent of wasabi bringing him right back to the treat dispenser. He nudges it with his muzzle, scooting the thing without really rolling it, and when nothing comes out he gets a bit frustrated and bats at it with his paw, sending it careening to the other side of the room and rewarding him with quite a few piles of treats. His ears immediately stand to attention, and he bounds after it, scooping up each morsel with delight. Outwardly, Callie sits back and watches, but inwardly, she was thrilled. He's eating! And playing! And not cowering in the corner due to her presence! This was a big, big win!!!
On and on he bats it, dining on the treats held inside… but one wrong swipe and it comes trundling over to her. He screeches to a dead stop, eyes darting between her and the object, playful mood visibly plummeting. Carefully, as to not make any sudden movements, she rolls it back to him with a light push… and it drops off another treat right between his forepaws. He looks between it and her, slowly leaning down to lick it up, and that's where she thought it would end. She assumed he would back off and slink over to his corner again, but he doesn't. He just stands there, staring… and then taps the ball with his snout, sending it back to her. She replies with another careful roll back to him, yet another treat falling out, and he sends it back to her after snatching up the goodies.
Back and forth it rolls, with each treat being gobbled up just as soon as they fall. But alas, all good things must come to an end. The toy runs out of treats, and the DJ lets out a sad chuff, still nudging it along in the hopes that just one more morsel will fall out of it.
"Sorry DJ... It's empty now."
He whines, pawing at it.
"We'll get you some more."
Callie smiles to herself, feeling vindicated. "...I knew you would eat if wasabi was on the line."
Behind the one way glass, Marie huffs and walks out of the observation room.
Days pass, and slowly, the DJ's condition starts to get better.
He was eating, though only when Callie was the one bringing him food. He was drinking, but only from that dish she set out. He trusted no one but her, and despite Marie's protests, Callie reinforces that trust by spending more and more time with him. Sometimes she brings treats, other times she tempts him into play with the toys. Most of the time, though, she just sat and kept him company, chattering on and on about this and that despite the fact that he couldn't understand a word she was saying.
"…so once the jackhammers and circular saws arrive, they should be able to cut their way into the cold storage and finally get at those golden eggs we need."
…
"Then they've gotta make the cure, which could take a while, and then we need to catch some other infected octolings to see how it'll work on getting them back to normal. Three is still in the early stages thanks to the power eggs, so she'll probably be really easy to cure, but a fully turned person? Not so much."
The DJ's tail thumps against the ground.
"Either way, you're gonna have to wait longer. You're too hurt to really risk a blind run…"
He rumbles, leaning into the hand scratching below the cone around his neck.
Callie sighs and digs in a bit deeper, trying to get all those hard to reach spots for him. "…Yeesh. Your fur is getting really gunky. I'm still finding rubble from the fall in here, and that was ages ago. You're going to need a bath as soon as those bandages come off."
He simply closes his eyes and purrs.
"…Just hang on a few more days, DJ. Things will get better soon."
Things do not get better.
The lights dim, settling down into a simulated nighttime, and Octavio curls up in his corner, tucking in for another long and lonely night. He nuzzles into his zapfish plush, that faint scent of oranges calming him into rest, even though the shadows conspired to jump out at him. He didn't like when the lights went away. There were monsters in the dark, whispered taunts of incomprehensible noise lurking just out of sight. The fear coils around his neck as he drifts off, tightening like a noose or a leash.
Suffocating.
~~~~~
Hands along his chest and arms. The smell of disinfectant. Sharp pains and lingering burns.
It hurt. Why did it hurt? Where was this coming from?
"...Dangerous animal..."
"...Bargaining chip..."
"...Useless boy..."
His head ached trying to make out what was being said. He raises his hands– paws? to his ears, trying to block out the sound, but no matter what he does, it persists, growing louder and louder and more incomprehensible.
"Disgrace."
"Monster."
"Irredeemable."
Why was this happening? What did he do?
Something sharp presses against his arm... or, no. His throat? Both? Neither?
"...Should have surrendered when you had the chance! (–died instead of your father)!"
They cut, and he retaliates.
~~~~~
The DJ's eyes fly open when he suddenly meets with cold hard ground. Luckily, he'd fallen onto his right side rather than his left, but it was still jarring. Pillows were strewn about in a chaotic mess, and there were long gouges cut into the top of the mattress, blanket coiled around his hind legs. Worst of all, though, his beloved zapfish lay torn to shreds, head entirely ripped off of its mangled body with stuffing pooling like blood.
He whines, distraught, and pokes it with his nose, hoping that it would magically become fixed... but of course, that doesn't happen. It just sits there, dead eyes staring at him with disdain. Devastated, he struggles out of the blanket and slinks over to the opposite corner of the room, riddled with guilt.
He does not sleep any more that night.
"...And you still can't get him to move?"
"No! He just sits there, refusing to eat or drink or even sleep! I don't know what to do, Cassie"
"And you've already tried grated wasabi?"
"Yeah."
Cass puts a hand to his chin, thinking. "Do we have any idea why he's so upset?"
"I think it's because he ripped up his zapfish the other day," Callie sighs, glancing through the window at him, "He really liked that toy..."
"Can we fix it?"
"I dunno... It was pretty thoroughly shredded. Maybe Gramps could fix it? Or at least make a new one…I haven't seen him down here at all, though. I think he's still up top at Camp Cuttle because Marie won't let him help out."
"Why? He and the Boss kinda made up, right? They're not going to tear each other's throats out anymore, I think."
"She probably doesn't want him to wander off and get himself into trouble. Or worse."
"…Probably? Are you still not talking to her?"
"I'll talk to her when she apologizes."
"...Man, you guys hold hella grudges." –Cass pushes off from the wall, groaning as he stretches– "Alright then. Let's go smuggle your grandpa past the cops."
A certain Craig Cuttlefish sits by himself at a small camp in Splatlands Crater, making a nice cup of tea. He was trying not to let it get to him, but ever since the Octarians arrived and took over communications, he'd been feeling rather adrift of purpose. Especially since no one had really told him what was going on. All he knew was that it was something to do with the fuzzy ooze, Agent Three, and Octavio. Other than that… he was clueless.
The sharp whistle of the kettle rings out, and he carefully pours the boiling water into his chipped teacup. Down in the crater, various troops were ferrying crates of supplies in and out of Alterna using those small hovercraft of theirs. It made him a bit anxious to see such activity in a neutral zone… but they did have a truce right now… Still, he felt the need to keep an eye on them, if only to have something to do while he waited for someone to clue him in on what was going on.
For anyone to remember him.
.
.
.
He takes a sip of his tea, only to find that he'd over steeped it again. Blegh. Nothing to do but dump it out and try again, he supposed…
And that's when a booming, yet cheerful voice interrupts his brooding, "Gramps!"
"Cripes!" he yelps, spilling the tea all over himself. It had cooled down significantly, but his poor aloha shirt was now thoroughly soaked.
"Oh, shoot. Sorry Gramps! I didn't mean to scare you!"
Coming around the bend was Callie, trailed closely by an Octarian soldier. Probably some kind of escort, if he could hazard a guess. She was carrying a small box with her, but she quickly sets it down on the table and grabs a spare towel, handing it to him to dry off. "Are you alright!? That wasn't boiling, was it??"
"No, it wasn't. I'm fine, dear," Craig sighs, trying a bit unsuccessfully to blot up the mess, "What's got ya in such a rush? Thought you'd still be down there, workin' on… whatever it is yer doin'."
She immediately halts in her tracks, a mixture of concern and disbelief crossing her face, "…You don't know?"
"Nope. Ain't no one decided to clue me in yet," he shrugs, trying not to sound hurt, "I know y'all found Three, an' that Octavio was there with her, but then somethin' happened an' he up an' vanished on her. No idea what's been goin' on since then."
"Oh boy…" –her shoulders droop– "Well… For starters, she and the DJ both got infected by the fuzzy ooze, but only he turned fully. Three is still in the beginning stages. He left before it took him over so he wouldn't hurt her… but later he came back to save her from Mr. Grizz, who tried to kill her."
"There was a fight, and they both fell down an elevator shaft… which killed Grizz, but not the DJ," she explains, scuffing her shoe against the ground, "He got pretty badly injured though. We were able to take him in and treat most of the wounds, but there's not much we can do about the broken ribs. He's not really cognizant anymore, and he's pretty scared of everyone… but I was able to gain his trust enough to get him to start eating and drinking. A cure is on the way, but for now… all we can really do is try to keep him occupied while we wait."
Craig could scarcely believe what she was saying. He hadn't understood a lot of what Grizz told him while he was captured, but one thing he did get was that Fully Fuzzied = Mammal, and that Mammal = Bad. To think that Octavio had succumbed to it… it sent a cold chill through his cuttlebones.
Callie goes back to grab that box, and opens it, revealing a desiccated zapfish plush, "A few days ago, he had a bad dream and tore up this plushie. Ever since then, he's been sulking in the corner and refusing to eat or drink. Nothing I do can get him to budge… but maybe fixing it might cheer him up again? It was his favorite, after all…"
Gingerly, Craig takes the box into his hands, trying to hide the shake in them. He silently sifts through the supplied fabrics… only to find that the damage was pretty final. He was no stranger to patch jobs, (take his– Er… The Captain's cloak for example), but this was pushing it. If the pieces were a bit bigger, he might have been able to manage it, but like this… "I'm not sure that I can, squiddo. This is pretty bad, even fer my standards."
"Oh pleeeeeeeease, Gramps! You're his only hope!" she pleads, going so far as to put on the guppy eyes, "You've got no idea how depressed he's been since it tore. It's breaking my hearts to see him like this!"
Distantly, a memory pops into the old sailor's head, one from a time long passed. There, a young prince leans over his shoulder, teetering on the brink of tears as he watches the then cadet mend a small tear in a beloved object of his. It wasn't as good as his current work, but the man loved it all the same. Seems like he hasn't changed all that much over the years…
Outwardly, Craig shrugs, ears drooping, "Sorry dear… This one's jus' too far gone fer me to fix…"
Her once hopeful expression plummets, settling into an all out despair, "Nooooo… This was our last shot… Now whaddo we do…?"
"Have ya tried wasabi?" he prompts, closing the lid on the box.
"Yeah… He didn't even look at it."
"What 'bout music?"
"No reaction. Not even to his own songs."
"Hmmm…"
Craig stares at the box, thinking long and hard, "…Think he'd accept a replacement?"
"I– Maybe?" Callie shrugs, scratching the back of her head, "It's worth a shot at least… Do you have a spare lying around up here?"
"No, but if I get a hold of some materials I can whip one up real quick. Hard part will be findin' the supplies."
"I can help with that," the soldier pipes up, raising his hand, "Me and the rest of the Wasabi Unit can get you anything you need."
That catches Craig's attention, and he turns to the soldier, "Yer part o' the Unit, eh? That mean yer Octavio's right hand Octo?"
"That would be Commander Kai, sir. But we are next in line of that chain of command," he salutes, "Cassidy, at your service."
"Right then…" –Craig slowly rises from his seat, cuttlebones cracking– "I s'ppose you best lead the way. No sense dilly dallyin'."
"Anything you need from camp first?" Callie chirps, offering him a helping hand.
"Jus' my mini sewin' kit… an' maybe a new shirt," he comments, looking down at the sizable stain on his shirt.
As soon as he's upright and stable, Callie tosses him a mock salute, "Aye aye, Cap'n!"
One wardrobe change later and they're down in the depths once more, kind-of-but-not-really sneaking past the guards. They were allowed to be there, of course, but maybe letting an old old man into a rather dangerous area wasn't the best of ideas. Still, with two pairs of eyes watching him, he shouldn't be able to get into any mischief.
At least, that's what they hoped.
The observation room was thankfully empty once they arrive, so it was a simple matter to get him set up at a table along with some spare fabric and the leftovers from the previous zapfish plushie for stuffing. A snip here, a thread there… Let his hands do the work while his mind wanders. He could probably make a zapfish plush in his sleep with how many of them he's made over the years. The girls loved them as kids, and they make great training props, but of course, that's not where the story really started, was it? The first time he made one was a gift, one for a certain prince's twenty-first birthday. It was a bit lopsided and sloppy, but he was so damn happy about it…
Craig glances up from his work and looks through the glass, staring at that mangy lump of fur curled up tight in the corner. He wonders if the man kept it after all these years… Well. Probably not. But a man could hope.
…It felt… Odd, to see Octavio like this. Reduced to this animalistic state. He was always so… Proud. So meticulous and aware of his appearance. He was loud and brash and commanded respect. Not quiet and… defeated. Especially with that cone around his neck? It reminded him of that time back during the war, when Octavio was held prisoner and forced to surrender. Locked in chains despite the fact that he could barely move… All because of a slip of the finger on a trigger. He hadn't meant to, but…
Octavio shifts slightly, moving the large paws away from his face. It was so hard to recognize him like this, bent out of shape and mangled into this new form. The green of his eyes were gone, replaced with that sickly rainbow of the fuzzy ooze, and the sheer fluff around his neck made his tentacles almost impossible to make out. If it wasn't for the markings beneath his eyes or the scars on his body, he'd be completely unrecognizable.
"…It's pretty sad, isn't it?" Callie mumbles, slumped over as she also stares through the glass, "The great DJ Octavio… trapped in this little cell. And he can't even understand why…"
"I'm… sure thin's'll work out, dear," Craig sighs, tearing his eyes away to focus on finishing up the last few stitches, "They've got the best minds workin' on that cure, yeah?"
"Yeah… But still. I feel awful about letting him languish in there," she whines, cheek pressed into the tabletop.
"…You an' me both…" he mutters under his breath, too quiet for her to hear.
With one final knot and a snip, the plushie is done, complete with its tiny cap. "Let's go give him his new toy an' see if it'll cheer him up, ey?"
"Right." –she pushes away from the table with a dramatic roll of her office chair, and bounds to her feet– "Operation: "Fix the DJ's depression" is a go."
"I think he needs a therapist for that," Cass snarks.
"Oh, you know what I mean!"
Craig has to stifle a fond snicker as they leave room, trailing behind the two a little bit. Cass immediately sets to work unlocking the various latches barricading the holding cell's door shut as soon as they reach it, with the two inklings waiting patiently on the sidelines for him to finish. It felt a little bit like overkill with how many of them were there… But then again, even with his injuries, the DJ was about 300 pounds of raw muscle. It would not be difficult for him to break a door down.
Just before the last latch unlocks, Cass turns to the two of them, "…Will you both be going in, or…?"
"I'd quite like to be there when givin' him the plush," Craig nods.
"He'll either accept it and be distracted, or ignore both it and us," Callie shrugs, "It'll be fine, Cassie."
"If you say so…"
And with that, he finally opens the door, letting the two of them in.
They're not exactly quiet in their entry, and yet the DJ does not move. Not a twitch of the ear, nor the flex of his tail. He's eerily still, eyes glassy as he stares into nothingness. The two slowly approach, and it's only when Callie kneels down in front of him does he react in the slightest. That being just the smallest huff of air and closing of his eyes.
"Hey there big guy… We have something for you," she mumbles softly, carding a few fingers through his mane.
He doesn't open his eyes, but he does rumble softly.
"Tha's right. Fixed up yer zapfish plush, good as new," Craig hums, getting a bit closer.
The DJ's nose twitches, but he still doesn't move.
"Gramps, how 'bout you put the plush right here so he can feel it? Inside his cone. He always slept with it in there."
"Will do."
Craig creeps forward and carefully leans down to drop off the plushie… and that's when the DJ's eyes snap open, staring right at him. He staggers to his feet, eyes never once leaving the inkling's face, and then pounces.
The old man never stood a chance.
hi (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 25 Aug 2025 07:32AM UTC
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koiwav333s on Chapter 1 Mon 25 Aug 2025 07:42AM UTC
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giraffeyla10 on Chapter 1 Wed 27 Aug 2025 01:36AM UTC
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