Splatoon: Two Worlds Collide
1. Equipped; Newfound Hope
Violet's POV:
Power couplings crackle uselessly, the last of their precious sparks of electricity fizzling out even as I walk by. Kettles remain silent and still, each of them blocked and unusable. I can't get home. I can't get anywhere. All I can do is walk along the path through the abandoned ruins, ink around me on all sides. Pink. Blue. Green. Orange. Yellow. All manner of colours line what's left of safe walking space. I kick at a bit of gravel as I continue my slow, meaningless trek. I have nothing left. None of us do.
And it's all their fault.
After decades... No, after centuries of planning, longing, hoping beyond hope, we finally did it. We finally took back what was rightfully ours. Our future looked brighter than it had in more than a thousand years since the brave DJ Octavio managed to sneak into the forbidden Inkopolis under cover of darkness and reclaim the Great Zap Fish. We had power. We had energy. We had something to believe in, something to fight for other than sheer survival after all this time. With the grand source of power in our grasp once more, we were set to reclaim our long-lost territory. Our true home.
But they couldn't have that. They couldn't handle it. Oh, how self-centred they are.
Cuttlefish. That name will surely go down in history as the name of the most despicable usurping thief who ever lived. Him and his stupid agents. All three of them. Together, those stuck-up, greedy imbeciles drove our best troops back and once again stole the Great Zap Fish. I can't say for certain, but rumours say that it's draped around the tallest building of their good-for-nothing society's city like some sick, living trophy. Oh, how those Inklings disgust me. How they disgust us all.
My name, it is… No. I will not divulge my true name. My name is a symbol of my integrity, my dignity. For many of us Octarians, such traits are all that are left, if anything. I shall go by the cover title of… Hang on, let me think for a second.
Violet. Yes, I suppose that name will suffice. It's not even close to my real name. Which is Ruby.
OH, DAMN IT!
Oh, what does it even matter anymore?! I'm an Octoling who has no home, no remaining allies and has only just reached the age of maturity, meaning that I can take on a humanoid form. What difference will it really make if my true name, the only thing in the world that I can hold sacred, is out there for all to tarnish?! You know what? Just call me Violet anyway!
As I walk cautiously around the ink, I come to a sudden stop, the sole of my boot pressing against something that has a noticeably different texture to the rest of the hard ground. It's something hard and unnatural. I look down to see a small firearm with an ink tank attachment, abandoned in this graffitied, tainted valley of forgotten dreams. I reach down and pick it up, turning it over in my hand. It's not Octarian tech, so it must've been left here by an Inkling. It looks to be in good shape, suggesting that it was used recently by one of those agents of Cuttlefish. The ink canister is, unsurprisingly, empty. While I wouldn't want to be caught dead armed with an enemy weapon by choice, this thing just might be my ticket to sanctuary. My people are extremely susceptible to ink that is not the colour of that which we produce ourselves. It is a common weakness the Inklings and we Octarians share. It is the only thing we share, however. I will not compare myself to one who would probably see me dead on sight.
I reach behind me with the ink canister, holding it up towards the middle of my back. With a slight hiss, it latches onto my ink pouch through my armour, fusing with my torso, automatically adjusting so that it feels comfortably merged with my flesh. The device equipped, I shift into my octopus form, letting my body's natural ink drip all over the ground until a decent-sized puddle of purple Octoling ink is formed. Once it is deep enough, I submerge myself in it, the substance feeling cool and refreshing against my suckers. As well as being pleasant and somewhat comforting, this ink is also filling the weapon's canister. Once I feel enough weight in it, I reassume my humanoid form and, aiming the gun at the ground, I spray a series of small bursts of my own ink at that left behind by the Inklings. Success! This weapon, though defiled by its former user's hostility and wickedness, is in excellent working order. After creating a path of ink through… well, more ink, I take to octopus form again and glide seamlessly along the ground, feeling a sense of relief flowing through me. Stuck back there surrounded by enemy ink, I was trapped, slowly starving as I wandered the same small path for hours and hours and hours. But now, I can explore a little more freely and - hopefully - find some food.
I soon come to an old shack near the edge of Octo Valley. I can see poor DJ Octavio trapped in some kind of reinforced glass case like a specimen of some sort. The brave fighter and celebrated music lover is fast asleep, probably locked in saddening dreams of woe that reflects his prison. I don't even try to break him out; a mere pistol like this probably won't even leave a mark on that glass. Moving onward, I notice a grate on the floor of the clearing. It looks like a hatch leading to a sewer system. My stomach rumbles loudly and a thought occurs to me:
If I follow the sewer passage, will I find civilisation and, to that end, nourishment?
At this point, I don't have much of a choice. I shift into my inky octopus form and slide easily through the bars of the grate, not knowing that I am heading down a path that will not only save my life, but change it forever...