Heads up, I have absolutely no idea how to accurately write Cap'n Cuttlefish nor Iso Padre lmao. I barely even know how to write any of the characters, but those two were the hardest. I had fun writing this chapter, 90% of it is basically 8 making things worse for himself. he's dumb. also i really like the sea angels, i like to think of them as the giant protectors of the deep sea metro

have fun reading!

It was late, the time specifically was unknown to Agent 8 but he knew that it was definitely sometime in the morning. He wished he could be in a bed at the moment, resting his pretty little eyes and actually getting a full night's rest for once. He'd even take a patch of grass on the cold ground over doing this test in all honesty. He was feeling funny and genuinely just wasn't up for doing tests at the moment, a slightly nauseating feeling was in his gut and his clothes kept feeling uncomfortable and overall he just was feeling really crummy.

Sadly, fate had other plans. Cuttlefish pressured him to knock out one more test for the night, just to get a head start on the next day. Eight initially refused due to not feeling so hot, but after five joyful seconds of pressure from the old man, he went with it. The more CQ points and the faster he could make it outside the Deepsea Metro and away from 'Craig', the better.

Now, here he was. Doing another one of those tests.

He actually was doing decently at first, blowing through the first couple enemies like they weren't trouble. His grip was clammy and he was sweating a little more than normal, but he just blamed that on the odd pack of chips he bought from a Central Station vending machine. Five chips in and he chucked the packaging onto the tracks, never looking back at them as they were ripped to shreds by the incoming train. C.Q. Cumber fined him for littering and he lost quite a couple of CQ points but did he regret it? Not one bit.

However, as time went on and as he advanced through the test, Eight couldn't help the feeling that something was 'off'. His grip on his brella went from being clammy to straight up shaky, he couldn't keep his hands still. They also felt incredibly cold, making Eight hold his weapon between his legs for a brief second and huff hot hair into his cupped hands. Maybe he needed gloves? It wasn't cold in the facility earlier, so maybe he was just under an air vent?

A small pulse went through his head as he continued on, another annoyance that was slowly starting to agitate the octoling as well with each step he took. It wasn't painful- well maybe it was just a little- but it was definitely hindering Eight and contributing to that whole 'off' feeling. It was distracting, that's for sure.

So distracting, in fact, that Eight waltzed right into a pool of gross, goopy, light blue and swirly ink without a second thought. The burning feeling that slowly climbed up his legs was just as familiar as ever, the blue goop slowly enveloping itself around his leather boots and pants. It never climbed higher than his shins, but boy did they burn.

The pain was a sharp wake-up call for Eight, who immediately danced around in the ink in a frantic attempt to step out of it and onto clean ground. He stumbled and swayed as he desperately looked for an uncovered piece of floor, tripping over his own feet by accident and flopping face-first into the puddle of ink. Luckily, he managed to catch himself with his arms, but one really couldn't call that 'lucky' since now two areas on his body were getting burned and his brella was a large distance away from him after being accidentally thrown in the midst of the fall. Eight hissed in pain as the ink climbed up his hands and forearms, the sensitive skin in those areas screaming at him to get up and out of there.

Agent 8 struggled to stand back up from his fall, his hands were shrieking at him and only shrieked louder when he put weight on them to push himself from the ground. It stung terribly, he could see his own skin and the ink that formed it starting to bubble and blister from the invading foreign substance. Eight swallowed the pain and grit his teeth as he eventually began rising back up from the ink puddle, the effort taking much more out of him than he expected. His arms were shaking and aching as he slowly stood back up on his feet, the blue ink dripping off his fingers and his skin starting to cool down.

Taking in a breath and preparing himself, Agent 8 slowly began to tug himself out of the ink step by step. He made a mental note to head toward the walls, which didn't have ink immediately surrounding them. From there, he could calculate the best route to reach his weapon and get back on track to reaching the go-

Underestimating the pull of the blue ink, Agent 8 tripped over his two feet yet again and made another plunge toward the ground. However, with a panicked yelp, he took another step and then another, struggling to keep himself upright in the murky blue ink. It was never meant to be, though, as he immediately lost his balance and tripped over his feet for the third time in the last five minutes.

Except, this time he unexpectedly hit the walls a little too early. Eight forgot to pay attention to his position in the midst of panicking while trying to stay balanced, so as a result he forgot to prepare for the walls he was trying to approach in the first place. Unfortunately, that meant that Eight took a bit of a tumble straight into the wall, banging the side of his head against the hard concrete and letting out a sharp cry of pain.

Yelps and shrieks instantly rang through his earpiece, the adults on the other end all asking for any sort of sign that he was either okay, or not. At least, Eight figured they were asking. A harsh ringing sounded throughout his eardrums as soon as the impact occurred and his vision was blurry with a bunch of black dots everywhere, but other than that and the burning sensation still on his legs, Agent 8 was doing just peachy.

It took Eight at least five minutes to get himself together, slowly pulling himself up from the ground and using the wall to aid him as he struggled to stabilize himself. That entire time, everyone on the other end was constantly asking him questions and making sure he was doing okay, annoying Eight to the core. The best responses he could muster was simply the mutters of ''m fine.' and 'Don' gotta worry.' under his breath, deeply worrying to everyone on the other end. Hell, even C.Q. Cumber's voice was starting to make an appearance, though his words were scrambled in with everyone else's frantic shrieks and Eight didn't understand a word he said.

There was a small pause as all the adults seemed to notice something.

"OH MY GOSH Eight! You're bleeding!"

Was he? He didn't notice.

No, really, he didn't notice. He wasn't noticing much at all anymore, actually. His vision was constantly blurring and that ringing in his ears still wasn't going away despite Eight shaking his head to try and clear it somehow. In fact, the shaking was a terrible idea, it made his headache go from a solid six to an eight and a half, almost a nine. It hurt like hell, but it was bearable. Barely.

Eight narrowed his eyes as he struggled to focus on his surroundings and find his brella, the task being much more challenging since it was the black 'undercover' brella and the test was taking place in a dark setting. If he found it, he could hurry up with the test and be on his merry way to hopefully a bed and not a coma. He was already feeling pretty crummy, both on the inside and out. The head injury was probably messing with him.

Feeling around on the ground for his brella, the octoling eventually managed to locate it and continue on his way to the goal. The concerned adults on his earpiece were chatting amongst each other, seemingly talking about something. Maybe taxes. Eight couldn't focus, plus that ringing was still in his ears, so he didn't bother with trying to listen in on their conversations.

That was a mistake, as Pearl out of nowhere shrieked his name, causing him to jump and immediately clutch his head from the pain. The clanging of his brella as it dropped to the ground aided in the volume of the annoying ringing in his ears, rising his agitation levels ever so slightly.

"Pearl! Quiet down!" Marina reprimanded her in a whispery voice, "He might have a concussion!"

"I was just trying to get his attention!" Pearl argued back in the same whispery tone, "He just kept walking forward with that look on his face, not paying attention to anything. Did you see it? He doesn't look that good, Marina!"

"I can hear you." Eight muttered bitterly to himself, reaching around for his brella yet again so he could carry on within the stage.

"Eight! Is there a way for you to get out of there? We need to stop this whole 'test' train, like, right now." Pearl stated with worry in her voice, "You really should get your head checked out or at least rest up a while before fighting anymore."

Eight shook his head as he located the brella once more and kept moving, stumbling in his steps ever so slightly, "'s good. I'm good."

Objections all came from his earpiece, voices of all different pitches and tones yelling at him to stay put.

"You're going to injure yourself even m-"

"Please stop! We might be able to come in an-"

"Guys, I don't think Agent 8 just has a concu-"

"I'm Fine." Eight interrupted their worrying, stumbling toward a wall and leaning against it. Fuck. He felt all sorts of shitty at the moment. His head felt hot and was hurting on both the inside and out, his hands felt even colder than before and he could swear that he was going to throw up any second now. This was usually normal for Eight since the tests always pushed him to the limit, but his body was refusing to cooperate with him and his need to finish the test.

Agent 8 rested his forehead against the cool walls, trying to get himself together and muster the energy to get back into battle. He very likely had a concussion and maybe even a fever, yes, but was he going to back out of this test now? Hell no. He already made it this far, what's a little more to go? Sure, he was risking a second injury and possibly even worse, but in all fairness he reaaaaally was just desperate to get out of this hellhole as fast as he could. The faster he finishes the tests and gets to the 'Promised Land', the better.

Eight wondered what the promised land was like often. He had a lot of questions and tried to ask them to Cap'n Cuttlefish, but the old man would tell him that he'd need to experience it for himself. He had a point, despite how sour Eight felt at the time. Experiencing it for himself was going to make it even more fulfilling and worth it. He could almost imagine it now...An actual sun that would shine brightly in the sky, blessing the world with actual sunrises and sunsets. Actual clouds that would clutter the sky and bring down the fabled 'rain' he had heard of before. Animals that would…...

The clanging of his brella falling on the floor yet again startled him out of the doze he accidentally faded into. He looked around anxiously, thinking an enemy was attacking him before realizing he had simply just dropped his weapon once more in the midst of him dozing off. Sighing, Eight wiped the small trail of drool dripping from his lip and picked up the weapon, continuing his trek onward into enemy territory. He really was starting to wish he could sleep in a bed of grass at that moment.

"Damn, I was hoping he'd stay asleep." Pearl joked, though with an obvious stressed tone in her voice.

"Eight, can't you just super jump back to the station? I don't want you to strain your body anymore." Marina asked, exasperated. Eight could just imagine her slouched, resting her head on her hand with a pouty expression. That's how he imagined her to act, anyway, he only had the pictures shown in the chatlog to go by.

With a quiet 'no', Eight took in a small breath and moved forward. He had to defeat multiple 'octarians' and octolings, all of which much more challenging to defeat due to his circumstances. The pounding in his brain was getting stronger second by second every time he remained in combat, pressure building up and making Eight feel like his head was going to explode. He had to climb, jump, roll, and do a lot more to avoid getting splatted in the test and potentially having to start over from the last checkpoint. He really didn't want that, the octolings had given him hell, the octo...things also were hard to deal with too, standing on thin platforms as he struggled to reach the next area.

Nothing but relief was in Agent 8's mind once he realized the next and last area had a checkpoint, the familiar ringing sound echoing in his ear alerting him that he only had a little ways to go. He was so, so tired. He really wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep away this 'concussion' he had, plus this fever he was sure he had at this point. He was cold, hot, sore, sick, and all sorts of Bad all at once. He really could use something to drink, too.

Without thinking, Eight promptly collapsed to his knees and rested on top of the checkpoint, completely exhausted. He knew he had a little more to go but...could he take a nap? Just for a little? There wasn't a time limit on the stage, so as far as he knew, he could take as long as he wanted. Naps were definitely permitted. C.Q. Cumber didn't say so but Eight did and Eight wasn't in the mood to not have naps allowed in the test facility. Eight was...really fucking tired.

Slowly laying down on the chilly checkpoint, Eight curled up into a ball and closed his eyes, desperate to get some shuteye in. The odd getup he was in with the whole exposed stomach and missing left sleeve made it hard for him to get comfortable, but he managed to work with it. Nobody could stop him now, he was gonna take a nap and he was gonna like it. He felt better already, just laying on the ground and taking a small break was doing wonders for him both mentally and physically. He really could just...just...lay here forev….

…

…

…

Oh.

Oh wow.

The moment Eight woke and sat up, he knew that it wasn't going to be good from here on out. The nap felt great, it felt fantastic. The feeling after that, though, was the exact opposite of being refreshed. In fact, Eight felt worse. His head was incredibly fuzzy and felt as though lead was stuck inside of it, making it incredibly hard to keep himself upright. He was shaking, too. It was so cold, he was surprised to see that there wasn't a visible breath of warm air coming from his mouth. The cold was probably tied to his 'fever' or whatever, which would also explain how his head felt hot at the same time. Eight felt like a severely messed up air conditioning machine.

"Oh, you're awake." Marina spoke up in a disappointed voice and interrupted the silence, "How are you feeling?"

Eight responded by promptly laying back down and closing his eyes. A few more minutes of shuteye wouldn't kill him. This gross feeling all over him could likely be solved with another nap.

"Agent 8, I highly recommend you proceed to the goal. Momentary rest is fine, but prolonged sleep in a testing area could worsen your health." C.Q. Cumber stated, a light amount of static attached to his voice.

"Can't you just make his pack on his ink tank thing explode so he loses his lives and starts over in the station?" Pearl asked, sounding tired.

"I'm afraid not," Cumber responded in a slightly dejected tone, "I am prohibited from detonating the test bomb unless a subject has either failed their tests or in absolute emergencies."

"Doesn't this count as an emergency?!"

"...I'm afraid not."

"Ugggh!" Pearl groaned, the screeching of her feedback from the volume making Eight's headache grow worse. He just didn't have the energy to alert her of his annoyance anymore. He really felt like shit.

Deciding enough was enough after another five minutes of sitting at the checkpoint, Eight slowly rose to his feet and stumbled to keep himself stable. His vision swam and his balance was all over the place, the young octoling practically having to hug a wall to stay steady. It didn't help that his nausea levels were starting to spike up either, really making this a much harder challenge than it needed to be.

Eight pressed his head against the wall to cool it down once more, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. He was a little on the stubborn side and he knew it. He knew that proceeding through the level instead of super jumping back was a dumb move, but he just wanted to knock this challenge off his list. He was almost done, he could almost taste the victory. A long, peaceful nap was waiting for him in the train, the repeating thumps of the train rolling along on the tracks lulling him to slumber.

"Agent 8!"

Eight jumped and tripped over his feet, falling onto his back in surprise. He didn't even notice he was dozing again. He was really out of it, too out of it. He needed to hurry up.

Silently thanking whoever it was that called his name, Eight stood back up and stepped forward, leaning against the wall and completing the test slowly and steadily. The pounding in his head made itself known once more as he entered combat with another octoling, but he gave the effort to ignore it so he could defeat her and move on. She was a challenge to defeat, but it wasn't too difficult. Her movements were repetitive, robotic. Very predictable.

Looking up ahead, Eight could see the bright and yellow light of the goal shining and making itself known. He smiled, though it was incredibly lackluster. Almost done.

The fight between the octosniper, the last octoling, and those other octotrooper things was hell. Eight almost got himself splatted, the sniper having landed a solid hit on him straight in the chest, knocking him to the ground and shattering his regenerative armor. Eight managed to avoid injuring his head even more during the fall by rolling to the side and rushing at the sniper, ending its reign of terror. The others were a little easier to deal with, most of them just sat and shot at him while the octoling just did the same, repetitive moves as the last one.

Eight slouched against the wall, thankful he was almost done. All he had to do now was touch the...thing. The goal, he had to touch it to pass the test. He was so happy, he could almost dance. He would've if he were feeling good, but that dance had to be reserved for another day. Preferably a day when he wasn't suffering from a head injury and a fever. He really wanted to take another nap.

The nausea was almost unbearable for Eight at this point, letting him know that his stomach wouldn't be going easy on him any longer. The fighting and the constant moving was enough to get his stomach on the fritz, making his victory slowly grow sour with each passing second. With a bit of effort, Eight fought to keep whatever it was that he last ate in his stomach, pushing himself away from the wall and to the goal.

His vision was blurring and his balance was incredibly off, but Eight could tell that his fingers were almost to it. He was almost done. He had it in the bag. Just one touch onto the yellow, sparking goal…

BZZT!

Eight shrieked as a spark of electricity ran through his fingers, startling him into backing away a couple steps frantically. Then he tripped over his feet again, landing right back onto his bottom. Right, he had to shoot it first. Today really wasn't his day. Where was his brella again?

Oh yeah, he dropped it in the middle of panicking. Figures.

Picking it up for the upteenth time that day, Eight groaned softly and aimed the weapon at the goal, watching the individual pieces eventually come together and slam into the ground. He still didn't really understand what the goal even was. It looked like a pen but with fancy lights on it. Eight wasn't sure what it was, but he just wanted to touch it and get out of there.

Before the goal was able to pull itself apart, Eight reached forward and lightly touched it with the tips of his fingers, a little more cautiously due to being shocked earlier. The goal rang, then pushed itself into the ground and disappeared. A very anti-climatic ending but an ending nonetheless.

"You passed the test." C.Q. Cumber announced, "Please proceed to the launchpad and jump back to the station platform."

A pink launchpad appeared right in front of the goal, making Eight jump in surprise as his feet suddenly had a pool of swirling ink going all around it. It only activated once he turned to an octopus, so he could sit and recover for a couple seconds. Granted, he didn't have much to recover from, but standing for so long was starting to take a toll on the young octoling.

Plus, that whole 'nausea' thing was really starting to bite him in the ass. Hard. Eight had to stand still for a moment, leaning on his brella like a cane to keep himself on his feet. Bile was starting to crawl up his throat, adding to the overall shitty feeling he was going through. Eight did his best to hold it back throughout the entire test but overwhelming exhaustion was making it hard to do, resulting in the ensuing events.

"...Mr. Cumber?" Agent 8 spoke up quietly, wobbling ever so slightly on his feet. His speech was slurred and he stuttered as he struggled to speak with both a scratchy throat and a head injury.

There was a tense moment of silence.

"...Yes?" C.Q. Cumber answered.

"If I t-th...throw up, do I gotta clean it?"

"Oh m-Just leave, Eight!" Pearl shouted irritably, "Find an actual trash can back at the station!"

"The test automatically resets once the subject exits the area." C.Q. Cumber responded over Pearl's objection.

"...Gotta pay a fine?"

"No."

"Vomit will...will go away?"

"Correct."

"Sweet." Eight murmured to himself, slowly stepping away from the launchpad and finding a clear area that wasn't too close to it.

"Eight, I really don't think you should do that here." Marina sighed, "Can't you hang on for a little longer?"

Agent 8 really wanted to respond to that, but all he could manage was a slow shake of his head. Practically all of his weight was being put onto his brella from him using it as a cane, the poor weapon starting to bend under the pressure.

"Marina, I don't think he can…" Pearl said with uncertainty, "He really looks like he's about to blow chunks."

And he did.

Very, very badly.

Eight was barely able to form coherent thoughts at that moment, all he could tell was that everything hurt. Most especially his throat. It burned as if hell had relocated to the inside of his body and decided to sprout volcanoes that constantly erupted 5000 degree lava. You'd think that would stop him from shivering due to the fake chill his body thinks it's facing, but in fact the shivering got even worse. Agent 8 was doing dandy!

Hot tears strolled down his cheeks as he spewed onto the floor, though Eight barely even knew they were there since his head felt hot in general. Everything felt hot. And cold. And weak. Eight could barely stand, everything felt incredibly sore and he was using his last bouts of energy to get through literally vomiting while using a weapon as a crutch. How he was going to super jump in the launchpad and land properly in the station, he did not know.

Eventually Eight finished, coughing up the last of what was in his stomach and backing away from the gross puddle. From there, he caught his breath, sitting down on the ground and wiping his mouth with his sleeve due to being too tired to care that he probably got vomit on his only pair of clothes. He was too tired for anything, really.

"...You good, Eight?" Pearl asked hesitantly.

Eight shook his head solemnly, more hot tears falling from his eyes. He tried to wipe them away with his hands but more and more kept slipping, eventually being accompanied by sniffles and hiccups. Sure, everything in his stomach was gone and he felt a little bit better, but he was far from actually being a ten on the 'feeling good emotionally' scale.

Cap'n Cuttlefish piped in, "Maybe I have medicine in one of my pockets, I always had a cure-all for my grandsquids when they fell ill!"

"I sure hope you do." Marina sighed dejectedly, "I wish Eight was up here on the surface so I could make him some soup or something."

"I'd get him straight up some octo pie! That cheers me up in no time! Speaking of which..." Pearl said excitedly, sounding as though she was getting up to go somewhere.

"Wait! Pearl-Aaaand she's gone." Marina groaned, "Octo pie wouldn't even be good for Eight when he's sick like this. I don't think she's even gonna get me any."

She continued, "Eight, you should take as long as you need to recover, okay? No more tests until your fever breaks and your head heals up."

Eight held up a thumbs up, hoping she could see it. He was all for that notion, he didn't want to participate in another test anyway.

He turned his gaze back to the launchpad, knowing that he'd have to hop into it sooner or later and head back to the station. He really wasn't looking forward to it, but the faster he got it done and over with, the faster he'd be able to pass out on the train. Eight groaned softly to himself and stood back up, wiping away the last couple of tears on his face and stepping back up to the launchpad.

"Uh, Eight? Are you sure you can do this? Your concussion could interfere with your judgement and you could veer off course." Marina hesitated, "I don't like this. You really should find a way to get yourself splatted somehow."

Agent 8 shook his head and slowly murmured a reply, "All the octos are g-gone. G...Gotta jump."

"..." Marina sighed, the feedback scratching her voice up, "...Please be careful."

Eight nodded and stepped into the launchpad, melting down into an octopus and letting the pad launch him in the direction of the station platform. All he had to do now was steer himself and prepare for the landing. He could see it slightly in the distance, growing closer and closer as he flew towards it. His tentacles were flapping in the wind and he had to squint his eyes shut to get a decent look at where the equipper was in the station. He was supposed to land on it and surrender his weapon while simultaneously receiving a mem cake. Now if only he could see it...Stupid concussion and fever, making his vision blurry. Or maybe he just needed glasses, his vision was always a little funky.

Nearing the station, Eight prepared himself to land, turning his body and angling his feet just the right way as he knew since he...well, he couldn't remember. This was instinct at this point, every creature capable of super jumping would know how to land, Eight no exception.

Sometimes, when that creature is incredibly ill and suffering an injury that hinders balance, that instinct can be a little weak.

Eight managed to land in the station and onto the equipper, yes, but he wasn't properly prepared for the landing. He came in at an odd angle and his position wasn't suited for that angle, which ended up paying a terrible price. He could feel himself still moving forward despite trying to land still on the equipper, and that unfortunately resulted in him stumbling off the equipper before it could take his weapon. From there he tried to stop himself to no avail, and promptly slammed face-first into the train waiting in the back with a harsh BANG.

Hot, stinging pain filled Eight's world immediately. The stinging was immense, he'd never felt anything like it. His headache shot through the roof, going from a solid nine to a heavy, excruciatingly painful five hundred. He couldn't think, he couldn't see. He couldn't even hear. Someone was probably screaming. Was it him? He didn't even know.

Eight writhed in agony and clutched his head, desperately trying to simmer down the pain even just a little. He was probably crying, screaming, doing all of the above to somehow get the pain out of his system. It was all aching, all of it. It was practically torture at this point for Eight, everything felt like it was on a five hundred just like his head. His throat, his arms, his legs, everything.

He really, genuinely, just wanted to take a nap.

And so he did.

…

…

…

Badump.

Badump.

Badump.

Dull lights pierced their way through Eight's eyelids, forcing the young octoling to stir awake from his deep sleep. He blinked his eyes open, squinting heavily due to his sensitivity to the light despite it being dim, making it even harder to convince himself to keep his eyes open. His mouth felt dry and his throat still felt scratchy and raw, but he thankfully was no longer shivering and shaking excessively like earlier. His head still felt like it was full of lead, though, which is why it took a bit of effort to raise it and look around.

Odd colors and shapes were all around him, occasionally twisting and moving. He could recognize the shapes of the weird jellyfish that lingered on the train, so he took that as an indicator to his location. Plus, the bumps of the train that shook each cart along the tracks were familiar too, slowly working to lull him back to sleep. He resisted, though, just to capture a few more moments of being awake and seeing what was going on.

It took Eight a moment for himself to realize that he wasn't actually seated on the train's seats, instead he was being held over the shoulder of...something. Someone? Somebody. Somebody that was really...Tall. They had a maroon jacket with cream colored sleeves, but that was as far as what Eight could see with his limited vision. He tried to push himself away from the person and get them to let go, but the opposite managed to occur in less than a second. The person was really warm and had a very calming air about them, quickly managing to convince Eight to change his mind about leaving and staying awake. He was still incredibly tired and his arms were too weak to struggle out of the person's hold anyway.

Resting his head on the person's shoulder once more and sighing blissfully, the last thing Eight registered before falling back under was a flash of blue and a soothing heartbeat.

Eight woke up once more, blinking his eyes open and realizing he was no longer resting on someone's shoulders. He was laying on his side instead, presumably on the train's cold seats and faced toward the wall. Something was wrapped rather tightly around him, keeping him plenty warm and protecting him from the chilly air of the train. It was heavy, but that could've just been his weak limbs needing to put more effort into lifting it off of his form.

Sitting up and pushing the heavy thing to the side, Eight looked around in the train cart and found no passengers other than Cap'n Cuttlefish and Iso Padre, the both of them appearing to be sleeping. He hopped off his seat and stepped around the train, wandering from cart to cart, wondering if the person who was carrying him was in the area. Sadly, the only other person on the train was C. , and he was busy conducting the train. It must've been late, not many people rode on the train during night time.

With a huff, Eight sat back down and began kicking his legs in a childlike manner, realizing that the energy that was incredibly lacking earlier had come back to him. He wanted to get up and move around and knock out more tests, or do just about anything that could let his energy out. He kicked his legs even faster, idly gazing around the train for anything to catch his eye.

His eyes landed onto the 'heavy thing' that was wrapped around him earlier, the odd object being the same colors he noticed on that person's jacket. It took a bit of lifting and twirling it to realize that it was indeed the same kind of jacket. A very, very large jacket. So large that it could probably fit two or possibly even three octolings comfortably. No wonder it was such a good blanket. It also looked oddly familiar, seeming to be just like the kind of jackets sea angels wou…

Oh. That explains a lot.

A soft smile spread on Eight's face as he realized who gave him the jacket. All the odd denizens that would ride the trains were quiet, but had personality, the sea angels no exception. They intimidated Eight heavily at first with their large height difference, he didn't want to go near them at all and would always be incredibly uncomfortable if he was forced to sit alongside one. After a while, though, he realized that they were just big dudes with hearts of gold. He once saw one give their seat up for an elderly gulper eel and another quietly play small games with the younger, funnily shaped jellyfish to pass the time.

A little ways away from him was a small bag on the floor, holding a package of several water bottles inside of it. Eight cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow, wondering why it was even there. Did Cap'n go and get something and come back for when he woke up? Maybe it was Iso Padre's? That was unlikely, Iso Padre had an overflowing suitcase of stuffed toys, why would he lug around a bag of water too?

"I see you've awakened, young squire." A deep and cool voice cut through the silence.

Eight looked up from the bag of water to see Iso Padre himself turned towards him, looking at him with a pair of his arms still crossed like they always were. When did he wake up? Was he even asleep to begin with?

Eight sighed and stood back up onto his feet, quietly stepping over to Iso Padre to avoid waking Cap'n Cuttlefish. He was really starting to miss the warmth of the jacket, the cool air of the train was starting to make him shiver even worse than he was before. He was already starting to get tired too, but he was also really hungry. Eight didn't even know how long he'd been asleep, plus he had previously thrown up before then, so now he was incredibly hungry and ready to feast on his own shoe if he didn't get a snack soon.

In the midst of his own thinking, Eight didn't notice Iso Padre reaching up one of his tendrils to his forehead until he softly touched it to his skin- the claw feeling cool and refreshing- resting it there and presumably taking his temperature. The isopod did nothing for a moment, leaving Eight to awkwardly stare elsewhere until he was done. All he did next was let out a short hum, taking the appendage back and tapping it to his (imaginary?) chin.

"Still a little warm. Why don't you drink some water? Being parched is usual after a hefty amount of rest." Iso recommended, gesturing to the bag of water that sat by the jacket.

It didn't take long for Eight to gulp down the water, moving from one bottle to another to quench his thirst. Plus, his throat was killing him, he needed something to cool it off and to fill his stomach in the meantime. His appetite was craving food, but this would have to do as a substitute for now.

"When...When's the next stop to Central Sta-Station?" Agent 8 asked weakly, his throat still needing time to recover. He sat himself back onto the seats and began idly kicking his legs once more, this time with less energy as his time of being awake was slowly starting to dwindle. He really wanted some food first, though.

"An hour or so. I may have forgotten, in all honesty, my watchful eye fails to function when aboard this train. I ride to ride and each ride feels as though I'm gliding through one dream after another."

Riiiiight.

Eight sighed and took the jacket from the seat, wrapping it around himself and shoving his arms through the sleeves. He felt a little goofy, seeing the ends of the sleeves drape off his hands since his arms weren't nearly long enough to fit properly in them, but he also felt more comfortable. It was like he was in a giant cocoon, warm and protected from the world around him and extremely comfortable. He should get a whole bunch of oversized jackets once he reaches the Promised Land, he'd try to wear one every single day.

Iso let out a deep laugh, noticing Eight's liking to the jacket, "A young gentleman donated his attire to you in the midst of your temporary coma, he wouldn't leave without knowing you were warm and tranquil. He is also the young sir whom generously gave you his bag of water and brought you inside from the test station."

Eight stared down at the jacket, realizing the person behind it practically gave it up for a stranger, plus his water too. The guy even carried him in from the test station where he passed out, which was really...really rad. Eight could feel heat come to his cheeks as he realized how much the stranger had done for him when he did nothing in return. Was he ever even going to meet him again? He at least wanted to return the jacket.

A new voice entered the conversation, "I swear my hearts all stopped when I saw the young lad slam against the train, it made me worry just like I did when my little grandsquids got themselves hurt too."

Agent 8 turned his gaze to Cap'n Cuttlefish, realizing the old squid had woken up and listened in on the one-sided conversation. How old were his grandsquids? Maybe they were the children on the background of the odd device he carried, but why was he talking about them in the past tense?

"You worried me sick, Agent 8!" The old man yelled angrily, slamming his odd little cane against the train's floor, "My mind was going seventy different places while hoping you were gonna live! You're lucky to even be awake right now thanks to my knowledge in medicine! Much less alive!"

Eight turned his gaze away from Cap'n Cuttlefish and tightened the jacket around himself, starting to feel guilty. He didn't know if it was him being over-emotional or his stupid fever (or concussion) acting up, but he could feel his eyes start stinging with tears. None of them were slipping out, thankfully.

"'M sorry." He muttered meekly, voice muffled by his head being halfway into the jacket. He desperately wanted to turn into an octopus and hide in it, hoping Cap'n wouldn't say anything else.

The old squid sighed and leaned back against the wall, "I can't forgive you right now, but I'll accept your apology. This old kook only has a couple years left, y'hear? I don't need you taking anymore off with your recklessness."

Eight slowly nodded, twiddling his thumbs underneath the jacket. He wanted to get out of there so badly. Anywhere was fine, just away from the feelings of Guilt and Sadness.

"That lad with the large coat was such a great man to work with." Cuttlefish eventually started back up, "He picked you up off the ground and held you his entire ride on this train!"

"W...Why?" Eight inquired curiously, one of his ears twitching due to a pesky bug.

"Why, you wouldn't let go of him!" Cuttlefish laughed, slamming his hand hard against his knee, "Must've been so comfy, even your body didn't want out! Poor lad had to sit at an odd angle as I patched up your head wounds and we had to pry you off so he could leave!"

Eight knelt down and picked up another water bottle, hoping it'd be enough to satisfy his scratchy throat and to put off his hunger for a little longer. He had to ask Iso Padre to help him open this one since it had an oddly tight cap, but once he got it open Eight glugged it down as fast as he could.

"The next stop to Central Station's in an hour, Cap'n." He stated with a small cough while wiping his lip with his sleeve. The sleeve of his own outfit, of course. He wouldn't do that to a stranger's coat if he had the possibility of giving it back.

Cap'n sighed as he looked up at the destination time being displayed above the door, "I figured." He tapped his cane and looked back at Eight, "Why don't you catch a little more shuteye and then we can nab some grub at those 'vending machines' you use?"

Eight wanted to object to the idea of him sleeping anymore, but he actually really did want to take another nap. He'd been tired a lot lately, the sickness invading his body probably sapping all of its energy as it fought back against it.

Laying back down onto the train's seats, Eight wrapped the jacket around himself as tight as he could and closed his eyes. It was a little uncomfortable since he could now feel the bandages press against his head, but he could work with it. He yawned and slowly curled up, trying to end up in the best position on the tiny little seat. He wished he could've at least had a pillow too but the jacket would have to do for now.

"Perhaps a story would be best to get the little one to sleep?" He could hear Iso Padre's deep voice ask, "I don't have many tales to tell, however."

"I got one!" Cuttlefish announced, "This used to put sweet little Callie to sleep all the time when she had a nightmare, this is bound to work on Agent 8. One day, this little kiddo named 'Angler' was walking around like he was proud, since he had a neat little light shining fr…."

The proposal for a story even to begin with offended Eight, who considered himself too old to need them. He couldn't lie that it was working, though, plus it was a pretty interesting story that exceeded his expectations. He could feel his reality slowly fading away and melting into dreams as Cuttlefish continued on, until the young octoling wasn't conscious any longer.