Eight sat up shakily, feeling like she'd just been ripped apart from limb to limb. Slowly, her surroundings started to take shape around her: the Domes. Some sort of arena. There were giant speakers set up against the walls, across the abyss, pumping music that she couldn't seem to make out over her headache.
Why was she back in the domes?
"Ya, weni, marei," said the speakers. The words seemed to cloud her mind, dragging her down, making her movements heavy.
A blur of motion in front of her caught her eye; a single Inkling, dropping down onto a raised platform just outside of the arena. She was familiar, but Eight was having trouble recalling her. She had a cape flowing behind her, a modified shooter in hand, and earphones on. Her tentacles were grey—no, green, wait, no—orange. They were orange.
Three.
The rational part of Eight's brain told her that this wasn't correct. Three's tentacles should've been green, since she was in Octarian territory. They had been green last time they were here, in the Domes, with Three staring her down like this. Green was the most effective color against the purple the Octarians liked to used, it did the most damage, all the agents switched to green whenever they faced Octarians, so why was she in her natural color, and why was she smiling like that, and why was Eight so scared, and why—
"Mirekyara hire, juri, yu mirekerason," said the speakers, and Three jumped.
She crashed onto the arena floor with a splashdown, which Eight only barely managed to avoid. Eight brought up her octoshot and began firing, but barely got two shots off before Three tossed out an autobomb and inkjetted up into the sky.
Eight ran in circles, dodging autobombs and ink globs and now Three was using a bubble blower and there were even more autobombs, and Eight briefly wondered, in the dredges of her consciousness, not for the first time, how she'd ever made it out of this battle alive to suffer in Kamabo.
"Kire, hyari, yuriherahe nyurahera," said the speakers.
As Eight wove between tenta missiles, the beats of the Calamari Inkantation pounded in her head. She recognized it now; she had felt its spell once before, long ago, as it stripped the DJ of his power. She understood the magic the song brought.
And she understood that, in this moment, it was not playing for her.
"Nunyera, unera, yurawera fimera ni!" said the speakers, as Three's splashdown forcibly tore apart Eight's body in an explosion of blue-orange ink.
Everything went black for a moment of indeterminable time, and then Eight awoke once more, rising on shaking legs, clutching her Octoshot with whitening knuckles. The Octarian visor over her eyes ever-so-slightly distorted the dreary scenery of the Domes. She cringed as the speakers spasmed with the low sounds of thumping kick drums, and watched helplessly as Agent 3 dropped onto her platform, confident as ever.
"Ya, weni, marei, mirekyara hire, juri, yu mirekerason," said the speakers, as everything repeated once more, and her headache returned full-throttle.
If it didn't hurt so much every time, Eight imagined she would be growing numb to dying.
"Eight? Eight, wake up!"
Eight's eyes shot open, and she instinctively tucked and rolled, certain that Three's splashdown was coming. But it wasn't, and her hasty acrobatics only served to make her collapse onto the thinly carpeted floor in a tangle of bedsheets and tentacles. The golden toothpick in her hair came loose and rolled across the floor, coming to a rest against the leg of her night stand.
Marina looked down at her worriedly. "Did you have a nightmare? You were tossing and turning when I came in to check on you."
Eight frowned and looked at her alarm clock she never used. Nine? What?! She normally woke herself up at seven!
"I'm so sorry," Marina continued, sitting down at the edge of Eight's bed while she untangled herself. "You haven't had one in weeks; I thought they were over. Was this another one about the metro?"
Eight opened her mouth, paused, and shook her head. "No, it wasn't."
"What was it, then?"
Eight frowned. Marina must have noticed how uncomfortable she was, because she smiled softly, and put a hand on Eight's shoulder.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said. "I just thought talking might help."
"I… appreciate it," Eight said. It was true, but she still couldn't bring herself to look at Marina. "But I don't want to talk about it."
Marina nodded. "I understand. Well, hang in there okay? And we're here if you need us. Me, Pearl, Three… all of us."
Eight flinched despite herself when Marina uttered that last name. Marina frowned slightly, but let it go, leaving Eight alone in her room. She sighed, hugged her knees to her chest, and tried not to cry.
"Hey, it's Three. I was just calling to see if you wanted to hang out sometime? I got work for a few days starting this afternoon, but I'm free this morning. Just thought I'd ask because I'm gonna be pretty unavailable for the rest of the week. If you're interested just give me a call."
Eight slammed her eyes shut tight, but couldn't help thinking about bubble-blowers and autobombs.
Three: Eight, you there?
Three: Its been a while since I called. U lose your phone or something?
Three: Not to pressure you or anything its just your usually so prompt
Three: Hmm. Well, guess ur not at ur phone right now or something. Idk just text me when you get this if you can? Im starting to get a bit worried lol
Eight clutched at her head. Ya. Weni. Marei. Mirekyara hira. Juri. Yu mirekerason. It was stuck in her head, now. Maybe she didn't want her memories back after all. This wasn't fun. This was the opposite of fun.
Eight: Hey, sorry I missed all of your calls and texts, I'm a bit busy right now.
Three: Oh, its fine! What are you doing, if you don't mind my asking?
Eight: It's personal, sorry
Three:
Three: Right of course
Three: Okay well
Three: See ya when I see ya
"Hey, Eight, it's Three, again. Did I… do something wrong? I feel like you're mad at me. Because you're definitely avoiding me. I just want to talk. I'm sorry. I'm… not exactly sure for what right now, but I'm sorry. Please pick up. I'm worried. I'm sorry. I, uh… I… nevermind. This was a bad idea. Just ignore this. Heh, not like you haven't been doing that already. Wait, no, that came out meaner than I intended. I'm… sorry."
Three slid her phone back into her pocket and let her head collide onto the break room table with a harsh bonk. What was going on? Had it been that memory? But, hell, she didn't even know which memory it was, much less any that would make her this mad at Three. Except for their first fight, she guessed? But Eight had attacked first back then; Three had just been minding her business. Did Eight not remember that part? Maybe she was just… uncomfortable? …Scared? Three had no idea, and it was frustrating her.
"Amy."
Or maybe it was a memory from before the two of them had even met. Maybe she'd remembered that she was, like, super loyal to the Octarians before getting her memory wiped, and now she was having an identity crisis, and seeing Three would just make that harder for her. That would make sense, she supposed.
"Hey, Amy."
But why couldn't Three help her with that? Did Eight not trust her? She was her girlfriend! Why shut her out like this? Ugh. The last thing Three wanted was to feel mad towards Eight about this, but she was making it kind of difficult.
"Amy. Amelia. Hey. Amy."
Three immediately filed her thoughts away for later, and Amy sat up, giving Danny a hard look. The two of them were the only tour guides on shift at the Museum today, since Tuesdays tended to be rather slow. And Amy really wasn't in the mood to deal with his bullshit right now. "Fucking what?"
"There's a group waiting for a guide, lazy-ass."
"Well," Amy droned, "good thing you don't seem particularly busy."
"Oh, no you don't," Danny said, shaking his finger at her. "I just finished a tour, and you've just been sitting in here on your phone all day. Who are you even texting, anyway?"
"None of your business."
"It is when I have to do all the work myself!"
Amy rolled her eyes and stood up, walking over to the water cooler and grabbing a cup. "Fine. I'll go do this tour. Happy?"
"You never answered my question," Danny went on, like a nosy little fuck. "Who are you texting?"
"What part of 'none of your business' don't you understand?" Amy growled as she watched the water pour into her cup.
"C'mon, Ames, I'm curious."
"Call me that again and die," she said automatically, draining the cup in one long sip and tossing it out. She sighed; Danny wasn't gonna shut up unless she told him, so she may as well just get it over with. "I was texting my girlfriend."
Danny blinked. "Oh, so you're bi?"
"Lesbian," Amy corrected.
"But you and I used to—"
"We all make mistakes, Danny," Amy said coolly, walking to the door that exited the employees-only area. "Though I guess I never thanked you for teaching me that valuable lesson. So, thanks."
Danny spluttered for a moment, but finally found the words to ask, "Who is she?"
"Good-bye, Danny," Amy hissed, slamming the door.
Muttering under her breath, she made her way to the front of the museum, where a group of out-of-towners were waiting. Amy wrenched her face into something she hoped resembled a smile, and approached the group.
"Hi, and welcome to the P. R. Hana Science Museum. I'm Amy, and I'll be your tour guide today. Prepare yourselves for the technological marvels of modern day Inkopolis and sh—" She looked nervously to one of the children in the group, a red inkling who hadn't yet acquired her shapeshifting. "And stuff. Whatever. Follow me."
God. She needed to get her head in the game. Amy. You're Amy, she said into her head as she stopped at the first exhibit and droned on about early spawn technologies used in the War. You work in a museum. You don't know octolings still exist. You don't even know that 'three' is a number.
"Hey, honey," one of the tourists said to his wife, "are we still on for dinner with your folks at eight?"
The words echoed in her head. At eight? Eight? Eight?!
Amy whipped out a finger to point at him and pulled a face. "Shut up! No talking during the tour!" He reeled back in shock, looking extremely uncomfortable. Amy coughed. "Sorry about that. Anyway, the development of spawn technology proved to be the turning point in the war against the Octarians, and…"
Eight turned at the knock on her door, and closed out of the voicemail she'd been listening to for about an hour now. Pearl was there in the doorframe, looking equal parts awkward and worried.
"Hey, kiddo, you alright?" she asked. "You haven't left your room, like, all day."
Eight narrowed her eyes. "Did Marina send you to check on me?"
Pearl blushed. "Look, what's wrong? This isn't like you."
Eight set down her phone and sighed. After a minute, she said, "Three tried to kill me."
"Oh boy," Pearl said, and walked over to Eight's bed, sitting down. "This isn't about the mind control, right?"
Eight shook her head.
"So… did you… your memories…"
Eight nodded.
"Oof," Pearl said. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Well…" Eight paused. "The memory's not much. I remember encountering Three in Octo Ravine, and then we fought. I was scared, but determined to win, I think. But I was losing. Then we were interrupted, and the memory stops there. But that's not—it's not just that, I had this dream where Three was killing me over and over and I just can't win! She could've killed me back then, and—and she could kill me now, if she wanted, and there's nothing I could do about it!"
"I don't understand," Pearl said, and then quickly followed with, "Wait, no, that came out wrong. I mean, I understand that having nightmares like that fucking sucks, and I get that your fight with Three isn't exactly a happy memory, but I don't get why you think Three might still want to hurt you. Because, trust me, she's like head over heels for you. You know?"
"I know," Eight said. "I know she would never hurt me. But I also know she would absolutely hurt whoever I used to be. So… who was I, that Three was willing to kill me back then?"
Pearl swallowed. "Eight, I would be shocked if you were ever anything besides a great person."
Eight laughed, softly, and asked, "How would you know? I shot first."
Pearl didn't have a response to that, and sat quietly for a minute before finally speaking up again. "Have you tried talking to Three about it?"
"…No," Eight confessed. "I've kind of been ignoring her."
"Eight!"
"I know, I know!" Eight protested, looking away. "But I just… can't face her right now. I'll apologize once I've worked through all this."
Pearl shook her head. "Nope. Bullshit. Not how this works."
"W-what?" Eight asked.
"Here's what's gonna happen, alright?" Pearl crossed her arms, her presence almost making up for her lack of height. "You're gonna get some sleep. I know you want to avoid any nightmares, but you need to sleep, got it? And then tomorrow, you're gonna talk to Three. Face to face. And it'll all work out."
"R-right." Eight wanted to believe Pearl, she really did.
"Great! Alright. I'll leave you alone now." Pearl got up and walked out, idling in the doorway. "You're too strong to let this keep you down, Eight. And not a single person here is worried about who you were in the past, got it?"
Eight nodded, but said nothing as Pearl shut the door to her room. She glanced towards her pillows; she really didn't feel like sleeping right now, despite Pearl's insistence. She would talk to Three tomorrow—really, she would—but tonight, there was someone else she wanted to talk to.
Carefully, silently, Eight slipped out of her room.
through her, she pulled the trigger.
