Inkley looked around as laughter echoed off the walls. It sounded like it was coming from every direction at once, and it made Inkley's stomach twist. He knew it was just another group of kids - maybe even the one they had passed a minute ago - but the way it sounded echoing through the tunnels unnerved Inkley.

"These tunnels are kind of creepy." Inkley said quietly.

"Huh?" Luma looked over her shoulder and shrugged, "I guess. You'll get used to it. You've got time for another fight, right? Of course you do."

"Yeah, sure." Inkley replied. Luma laughed, and Inkley cocked an eyebrow at her. "What's funny?"

"It's almost like you thought you had a choice." She said, just barely keeping herself from snorting.

As strange as her response was, Inkley couldn't help but crack a grin and laugh with her. Everything about her was so infectious.

"Could you two get your asses moving?" came the gruff request from behind Inkley.

Inkley felt heat rise in his cheeks as he realized he and Luma had come to a near-halt as they were speaking. Inkley opened his mouth to apologize, but was cut off as Luma rounded on the aggressor with a scowl that intimidated even Inkley.

"Can you mind your own business, you ink-sucking shell-biter?" Luma snapped, stabbing her finger angrily at the offender. "Or maybe I should come back there and make you eat your hat."

The sheer ferocity off Luma's retort left the entire tunnel silent. The offending boy and his friend behind him looked entirely dumbfounded, while the gas-mask wearing girl behind them giggled madly.

For a moment, Inkley was certain Luma was going to make good on her promise, as she looked fuming and ready to storm past him and stomp somebody into the ground. Suddenly afraid of such a confrontation, Inkley tried to place himself between Luma and the target of her anger, though he was certain she was going to shove him aside. She bared her teeth for the briefest moment, before the anger drained from her face, replaced by a determined frown. Her shoulders remained squared, and her entire body remained tense.

"Come on," Inkley said quietly. "We've got better stuff to do, right?"

"Right." Luma said begrudgingly, huffing and spinning around, marching off in the opposite direction.

Inkley jogged after her, considering her sudden change of mood. When they had first met up, she had been all business, and after their first win, she had loosened up. Each consecutive victory had made her considerably more relaxed, up until their last game. It had been close, but they had lost by just a tank's worth of ink. Luma had seemed nothing more than slightly irritated at the loss. And then this happened…

The tunnel was silent, save for the occasional echoes of passing groups. The boy and his friend walked several paces behind Inkley and Luma now, giving them a wide berth. At length, they reached the one-way door that led back into the tower. Luma, leading the group, trotted lightly up a short set of stairs and pushed the door open, stepping out. She stopped for a moment to adjust the strap of her gear-bag. Inkley followed her through the door, which had no outer handle, and stopped beside her.

"Look, I'm a little frazzled right now. Not in the right mindset to fight nice and proper. That other war'll have to wait." Luma said, avoiding Inkley's gaze.

"That's, uh, alright. I could use a break, too." Inkley rubbed at the back of his neck as he considered something. "Do you want a drink or something?"

The tension seemed to flow out of Luma's body at the offer. "If you're buying, sure. I could go for some ice cream right about now."

"C-cool, I know just the place." Inkley replied. There was brief moment of awkwardness as they both hesitated, but Inkley managed to take the initiative and began leading Luma to one of the few places he was familiar with.

The trip to Fishy Frank's was uneventful, if a bit awkward as Luma separated herself from Inkley to brood. He couldn't help but wonder if the loss and Luma's resulting mood were his fault. Inkley knew that such thoughts were pointless, but they nagged at him nonetheless. Huffing, Inkley shifted in his seat, turning to stare out the window, wearing a thoughtful frown he didn't know about.

"Hey, kid." Luma said suddenly, breaking Inkley out of his thoughts. He turned to look at her, and realized that she had scooted closer to him. "What's got your boxers in a twist? You look moody."

Inkley's shoulders slumped as he pondered a response. At a length, he said "So did you."

Luma frowned suddenly, cocking an eyebrow at Inkley. "I did?" She laughed with a shake of her head. "Oh, boy. Sorry, kid. I'm not used to losing, so when I do, I get all broody and try to figure out why. Didn't mean to cause a problem."

"... Was it me?"

Luma stared hard at Inkley for a moment, before blinking her shock away. "What? No. Don't be stupid, stupid." She said, waving the thought off. "You're too green to be held responsible." She paused. "It was around mid-game, I think. We pushed when we should have defended. Overextended, lost our crap."

Inkley scrunched his face up as he tried to remember. He recalled a charge, in which the entire team had been splatted. After that point, they had been on the defensive.

"Oh. Yeah." Inkley said plainly.

Luma suddenly slugged Inkley on the arm, hard enough to make him yelp from both shock and pain. "Cut the negative-Nelly crap, dumbass. We don't play that way, got it?" Though Luma wore an easy smile, Inkley was certain she meant what she said, and he gave a nod as he rubbed his arm. Luma's smile only grew at his acquiescence. "Good. Victory is a mindset. If all you do is go woe is me or some crap, you've already lost. Seize the day!"

Luma's burst of positivity forced Inkley to smile, despite the ache in his arm. The pain was well worth seeing Luma beam the way she was.


Inkley pushed the door to Fishy Frank's open, and Luma followed him in. A handful of diners ate and talked quietly amongst themselves as the young duo approached the counter, filling a pair of seats and patiently awaiting the arrival of Fishy Frank himself.

They didn't wait long, as Frank floated forth from the back. "Hey, Inkley. Who's your lady-friend?" He asked, leaving a heavy implication in the air.

Either not noticing or not caring about the implication, Luma drummed her fingers against the countertop. "I'm Luma."

"Right, Luma." Frank glanced between the young duo. "Looks like you two have been busy."

"Wha..?" Inkley mumbled dumbly. Frank gestured to his face, and Inkley reached a finger up to his own cheek. He felt something wet, and hurriedly wiped away a splotch of ink from the last turf war. "Oops. Yeah."

"So, what can I do for you kids?"

"Can I get a chocolate milkshake, Frank?" Inkley said. He glanced expectantly at Luma. "And, uh…"

"A sundae." Luma added quickly.

"Coming right up," Frank replied, withdrawing a small notepad and jotting something down on it. "Moira!"

"Yeah?" Asked a young woman, poking her head out from the kitchen doorway. Her tentacles were red, and Inkley recognized her bright green eyes. Frank tore a slip from his pad, and handed it off to the Moira. "Coming right up, boss-man!" And she disappeared back into the kitchen once more.

Frank leaned onto the counter, arching an eyebrow at Inkley. "So, turf wars, huh? They went better than your first one, I hope."

"Oh, yeah." Inkley said with a nod. "A lot better."

"I'm making sure of that." Interjected Luma, resting her cheek on her fist.

"Well, sixteen tentacles are better than eight. It's good that you kids are taking care of each other." Frank shrugged. "Next time you stop in, maybe you can tell me a story or two, eh?"

"Sure thing, Frank."

"Here you guys go," Moira called from the kitchen. She stepped out a moment later, carrying a plastic tray with their sweet treats atop it. "Eat up, kiddos." Moira set their order down and shuffled away, moving to greet a small family that entered the diner.

"I'll leave you both to it," Frank said, floating towards the kitchen. "Holler if you need anything."

As Frank disappeared, Inkley tentatively drank his shake. From the corner of his eye, he could see Luma take a massive bite from her sundae. They sat like this for a short while, before Luma idly tapped her spoon against the countertop.

"So," Luma slurred, her mouth half-full. "Splatfest is comin' up soon and all." She stopped to swallow, before slapping her open palm on the counter. "You doin' anything special?"

"Well, I was probably gonna watch it all from home." Inkley replied.

Luma barely managed to keep herself from barking with laughter. "Oh, man. That was good." Wiping a nonexistent tear from the corner of her eye, she shook her head and looked right at Inkley. Her grin faded as she saw his expression. "W-wait, are… Are you serious?"

"Kinda."

"Wow. That's dumb. No. You're not doing that, it's dumb." Luma said, shaking her head again. "Blue was saying something about getting everyone together the night before it all kicks off. You'll start with that. Then you can figure out something that isn't dumb to do. Play in the freebie games or something."

Inkley frowned thoughtfully. "Oh. Alright."

"Of course, we're gonna have to get you ready to roll on your own in time for Splatfest. I'm not gonna be there to watch your back then; the Tangerines are making a grab for the championship this year." Luma added, grinning in an undeniably cocky way.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Buck thinks we have a solid chance at making it. The running champs have thrown in the towel to let the new kids have a go at it, or something like that." Luma shrugged. "With them out of the picture, all the past runner-ups and a bunch of semi-pro teams - like the Tangerines - are gonna be rushing for the title. Normally we don't care about Splatfest, but Buck's been pushing for it all year."

"And… You listen to him?" Inkley inquired.

"Yeah. Him and Blue may be jerks, but they know turf war. I think we could do it, too." Luma said, almost dreamily, a certain glint in her eye. "That'd be sweet. Champions." She exhaled, looking wistfully off into the distance.

Inkley watched Luma, mouth slightly agape, wondering what exactly she was thinking about. Suddenly, Luma straightened her back and shook her head.

"Sorry. Got lost for a second." Luma said with a sigh. "Uh, I'm gonna go now. Talk you later kid, alright?" Without waiting for a response, Luma hopped down from her stool, shouldered her bag, and made for the door.

"Y-yeah, talk to you later," Inkley said, watching her go.

Luma stopped in the open door, and glanced over her shoulder at Inkley. Giving a mock-salute, she disappeared out the door, leaving Inkley with his milkshake and a half-finished sundae. Resting his cheek on his fist, Inkley sighed, staring down into his milkshake as though it had answers for all the questions he had.

A tentacle slid into Inkley's view. "A penny for your thoughts, kiddo."

"Huh?" Inkley mumbled, looking up at Frank. "Oh. Hey, Frank."

"Something on your mind?" Frank asked, leaning on the counter.

Inkley exhaled, and took a long moment before answering. "Yeah, I guess. A lot of things."

"Wanna chat?"

"I… I dunno, Frank. It's all pretty weird."

Frank shrugged. "I understand. You're always welcome here, though, Inkley."

"Thanks." Inkley said earnestly. He fished out a small handful of coins and deposited them on the counter "Talk to you later, Frank."

"See you around, Inkley."

Hopping down from his seat, Inkley picked up his things, shouldered his bag, and made his way home.


Inkley didn't hear from Luma for the rest of the week. He spent most of Thursday wondering if she would ever speak to him again, but by Friday morning, he was instead wondering when he would hear from her.

He had no time to worry, however, when Jet called and informed him that she would be picking him up tomorrow morning. Inkley packed a few changes of clothes and eagerly awaited his sister's arrival.

She arrived late in the morning, and she and Inkley went through the suburbs, opting to walk instead of taking the train.

"I heard that you and that Luma girl were hanging out a few days ago." Jet said eventually, hands in her pockets.

"Who told you that?" Inkley asked, trying his hardest to match Jet's cool demeanor.

"A reliable source." Jet replied with a shrug. She cast a glance at Inkley and cocked an expectant eyebrow at him. "Were you?"

Inkley exhaled. "Yeah. We did a few turf wars, and stopped at Frank's afterwards."

"Kinda like a date."

"I-I gue- Wait, no!" Inkley stammered indignantly. "It wasn't a date."

"Mhmm." Jet hummed, smirking. "You know, Zoom and I first started dating around your age. And it all started over a turf war and a milkshake at Frank's, too."

"Shut up! We're not dating!"

Jet laughed at Inkley's outburst and shook her head. "Chill out, Squirt. Maybe if you cool down, we can head to the plaza, try a turf war or two."

Inkley continued to scowl for several moments, before huffing. "Fine."

Jet smiled at Inkley and gave him a nod. "Better. C'mon - we're going back to my place first. You can drop your stuff off, I can pick up my gear, and then we can splat the world."

Inkley huffed and crammed his hands into his pockets, falling a step behind Jet, content to let her lead the way. They walked for another half hour, not talking, save for the occasional, obligatory quip, often aimed at strangers they passed on the street. Eventually making it back to Jet's apartment complex, they made their way up to her apartment and entered. Jet strode to her room, stopping only to address Inkley for a moment.

"Dump anything that isn't turf-related, squiddo." Jet told him, before disappearing through the doorway.

Frowning, Inkley did just that, dumping out all his belongings, except for his shooter and its tank. Everything he had brought with him lay in a heap on Jet's couch. Satisfied, Inkley zipped his bag back up and shouldered it. Not a moment later, Jet emerged from her room, her rifle back in her arms. She didn't stop for a moment, barely even glancing at Inkley as she gestured towards the door.

"C'mon, let's go." Jet said. "The sooner we get there, the sooner I can show you how the big squids do turf wars."

"Besides getting stomped into the turf by people who are way better than them?" Inkley retorted.

"Shut up and come on, or you're getting a timeout."

Inkley grinned and trotted after her, closing the door behind him.


The plaza was, as usual, packed with bodies. Inkley followed Jet through the press of the crowd towards the Tower lobby. The doors slid open, and they made their way to the desk, which had a long line in front of it. The place was as busy as Inkley had ever seen it, and they had to wait nearly five minutes before they were at the front of the line.

"How can I help you?" Asked the clerk, resting her cheek on her fist.

"We want to sign up for duo queue." Jet said firmly.

The clerk perked up slightly, sending an unsure glance between Jet and Inkley. "You sure about that?" She asked, arching an eyebrow. "Since you're different ages, I'm gonna have to put you in the upper-middle age group. And, uh, he looks kinda… Young."

Jet sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "I know he looks goofy and all… Just… Do what you gotta do. We can take it."

"I'm right here, you know." Inkley said, frowning. Neither Jet nor the clerk seemed to pay him any heed, and his frown only deepened. "Squids…"

The clerk shrugged and busily tapped away at her computer. "I've got some openings for Port Mackerel in fifteen."

"Sign us up." Jet said, grinning. She nudged Inkley. "Port Mackerel is, like, my place, Squirt. Long, narrow paths are really good for pinning people down. And if you watch my back and make good use of your bubbler, we shouldn't have any problems."

"Right." Inkley replied, nodding thoughtfully.

"Okay," the clerk said absently. "You guys are in. You'll be called when the match is ready."

Jet manhandled Inkley away from the counter, leading him to the nearest unoccupied spot on the wall. Jet seated herself on the floor, and seeing that all nearby benches were occupied, Inkley followed her lead.

"Okay, so, since we're going against an older age-group, things may be a bit... Rough." Jet began, drumming her fingers against her thigh. "Older boys and girls like to play a bit more… Aggressively, I guess."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Inkley asked, cocking an eyebrow at his sister.

"Just… Don't be afraid to push and shove if you have to, is all I'm saying." Jet replied, looking away.

"Jet, I really don't like the way-"

"Look," Jet said, cutting Inkley off. "Random people in older age groups tend to be…" Jet sighed. "They're assholes, Inkley. They'll knock you over from behind and laugh at you before they splat you, and then they'll sneer when you respawn." Seeing the look on Inkley's face, Jet shook her head. "Not everyone's like that, but… There are more jerks in the older age ranges than in the younger ones." She laughed wistfully, looking off for a moment. "You little squids are so innocent, and all. Turf war is life, and all, when you're young." Shaking her head again, Jet looked back at Inkley. "If someone's a jerk, don't take it personally. Their life just sucks, is all, and the only thing they can do about it is be awful. Stick around me and they probably won't try anything."

Inkley felt a pit forming in his stomach, but tried his hardest not to let it show. "Oh."

Jet frowned at Inkley. "I shouldn't have said anything. I've only dealt with a few jerks in my time here."

"You're a bad liar." Inkley replied, putting his face in his hands.

Jet gave a weak laugh and shrugged. "Yeah… We don't have to do this, if you don't want to."

Inkley remained as he was for a long moment, before pressing his back to the wall and exhaling. "No. I-it's okay. I can… I can handle it."

Jet smiled at him. "You're a bad liar."

Despite himself, Inkley laughed. "I learned from the worst."

"Friggin' right you did."

And then they fell into an easy silence as they waited. Inkley watched nearly a dozen other kids come and go, nearly all of them laughing and cheering raucously as they went. Another group passed, this one far more somber than the others. They all stared at the floor dejectedly as they walked. One of them put on a winning smile and swept her teammates together, straining to wrap her arms around all of their shoulders.

"Come on guys!" She said brightly. "So, we lost by, like, seventy percent. We can do better next time." Her teammates gave grumbled, half-hearted responses. "Listen here, you salty squids. I won't tolerate this anymore." She snapped, putting her fists on her hips. One of her tentacles waved in the air beside her for emphasis. "The next one of you to complain gets slapped."

"But-"

"Shush." Continued the girl, cutting her friend off. Her tentacle reached out and flicked the offender's nose. "Be happy!"

The group's somber mood was broken as the boy who had been flicked burst into laughter. The four of them walked off, suddenly full of spirit. Inkley idly wondered if, at the end of a bad day, he would be able to recover as easily as they had.

"All fighters for Port Mackerel, please report to the desk."

Jet slapped Inkley's shoulder as she stood, and offered a hand to pull him up. Taking it, Inkley stood and followed her over to the desk, where another six people, plus the clerk, had already gathered. With just a cursory glance, Inkley confirmed that he was the youngest. Two others looked to be around sixteen or seventeen, while the rest looked eighteen or older. Inkley's confidence was already beginning to fade.

"Wrists." Demanded the clerk, a no-nonsense look on her face. When all arms were stuck out, the clerk set to banding each wrist. Inkley found himself on the blue team, while the enemy team was pink. One of the other younger inklings was on his team, which did little to reassure him. "Alright, behind the desk." The clerk said, standing and moving away from the desk. She unlocked the hatch, and with a grunt of effort, opened it, clearly straining to do so. She huffed, and stepped away from the hatch. "Alright… First, follow the bright green tunnel, then the purple one. The purple one will take you all the way to Port Mackerel."

The opposing team was closer, and so they climbed down first. Inkley's team followed, with Jet being the last one. The clerk said nothing, simply closing the hatch after them. It was even louder than last time, and Inkley jumped at the sound. Inkley nearly started again as he felt a tap on his shoulder, and he wheeled around to Jet.

"C'mon, Squirt." Jet said, waving him along.

Looking past his sister, Inkley could see that everyone else was already moving forward. Not wanting to get left behind, he quickly followed after Jet. The walk to Port Mackerel was utterly uneventful, and they made it there without so much as a word being said. They climbed up an open hatch, and were immediately greeted by a pair of workers.

"Alright," One of them said, jerking a thumb towards a row of lockers. "Stow your stuff and get your vests. Blue, you're on the far side."

Inkley, following the lead of those around him, pulled his shooter out from his bag and moved to a locker. Opening it, he stored his bag and took out the vest hanging within. Pulling it on, Inkley strapped on his tank, hooked up his shooter, and stood beside Jet, waiting for her to get ready. He changed his tentacles to the proper color as he waited. The others, all prepared, shuffled through a narrow door in a nearby wall.

"Let's get going." Jet said suddenly, straightening. "The sooner we start, the sooner we win."

Inkley followed Jet, going through the door and peering around. This place is just like an outdoors Walleye Warehouse. Shipping crates littered the area. A ramp led down to the central area, while two higher branching paths flanked it.

"Like I said, this place is great." Jet explained, hefting her charger for emphasis. "The long, narrow paths let me get a clear shot from far away. The grid pattern lets close fighters like you move around and flank people. But I want you defending. Me, specifically. Keep my flanks covered and nearby turf painted our color, and we should be in business while our teammates push."

"Got it." Inkley replied, nodding as if it would help him process the information.

"And, uh…" Jet began with a laugh. "The enemy team is really wonky. Three rollers and a slosher. We've got this. Just check your corners and try to flank the slosher."

"Right."

"You got no idea what I'm saying, do you?" Jet asked, shaking her head.

"Not really."

"Just stick near me. But not so close we both get splatted. Play defensively and play safe."

Inkley nodded, not saying anything. They reached their base, where their teammates were waiting for them. One, a young man who looked older than Jet, had a massive roller over his shoulder and held it with practiced ease, while the other, a girl just a few years older than Inkley, had what Inkley recognized as an Aerospray RG. She was also wearing a gas mask and what looked like some kind of tactical vest, and Inkley found himself strangely intimidated by her.

"What is that?" Inkley asked dumbly, staring slack-jawed at his teammate's roller.

"Dynamo." The young man replied, shrugging his shoulders. "This thing throws ink farther than you can see, kid."

The girl said something, muffled by her mask, and laughed. The young man laughed with her, and Inkley realized how close they were standing. Must be friends.

"Both teams are at base." Came the voice of a worker. "Fill your tanks, and get ready to splat."

Jet reached down to pick up a hose from the base-pad, and promptly handed it to Inkley.

"Fill up, Squirt." Jet said quietly. Frowning, Inkley did as he was told, hooking the hose up to Jet's tank and holding it until it was full. As the hose detached, Jet wheeled around, taking it and spinning Inkley. "Alright, hold still."

Inkley shrugged experimentally as fluid weight bore down on his shoulders. His teammates had just finished filling their tanks, and after a moment, Inkley's gave a satisfied ding. A few moments later, all the hoses detracted, and the speakers crackled back to life.

"Both teams have full tanks. Prepare to splat in… 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… SPLAT!"

Inkley inhaled, puffing out his chest and gripping his shooter so tightly that his knuckles were white and his hand hurt. Trying to be as brave as he could, he stepped forward and raised his shooter, intent on carving a path forward.