Family
There will come a day when your past is no longer important.
Your remembrances will stop featuring your family.
Your remembrances will instead, feature the future.
This is good; this is natural.
This is how new Octarians are born.
Pearl is laughing, and it makes Marina's cheeks heat. She glances away. "You still didn't need to buy me one."
"It's your second week turfing with it, and you beat your best roller score by over a hundred points!" Pearl bounces on her toes. "I think we found your weapon."
Marina glances away. "It's only because it had a shield. I didn't have to worry about-"
"Yeah, sure." Pearl grabs Marina's wrist and tugs until Marina's looking at her. "Call it a late birthday present. Early birthday present? When is your birthday, anyway? You still haven't told me. Or your last name. How old are you?"
Marina bites her lip. She's been in Inkopolis for two, two and a half years now... "We always just said our age went up when the year changed," she says at last. "But I know I was one of the oldest of my year..."
"Seriously, Rina, your squidhood was wack." Pearl crosses her arms. "Fine. Choose a month. Pick a day."
"Uh." Marina fiddles with her longest tentacle (it's getting longer; she's been growing it out, inspired by all the inklings around her). "You remember the snowman sandcastle splatfest?"
Pearl's grin could split her face. "You said you'd never built either of them before, Rina! I had to do something. And there was still enough snow on the ground to-"
"But arranging a private train compartment so we could go to the beach somewhere warm?" Marina shakes her head, tentacles waving. "You didn't have to do that. What day was that?"
"The splatfest was March 19," says Pearl. "Oh, is that going to be your birthday? That's close enough for this to really be your birthday gift. Right after the Chicken and Egg splatfest." She grins. "Maybe if your whole side's as good as you are with that brella, they'll stand a chance."
"As if." Marina glares down at her partner. "Your whole side's going down."
Pearl matches her look for look, and Marina has to fight to keep down her smile. Finally, she looks away. "It's already nine. We should head out."
Pearl sighs. "Grocery shopping," she grumbles. "The only type I hate."
"Can I meet you there in twenty?" Marina taps her brella against her shoe. "I need to measure my weapons wall and buy a some new supports to fit this."
Pearl rolls her eyes. "You know, they make walls just for that. They look a lot nicer than your jury-rigged mess."
"Yeah, but mine's sturdier. And we did take separate vehicles." Marina can't keep back her smile. "Which we wouldn't have, if you'd just get on my bike with me."
"I can't even stay on a regular bike, Rina, I'm not going on a motorcycle." Pearl crosses her arms and sighs. "Fine. Getting the stuff so you can teach me more cooking should only take a few minutes; how about we meet at the construction shop instead of Mako Mart?"
"Deal. Why did you buy it for me if you were scared?" The two walk to their lockers, side by side, and Marina retrieves her helmet. "See you in twenty minutes?"
"I'll beat ya there."
Pearl zips up her coat, takes off her crown, and puts on a hat; Marina takes off her headphones, puts on her helmet, and flips down the visor to obscure her face (it's just a visor it's just the helmet nothing's tinted red it's fine). The stars twinkle overhead as the two of them emerge. Pearl's car is parked in its customary spot behind the studio, where they left the driver halfway through a hefty novel; Marina's bike is in a spot by the train station. No one recognizes them now, but their voices may be just as recognizable, so they only wave as they split up.
Marina unlocks her bike, packs her things in the back (there's a spare helmet for Pearl, in case she ever changes her mind) and takes off. She hums under her breath as she weaves through traffic. They haven't got more than the melody down yet-the nah, nah nah nah nah nah part that's seriously catchy-but they both agree it needs to be about something, something nasty.
She reaches her apartment building in record time, parks in the street and secures her bike, still humming. A few jellies and inklings nod at her, and she nods back, retrieves her brella, then very deliberately and obviously equips and activates the alarm and the electro-splattegizer. At least ten people of four species wander away.
Lowlifes.
Maybe Pearl and M. Dusa are right. Maybe she needs to get an apartment in a better neighborhood. Not move in with Pearl, like she keeps suggesting, but she isn't living turf war to turf war anymore. She could get a place with an alarm system, and central air, and a fridge with a freezer that actually freezes. But it doesn't seem worth it, when everything she cares about is at the studio or Pearl's place.
Marina takes the stairs three at a time, unlocks her door, flicks on the light, and walks in. Her weapon wall is in her bedroom, with her bed and wardrobe and original, broken keyboard; as she turns her back on the kitchen nook, she sees movement from the corner of her eye.
Marina ducks, jumps forward, and rolls into her bedroom, reflexes honed by hours of salmon run and turf war. She bangs into her weapons rack, her splattershot junior and first ink tank wobbling. "Who's there?" she demands, brella in hand; she's got the ink tank off the rack and on her back, filling before she's finished the sentence. "I'm armed. Identify yourself and your-"
"Long time no see, tentacrop."
Marina's jaw drops; she lowers the tip of her brella. "Harbor?" Her voice wobbles on the word, on the Octarian. "Harbor? Is that you?"
"Of course," He steps into the doorway, and Marina's hearts drop. It's her brother, all right, sure and unmistakable. He's gotten taller since she left; almost as tall as her, now. His legs and arms have a lot more muscle. His octarian armor fits tight around his chest; an octoshot, the handle shiny with use, sits in a holster on his belt: unlike Marina, Harbor was destined for combat.
Hypnoshades obscure his eyes.
He's wearing hypnoshades, not goggles.
If he's wearing hypnoshades, they've been approved for combat.
No one wears hypno items in remembrance, because it destroys the illusion.
"Why are you here?" Marina's voice wobbles; she's unsteady on her feet, and puts a hand on the wall. "I thought..." she doesn't know how to finish the sentence. "It's been years. Why now?"
"I need a reason to visit my big sister?" Harbor chuckles. She stares at him, but can't see his eyes as he steps forward. Not behind the glasses. "I wanted to see you. I... I needed to see you, tentacrop. Why'd you leave me?"
This. Marina isn't prepared for this. She opens her mouth and closes it, wordless and stunned.
Harbor takes a step out of the doorway, towards her. There's something in his spare hand, something small, but she can't pay attention to it as he speaks. "Running away from home to deal with inklings? What happened to turn you towards the enemy?"
"They're not the enemy." Marina's surprised at her own words, but they're real, they're true. "Most of them don't think Octarians still exist. If they did? If they knew? I think..." Pearl. "A good chunk of them would welcome us with open arms, and want to make our lives better."
Harbor snorts, taking another step forward, halfway across the room. "Is that what they've convinced you of? How many lies have they got you believing?"
Marina isn't sure of it, never has been sure of it, but even if she was, she can't just tell Pearl how she's been lying. Though none of this is real. Though if it's not here...
"You've been lied to," says Harbor. "You lied to yourself. I can help, tentacrop." He takes one more step, almost in arm's reach, and Marina sees what's in his hand.
She has her brella up and aimed before she can think. "I am not putting those on."
Harbor freezes. Then, deliberately, he raises his hand and opens it. A pair of hypnoshades, LED's in the lenses glowing, circles moving in and out. "What, this? It's been so long since I've seen you, I just had to bring a present."
"Not one I want." Marina's voice shakes, but her hands are steady on her brella. It's her brother. "Get away from me. I-" her voice cracks; she clears her throat. "I missed you too, Harbor, but I'm not putting those on. I'm not going back."
Harbor stares at her, his face unreadable behind the glasses. "But you could be happy again. With all your needs taken care of, without a care as you build-"
"I'm happy here," and it's real here, it is, it has to be, because if it's not they've gone further to convince her of it than anyone in command ever would under DJ Octavio. "Harbor... you have no idea what it's like, to be the only person controlling you. To have a choice. I... I love you. You're my brother. But I can't go back." She swallows back a lump in her throat. "Take off your glasses. Stay. You'll see."
He probably can't even hear her. Cod knows what sort of remembrance he's seeing right now. "You believe them, don't you? You actually believe it." Harbor shakes his head. "Well, Tentacrop,"
He lunges for her. Grabs the brella. She shoots. It hits right in his face, and he stumbles back. Her second shot splats him. His soul rises up, searching for respawn; the glasses fall to her feet.
Her brother. She's never splatted anyone, not once, not even in Turf War and she just-
"He failed. Move in!"
Marina opens her weapon and holds it, firing the brella off in a line just as more octolings appear in the doorway. All wearing hypno shades. Each carrying something. She damages one, maybe two of them before the brella breaks and they're on her.
Marina shoots and dodges and rolls. Ink, dark pink and teal, splatters. She knocks her weapon wall over onto one of them and uses her bed as cover; she's outnumbered but her brella's back blocking the shots and there's an octoshot an octoblaster and an octobrush. Her brother makes a full splatoon. All close-range weapons, good for something like this, and she's still outnumbered.
"Ida, you can accept it or you can be taken swimming and screaming," says the blaster; Marina fires at her and ducks, keeping her away. "But you're coming back with us. We need your improvements to the great octoweapons."
"Make them yourself," Marina snaps. She has to get out of here, but more important, they're surrounding her. She fires another shot and holds it, letting her brella go free and drive back the brush and the blaster, inks a path to the door and swims as glass shatters behind her and someone curses, but she's slow. She's slow, she'll always be slow, and her stupid tentacle that never grew right is-
Marina jumps from the ink and misses a volley of shots, lands on her kitchen table and one leg of it breaks, throwing her to the ground. Knocking the wind from her.
Ink stings. She sweeps out her legs, dropping the shooter, turns the table sideways to block the tiny kitchen, already a mess of dropped frying pans and spoiling food: they were waiting here a while. But the table's not gonna hold them long.
Pounding from her door. "Rina! Your window was broken. Did someone steal your stuff? Is everything okay?"
Pearl.
No.
"Everything's fine, Pearlie." It takes every bit of control Marina has to keep her voice from shaking. The side of the table, facing her, is turning pink; it won't hold much longer. "I'll-I'll meet you downstairs."
"Give it up, Ida."
"Is that blaster fire?"
Marina fires over the table, shooting off her brella again. "Pearl-"
"There's ink coming from under the door!"
"Pearl, JUST GO!" She's-they're not going to splat her. They want her alive. It's not going to be long now. She doesn't have anywhere to go.
She'd throw a bomb, but this is the splat brella. A sprinkler won't help her. Her roller, or shell, the splattershot junior would be more useful right now, but she wouldn't have made it even this far with them.
The table starts to wobble, breaking, dissolving under the weight of the ink on it. Marina raises her brella, waits. She'll have one chance to send it off. One chance to maybe, just maybe, break free.
Her apartment door BANGS as it hits the wall. "What the fuck are you fucking fuckers doing?!" Pearl's voice comes with the rapid-fire sound of dualies shooting, and the splooshing explosion of someone being splatted.
Marina releases her brella, the canopy obliterating the table and barrelling right into the blaster, knocking him down. Marina runs forward, terrified-but Pearl is there, still shooting, keeping the brush at a safe distance, her tentacles as teal as Marina's. "Pearl!"
"Rina!" Pearl dodge-rolls around the brush and gets two shots in from behind, sending them leaping behind the door as cover. "Are you-"
"I'm fine." The brush user pokes her head out, and Marina shoots at it; Pearl fires at the blaster behind her. Marina takes her chance, swims through ink towards Pearl, her brella recovered.
Pearl swears. "I called the police when I saw your window; they should be here-"
"No." Marina can't imagine much worse than bringing more inklings into this. "In this part of town? It's splat or be splatted." This has been noisy, and messy; sooner or later, someone will-
Oh who is she kidding. Her neighbors wouldn't help if Callie Cuttlefish appeared and promised them all autographs.
"Then that's what we'll do," Pearl says. "Down."
Marina turns octo. Pearl dodgerolls; a blaster shot goes past them. Now Pearl's dealing with the blaster, and Rina has the brush coming straight for her, a glasses case visible, strapped on her belt.
Marina fires, and fires again, catching the brushes' ink on her brella and splatting her in three shots. She spins, panting, but Pearl's there, a splotch of dark pink ink where the blaster was, and Pearl is stalking towards the bedroom, her dualies at the ready. She pauses at the doorway, looks in, then disappears, and Marina can hear the closet door creak open, the rustle of checking under the bed.
Marina's hearts pound, and she feels sick, and she turns away to watch the door because she knows the bedroom's empty save for the splatter of ink that was Harbor. The door itself stays open, pressed against the wall; a key sticks from the keyhole. The one Marina gave Pearl over two years ago.
Pearl's lost or destroyed her own keys a dozen times in as many months, but she still has the key Marina gave her back then.
"They're gone," says Pearl, behind her, and Marina jumps. Spins to face Pearl. Pearl is pale, her tentacles matching Marina's still. "We need to go to the police."
"No," Marina whispers. Her throat hurts; was she shouting? "We can't tell the police."
"Rina, they were thieves," Pearl says. She puts one arm around Marina's waist, pulls her close, duallies still in her hands; Marina releases the brella with one hand to put her arm around Pearl's shoulder. "Or worse, they were going to do to you whatever-whatever happened to Callie." She lets out a long breath. "They were-"
"It wasn't either of those." Marina's voice shakes; she goes back to whispering. "They were here because I ran away. Pearl-" even whispering, her voice catches. "I-I splatted-"
"Shhhhh." Pearl squeezes Marina. "We'll talk in the car. Come on."
Pearl leads, and Marina follows. Both of them teal, ink-splattered and exhausted, healing with every step but nothing will make Marina feel better. Harbor. She knows how it works, she knows what happens to Octolings who go on important missions and fail, and it must be important, to come all the way to Inkopolis. If that was Harbor, then... even if he respawns... he won't a second time, not after what they'll do to him.
So this can't be real, it can't. It's... they know she's wondering, they know she's still questioning, so they're putting out situations, the more extreme the better, to convince her it's real. They must. Because if not... if not, then Harbor... this can't be real. It can't. It can't.
She blinks and she's inside the car, the soundproof glass up between them and the driver, and Pearl's pressing a cup of something hot into her hands. "Drink slow," Pearl says.
Marina sips. Coffee, bitter and sweet and creamy all at once, warms her inside and out. There's nothing like this in the domes.
The engine starts. The car moves with a gentle hum, pulling them through the streets. Marina's breath catches. "My bike-"
"I'll send someone to pick it up," Pearl says. "Keep drinking." She puts one hand on Marina's leg, looks into Marina's eyes. "We'll talk about it when we get home. No police until after. But Rina I-" her voice cracks. "I was so scared-"
"You should have stayed out of it." Marina scarce recognizes the harshness of her voice.
Pearl shakes her head. "I was scared something happened to you. Rina, I... I couldn't."
Pearl may have saved her life, but Pearl put herself in danger to do it, and Marina wants to slap her for that.
But just as much, she wants to take Pearl's face in her hands and kiss Pearl senseless, and she grips the mug tight in both hands.
xxxxx
AUTHOR'S NOTES: According to Octo Expansion, Marina was 16 when she went missing from the Octarian Army, and 18 when she and Pearl took over Inkopolis News '9 months after Splatoon 1' ended. I can't find an actual birth date for her, or any indication of what time of year octopi lay eggs/hatch, but with my current timeline that would mean she turned 17, and then 18, sometime between the first splatfest she attended (art VS science, fyi. Sept, 19/20) and April (9 months after Final Fest in July). She could therefore be eighteen OR nineteen during these past two chapters.
Given what we know of Octarian society, I went from there. Having everyone age a year simultaneously isn't a new idea, though it does make Rina's 9-year-old graduation look a bit... possibly sketchy (she could've still been 8, which is even more ridiculous. And yet fitting.)