Ayla's alarm clock played its depressing violins at two in the morning. Two. In. The. Freaking. Morning. She didn't know what possessed the others to take a "night shift" past 12 AM, but neither did the ex-scout really complain when Gavin filled her in; even Salmonids should know hours this early were meant for sleeping. Maybe they could just sneak in, skip the whole tennis-except-frying-pans-and-you're-the-ball part, and get out before the Salmonids turned her into an unrecognizable pile of scrambled eggs.

The Octoling slid a hand underneath the pillow and felt around for her shellphone, pulling it out and silencing the sad music with a tap of her thumb. Ayla gathered what little energy she had with a determined sigh, pushed herself into a plank…and then crashed face-first back onto the mattress. Five more minutes.

…Thirty minutes later, Ayla had finally dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She thanked her lucky stars for last night's foresight of hanging already picked-out clothes on the towel rack—it would've been embarrassing to mistake her barista uniform as everyday wear in her sleep-deprived stupor. Once she'd changed into the leggings and purple octo tee, Ayla pulled a grape Takoroka windbreaker from the coatrack and was out the door…after grabbing her black bandanna for good luck.

The ex-scout wasn't far from the hotel when trained ears heard footsteps crunching through frosted grass. Ayla whirled to her left as hazel eyes scoured the darkness, finally recognizing the outline of an Octoling wearing a mohawk and a leather jacket as he slid towards her.

"…Sorry." Yuri spoke in Octolish as he slowly lifted a placating hand. "Didn't mean to spook you, fellow traitor."

Curiosity got the better of the refugee as her shoulders began to level out, tilting her head ever-so-slightly to the side. "Fellow…traitor?"

"Mm-hmm." Yuri hummed as his hand slipped into the pocket of his dark jeans, advancing a few steps. "That's what we are, aren't we? Traitors abandoning our loved ones to thrive in the city of our enemies?" The Grizzco manager paused for a breath as he caught up with her, pulling the hand back out to motion for the girl to walk with him. "Hope you don't mind if I tag along, headin' to the office myself."

Ayla spared an overwhelmed blink, finding herself already walking beside him. "I-I guess not."

"But 'thrive' is a pretty strong word for what we ended up with." Yuri continued until something tumbled out of his pocket, clinking against the dark cement. He scooped up the vial of clear liquid and carefully slipped it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket before carrying on as if nothing had happened. "I mean, you've experienced it, right? Breaking your back just to find a foothold in this expensive-as-carp city while the Inklings do nothing but obsess over four hundred different kinds of shirts and hats and shoes? Not even a single shred of welcome, I'm telling ya."

Ayla kept staring at the last spot she saw the liquid. The refugee might not have been perfectly familiar with Inkopolis culture, but she definitely knew that water didn't come in a sealed test tube.

"…Right?" Yuri's prod brought the girl back to their conversation.

"There's Marina." Ayla shook herself out of her thoughts, remembering the almost out-of-character kindness Pearl had shown Octoling.

"Was Marina's escape from the cycle of her own making?" Yuri dipped his nose at the girl. "No. She got lucky and someone else took pity on her." He lifted a hand to feel the inside pocket behind his leather jacket. "You're stuck toiling forever or some rich Inkling comes along and bails you out. Either way you have no control over your own success here."

Ayla stayed quiet this time. Her fellow Octoling had hit the nail on the head; it had been over a year since she'd fled to the so-called promised land and Ayla was still dependent on the only relief program available, and even that had to be set up by another refugee. But even Marina's deep pockets couldn't provide for every Octoling's finances as well as her own, so covering the rest was still left to each refugee with little option besides long hours for not enough pay. Inkopolis' politicians could've fixed everything with a simple relief bill—so simple that Ayla could tell whatever passed as a government up here just didn't care enough to be bothered with it.

"Ah, well…" Yuri let out a sigh, slowing his gait to a halt just outside Grizzco's main office. "I guess we got what they'd intended for us. Traitors never win, am I right?"

"Yo, Yuri!" An Inkling dressed in fishing waders ran up to Grizzco's manager. "What gives; where's the rest of my bonuses? This has gotta be the fourth time I've crushed my quota but never got the rewards. Where's the rest of my stuff?"

Yuri spared a quick, apologetic glance at his companion. "Sorry. Duty calls. Good luck on your shift today." He ushered the boy into the office with a sweep of his arm. "Duncan my guy, I don't doubt your performance in Salmon Runs but my records say nothing about 'crushing' your quota last shift…" The two vanished deeper into the office, leaving Ayla standing in front of Grizzco's lobby.

But it wasn't long before Gavin appeared around the corner, with Quinn and Delta in tow. "Hey; thanks for showing up so early-"

"Yeah yeah." Quinn interrupted his friend with a wave and a displeased yawn. "Let's just get this over with so all o' us can go back to sleep; which I might remind you is never a thing that should be interrupted."

"I don't know what you're complaining about." Delta offered a nonchalant shrug. "I'm only up an hour earlier than usual."

"...Why." Quinn sent a disbelieving glare back to his fellow agent. "What the carp is worth doing at four in the morning?"

"Physical training." Delta readily replied. "Meditation. Weapon maintenance."

"All right, all right." Gavin readjusted the pack over his shoulder with a sigh, pausing to give the others a once-over. "We still gotta get in gear for this one; but the main office has changing rooms here. So how about we split up, get changed, and regroup at the company boat?"

"Sounds good to me." Quinn replied with a tired thumbs-up and was already through Grizzco's entrance and on his way to the guys' lockers. Ayla took a breath and pulled herself to the girls' room, grabbing a key and opening one of the lockers to a pair of fishing waders, green gloves, and a cap topped with two halves of a tin can. Why? The Octoling had no clue; Yuri might've reasoned that it "protects against the local environment," but Ayla could personally confirm that conspiracy-grade tin foil didn't help at all when the local environment slammed a frying pan into her face.

…Which was still gonna happen tonight, wasn't it.

"Nervous again?" Delta casually began fiddling with the lock looped around the adjacent locker's handle, tugging its key out of the hole.

Alya looked up; she hadn't expected the Inkling to strike up a conversation, let alone read her out of the blue. "…I guess?"

"Well—if you can't beat fear, then do it scared." Agent 4 opened the locker's door with a smooth pull as she stashed the key inside her pant pockets. "It's not like fear can stop you, anyway."

Ayla stared back at the agent as her brain whirred into overdrive in a frantic attempt to logic its way through the agent's words.

"Ok, look." Delta paused her rummaging through the locker's contents, pivoting a half step toward Ayla when she noticed the metaphorical steam coming out of the Octoling's rounded ears. "Think of it like this: what're you afraid of?"

Ayla's brain managed to pause with enough RAM left to hazard a guess. "…Not surviving?"

"Looks like you avoided that fine last time." Delta spared a hand to gesture at the Octoling as she grabbed the orange waders inside her locker.

"Not really, no." Ayla scoffed, remembering the 745 splats and huddling in her bed to hide from all the aches and pains. If her last shift could be graded, she was certain her performance would net her a big old F; and that definitely didn't stand for "fine."

"Are your hearts still beating?" Delta dipped her nose at the Octoling as she pulled the waders over her leggings, feeling for the buckle near her shoulder and fastening it with a click.

"Yes?"

"Your lungs still breathing?" Other buckle.

"Yes…"

"Then you've survived." The agent shrugged as she reached into her locker for the Grizzco hat and gloves; one more once-over and she was ready. "There's no need to make it so difficult; you'd be surprised how little you actually need in life." And with a supportive fist-to-shoulder-bump, Ayla's old enemy was on her way to the company's docks.

Ayla blinked her way through the next few seconds. Agent 4 was…right? Yes? No? Maybe so? Surely things couldn't be that simple; everyone else ran around like a headless chicken fish over 98 million other concerns. And avoiding the painful limp back home would help the staying alive part…right?

…Apparently not. The agent was definitely right about one thing: Ayla was in fact still alive. And with Grizzco's private network of respawn pads—which were ten times more numerous than the entire Octarian government's—was that really going to change anytime soon? No; so did she really have to be afraid of whatever the oversized crocodiles could throw at her?

…No? Was that what Delta was trying to tell her? The Inkling's words were hard to believe, but…the refugee also couldn't argue with them. And they nagged at the back of Ayla's mind throughout the entire boat ride to Marooner's Bay, the entire shift itself, and the entire walk back home until she settled back into bed for the other two hours she was supposed to be asleep for. But it wasn't until the Octoling's amber eyes had begun to close that something began to stir deep within her soul.

Pain may be pain, fear may be fear; but neither could kill. And for some reason Ayla hadn't noticed their harmlessness until now.

"So wait," Delta planted a foot on the sensor to keep the station's door from sliding into her; the day's agenda dictated the early morning Salmon Run had to be followed by observing Ares' interrogation at the police station. "Run that by me again?"

"Last year we hid in Octarian territory until the perfect opportunity to strike." Marie twirled around to face her, not bothering to close the yellow parasol resting over her shoulder. "The Lightfisher hides in our city and waits for the perfect opportunity to strike." She adjusted the parasol to the other shoulder as they began walking toward the back of the lobby, taking care to keep it between the crowded reception desk and the idol's very recognizable face. "When we went for a stronghold, we moved quickly—attacking out of the blue and retreating long before their generals even knew the place needed reinforcing. The Lightfisher strikes out of the blue and is long gone before the police even know they need to respond." Marie slid ahead to plant a hand on the doorknob, facing her protege. "Does that seem a little…odd to you?"

Delta thought for a moment but shrugged. "It could just be that he's sneaking around—most civilian murderers are skittish and stealthy. He might not necessarily be copying our old campaign." Marie's golden eyes trailed off, her beak eventually frowning into an admitting grunt.

"But still…" She finally turned the knob, allowing Delta through the door before letting it swing to a close behind them. "It's the way he does it that gets me. Regular murderers tend to see the victim as their enemy, and usually their kills are out of convenience or impulsivity; they're not this hyperaware of the police and the bigger picture. But with the Lightfisher, it almost feels like he waits until it's tactically advantageous against the cops—and then he moves tactically. Almost like it's intentional."

"Ok so…he might be adapting some sort of guerrilla maneuver." Delta conceded a slow nod as they walked through the blue-tinted hallway. "Don't most refugees have some level of military experience? He could be building off of what he's learned from the army."

"Four." Marie's serious tone made the Inkling pause and face her mentor. "The Octarian military isn't known for guerrilla hit-and-run tactics. That's us, not them."

"…Really, I wouldn't worry about it so much." Delta pulled the door open. "It's just too much of a stretch right now." Marie opened her beak to speak, but…

"There they are!" Quinn waved to the girls from inside the room. "You guys got good timing; Ares is set up and ready to go." Marie's beak closed into a clenched jaw.

"You're right." Marie tapped a hand on Delta's shoulder as she slipped past the agent and into the room—and the Inkling was back to business with a huff. "All right; let's see what we can get outta this guy. Is Cal ready to go?"

"Just about." Quinn hopped out of his seat to join Marie at the window overlooking the interrogation room, passing a radio transmitter to the idol. "She took a pair of our mission earbuds. You wanted her dressed up so he thinks the cops are the ones doing it, right?"

Marie answered with a nod. "The Lightfisher knows about the cops, but he probably doesn't know about us. I'd like to keep it that way if I can."

"Whoa—now hang on a second, here." Captain Cuttlefish sternly grumbled from his seat at the table. "Why's Callie gonna be in there with him?"

"You...have to be in the same room with somebody in order to interrogate them?" Marie's eyebrows furrowed into puzzled squiggles as she shifted toward her grandfather. "What's the matter, Gramps?"

"Why couldn't any o' the others've done it?" Cuttlefish jabbed an irritated cane at Gavin and Quinn. "Or the coppers themselves?" Marie's eyes widened as she mouthed a silent, understanding "oh."

"She wanted to." The granddaughter quickly replied. "We both know she's the best actress out of all of us; and you know how she is with others." Marie crossed her arms, lowering her tone into something more gentle. "Relax. There's two officers just outside the room. She'll be fine."

"Here, captain." Gavin distracted the elder with a gentle nudge, pulling his shellphone from his coat; Delta realized that was an attempt at a distraction. "Let me show you this cool Squidgle thing; ask a question and it'll give you an answer…"

The old captain quieted into a grumble, turning toward Gavin's phone. "Don't let her outta your sight. And next time you wanna pull somethin' like that," he shook a finger at the window into the interrogation room, "talk to me first."

"…Sorry." Marie conceded a wince as she turned back toward the window, watching the Octoling on the other side of the glass bounce his leg under the table.

"Hey!" A very familiar, black-tentacled Inkling burst through the door in front of the Octoling—clad in a black police suit and sunglasses. "You're Ares, right?"

Ares only replied with a grunt, fiddling with the green jacket over his no-doubt tatted-up arms; Delta could see the ink peeking through the jacket's sleeves.

"'K, cool!" Callie shut the door with a chirpy chirrup, entirely unfazed by Ares' attitude. "Sorry to bring ya in like this, but we just gotta—what happened to your hand?"

The Octoling glanced at his bandaged knuckles before quickly slipping the right hand under the table. "…Smacked it. In training."

"Trainin', huh?" Callie slid into the chair opposite him, her tone casual as if she was just carrying small talk. "What kinda trainin'?" She opened a bag of chips and offered him one.

"Ring fighting." Ares declined the squid's offer with a wave, who shrugged and popped a chip into her beak. "You punch a lot of squit there; that's all it is." Ares shifted in his seat, settling back down with an irritated huff. "But that's beside the point—let's just get this squit over with so you can stop wasting my time." Callie lifted a placating hand, still chewing.

"Here we go—watch closely." Marie's hand rested on Delta's shoulder as her voice dipped into a quiet, stealthy whisper. "This is how you do an interrogation."

"Uh…" Callie patted her pockets until she froze, lifting a sheepish finger into the air. "Just a sec—I forgot something. I'll be right back, promise!" Callie excused herself from the room with another apologetic chuckle, reappearing a few seconds later holding a composition notebook. She paused to flip through its pages, swear, and run out the door again.

"Well…" Marie winced as her cousin left to retrieve the second thing she'd forgotten in the span of two minutes. "…This is how Callie does an interrogation."

"Okay, third time's the charm!" The sound of a door blasting open brought Delta's senses back to the interrogation, watching the disguised idol barrel back into the room with both the notebook and a manila folder. "So! I'm Detective Chippu with Inkopolis PD, and we need just a touch of your help in figuring out what happened. I'm sorry for your loss," Callie ended with a sympathetic pout.

"It's whatever."Ares brushed her off with a wave. "I didn't really know her that well, we weren't friends or anything."

"…Really now?" Callie raised a skeptical eyebrow, but otherwise didn't break her composure. "Well hold your seahorses—I gotta read ya some boring squit before we get into it…" Callie pulled a pink-cased shellphone from her blazer's pocket and began reading through Ares' rights.

"Ok!" Callie finished her reading, nearly chucking the shellphone over her shoulder and flicking her notebook open with a well-placed finger. "Now I'm ready for the deets—you said you weren't really close with Valerie, right?"

"Right." Ares replied with an eager nod, scratching at the nape of his neck. "We'd only hung out a few times; I wasn't even around when she died."

Callie paused for a surprised blink, unclicking a pen and poising it over the notebook. "Where were you?"

"In Grizzco's armory, waiting for the last Salmon Run shift to bring their weapons back so I could clean 'em up and put them back into service." Ares replied with a scoff. "You can ask my buddy Lars, he was with me."

"Who's Lars?" Callie started scribbling.

"My buddy." Another scoff.

"What's his phone number?" Callie ignored that; a lifetime with Marie must've made her immune to sass.

"What the carp would you want his number for?" Ares spat back.

"He sounds cool, I wanna talk to him." Callie effortlessly shrugged his vitriol off as she leaned back in her chair, popping another chip into her beak. "'Sides—wouldn't you want me to, so he could back you up?"

Ares took a moment to run a hand along his jeans before relenting with a sigh. "2-394-677-3288."

"Uh huh…" It was around this time where Callie realized her pen was upside down, flipping it around to actually start scribbling into the still-blank notebook.

"That's...odd." Marie furrowed her eyebrows on the other side of the glass. "He's already giving not only an alibi—but also someone who can vouch for him—before we even ask. They don't usually do that."

"Does that mean he's guilty?" Delta curiously turned to her mentor. "Eager to cover his own hide?"

"It means he's walked into this with a game plan," Marie offered an conciliatory shrug. "But even the guilty ones aren't so prepared—they'll talk but they'll be very reserved about it. It's pretty unusual for someone to start spilling defenses before we can even get through the legal bit."

"Huh." Delta turned her eyes back to the glass, running her lip across a fang as she digested the information. "But the fact he even has a plan seems suspicious."

"It fits the Lightfisher's profile too; I wouldn't be surprised if the guy's already spent months on what to say if he ever was brought in." Marie nodded along. "And I'd love to see what this Lars guy says or if he even exists. It's pretty telling that he's so eager to mention a witness but so hesitant to put us in contact with him. But as for the alibi itself…" Marie pressed a thumb against the transmit button on her radio. "Grill him on that." Callie acknowledged her cousin with a discreet wink at the camera over the rim of her sunglasses.

"…Let's just go back to what you were up to that night, real quick." Callie began as she crunched into another chip. "Hangin' out at the armory is something you do while you're at work?"

"Of course it is." Ares huffed an antagonistic scoff. "I already said I'm the weapons guy. Pay attention."

Delta could watch Callie's cheek bulge with a clenched jaw but the idol otherwise didn't break her cheer. "Cool, so when was your last late-night shift?"

"About a week ago." The Octoling replied with a shrug.

"Oh so I guess it was Lars' shift the day she was actually murdered and you were just hangin' with him?" The disguised idol slid her arms onto the table, interlocking her fingers together as her eyes locked onto Ares.

Ares froze, red eyes staring back at Callie before regaining his composure. "U-uh, yeah of course—that's what I said. Are you deaf or something? Come on, move onto something actually productive."

"Sure—my bad my bad." Callie raised a hand in surrender. She then paused for several seconds to finish her first bag of chips and pull the second one open, popping another few into her beak. "What's Lars' job?"

Ares paused for a moment before deciding to answer. "He's a warehouse worker for Grizzco."

Callie couldn't help a baffled blink this time. "…You mean the Grizzco ones by the shoreline?"

The Octoling nodded without thinking.

"What does he do there?" Callie resumed writing, this time with the tip of the pen actually scribbling against the page.

"He tallies all the Golden Eggs that come in and makes sure they're going to the right place." Ares replied, and Callie paused for a discreet, knowing look at the camera over the rim of her sunglasses.

"Yeah yeah, I saw that too." Marie muttered back, holding down the transmit button on her radio. "Why on the pinkfish's green earth would a warehouse worker have a shift at the armory the night of Valerie's murder. Good job, Cal."

"Ohh…" Delta's eyebrows raised in understanding. "That's what she was doing with all those questions. She was subtly poking holes in his alibi."

"Exactly." Marie took her thumb off the radio, giving her protege a sideways glance. "The trick is to get them to walk right into it on their own; seed the minefield with indirect questions, wait for an inconsistency, and gradually trap 'em over time. But you gotta be sneaky about it—because a guilty one will only talk for as long as they think they can get away with it." Marie folded her arms. "Cal in particular likes to play her faults up—especially early in the interrogation—to lure them into a false sense of security."

"Is that why she forgot the notebook at the start?" Delta curiously turned to her mentor.

"It's why she made a bigger stink out of it than usual." Marie's reply shifted into a knowing chuckle. "But nah, she still genuinely forgot the darn thing." Delta allowed a smirk as she turned back to the window; classic Callie.

"Ok—last thing," Callie finally opened the manila folder and began lining pictures in front of the interviewee. "Do you know these octos?" Delta leaned in for a closer look against the glass, making out headshots of Valerie, Gavin, an Octoling she didn't recognize, and Ayla.

"This one, obviously." Ares slid Valerie's picture forward, then his hand hovered over Ayla's. "…And this one. She's Val's neighbor—ran into her in the hallway once."

"Uh-huh." Callie leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "And what were they wearing last time you saw 'em?"

Ares blinked. "What kind of a question is that?"

Callie waved him off with effortless disdain. "Just gimme your best shot and we'll be outta here."

"Okay, uh..." Ares paused for a moment. "Valerie usually had her tentacles in a bun—and she wore those white baggy tops."

"And her neighbor?" Callie prodded.

"Uh," Ares closed his eyes for a second, deep in thought. "She's got this purple T-shirt, a black bandanna tied into a loop..." The Octoling gestured in a circle around his mohawk, then shrugged with a huff. "…I don't really know; I've only seen the girl a couple times."

"Okie-dokie!" Callie began gathering up the papers. "I'm all set now—you can get outta here and go back to punching things with your buddy Lars."

"Finally." Ares rose with a groan. "Thanks for wasting my time."

"…Wait a second." Gavin's beak finally emerged from the hand that had been stroking his chin. "Ayla only reported running into him once, right? In the hallway as she was returning from work?"

Quinn blinked from his spot beside his friend. "Yeah, I think so."

"Then how would he know what she usually wears?" Gavin pointed a finger at Ares' now-empty chair. "If he saw her in the hallway then Ayla couldn't have reached her room before they ran into each other. She simply wouldn't have had time to change out of her barista uniform."

Delta blinked her way through the rush of realization. Agent 8 was right; she'd noticed Ayla's uniform at the cafe that same day, and no one changes in the middle of a hallway.

"And furthermore," Gavin retracted his finger. "Why is it that Ares didn't answer with her uniform, but instead replies with what just so happens to be what Ayla was wearing when she saw the Lightfisher?"

Marie's frame nearly froze, eyes wide in disbelief. "…You're kidding."

"Not at all." Gavin shook his head with wide red eyes. "I was there with her that night. I know what she was wearing."

"Dude." Quinn clapped a hand onto his friend's shoulder. "If what you're saying is true, then Ares has to be the Lightfisher. That kind of slip up just doesn't happen with somebody innocent."

"It…does check out." Marie twirled a pensive finger through her purple hairclip. "Ares mentioned he's Grizzco's armorer and that he likes combat sports; that means he's very familiar with weapons and he knows how to smack somebody hard enough to bruise their temple."

"And his hand." Delta thought aloud. "Didn't Ayla's official statement mention the Lightfisher tried to hit her but wound up punching a wall?"

"I'm pretty sure, yeah." Gavin's pink eyebrows furrowed deeper. "And with the clothes part and his pre-prepped alibi, you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone else who fits the bill this closely." A sunglasses-less Callie slipped into the room, quietly sidling beside Marie.

"Hey," she elbowed her cousin with a whisper, "what'd I miss?"

Marie's response was immediate: "Vampire mermaids have taken over the world as our great overlords and now the sun is about to explode."

"Oh okay cool." Callie nodded along with a casual shrug, turning back to the conversation in an attempt to figure it out herself.

"But even so—let's just play devilfish's advocate and say Ares is the Lightfisher." Gavin continued, gesturing his point with a wave. "How are we supposed to convince a judge that it's him? Claim he got the witness' clothes wrong and we kinda sorta maybe think it's because he's the Lightfisher? Ares'll be walking out of jail in the span of five minutes with a testimony like that; we need actual, irrefutable evidence if we want him behind glass for good. Especially if it's true that he wasn't close to Valerie—that really limits our options for presenting a motive."

"That's...fair." Marie conceded a shrug. "Which means we're gonna need to find this murder weapon and analyze it for evidence that pins it to Ares."

"Except the cops have been trying to find the thing for ages with no results." Quinn rebutted, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. "I don't think we're gonna have any better luck, considering we still don't even know what kind of weapon this is."

"Maybe…" Marie trailed off as she stared into space, trying to finish the rest of her thought. "Maybe we don't need to know exactly what we're looking for. Maybe we could just have Sheldon reverse-engineer the thing from what we've seen it do, and then grab a search warrant and see if Ares owns anything that matches Sheldon's info." Marie gestured a quick finger between the cousins and Delta. "Cal, Four and I could bring the chatty crabby up to speed, no problem."

"We're also gonna need the poison the Lightfisher uses, too." Quinn chimed back in. "Gavin and I can work with Marina and follow up with the new forensic tests, but that could still be a while."

"You squiddos might be forgettin' a few things." Captain Cuttlefish hoisted himself out of his chair, planting his Bamboozler cane onto the tiled floor with a deep thump. "Time for a little pop quiz—if the Lightfisher goes outta his way to cover his tracks, then why hasn't he made a move on our only witness?"

Delta kept quiet, but a look at the others told her they were just as stumped as she was.

"…No takers?" A knowing smirk crept through the old captain's beak. "Why do most o' the victims yap 'bout missing bonuses before they die? Why's the tyke even killin' ta begin with, and why is Grizzco so connected to all this? What's the one important thing we've forgotten in all o' this excitement?"

Silence.

"Know. Thy. Enemy." Captain Cuttlefish stomped his cane against the floor with each word. "If you can't figure out what they want, then you won't know when they've been beaten. And everything is connected; all o' these loose ends tell us there's somethin' bigger goin' on than just who killed whom. We gotta figure out what this tyke is really up to."

"Three," the captain jerked his head at Quinn. "You said the poison's gonna take a while. So why don't you an' Eight talk to Sheldon while you wait, and the girls can put some time into the mystery behind the mystery."

Marie uneasily shifted her feet. "Finding the 'mystery behind the mystery's' a pretty vague ask, Gramps. Where do we start?"

"Well," the captain paused for a kindly shrug. "How about with that Lars chap? See if he can drop any other interesting tidbits that Ares didn't." His brown eyes scanned over the rest of the team. "Alrighty?"

Everyone nodded.

"Good; then we're done for today." Captain Cuttlefish pounded a tap into the floor with his Bamboozler. "Dismissed, we'll meet up again tomorrow." The white-walled room filled with sounds of fidgets and shuffles as the NSS began gathering their things before dispersing.

But Callie began poking her cousin's shoulder instead. "Hey, do you have any change for the vend—"

"Shut. The. Carp. Up." Marie whisper-hissed back with a haphazard swat at the annoying finger. "How do you still find the worst times to ask me that even when we're off the air; I just watched you casually eat two bags of chips in front of a potential serial killer. Which—by the way—isn't normal. You're not allowed a third."

"Hey!" Callie feigned a hurt pout. "I'm normal sometimes!"

"Ah yes," Marie deadpanned back, "attempting to write an entire sentence before realizing the pen is upside down is a perfectly normal occurrence that I find myself in daily."

"…Shut up." Callie mumbled dejectedly, until her gaze was distracted by her grandfather's yawn. "Ya lookin' sleepy there, Gramps. How 'bout we head home for a nap?"

"Did you say 'rap?'" Cap'n Cuttlefish scratched at an ancient ear—much to Callie's immediate, abject horror. "Oh yes, I'd love to workshop some rhymes—"

"NONONONONO I said nap!" The pink squid was bustling her grandfather out of the room as fast as geriatrically possible. "N-A-P; the thing where you lie down and take a snooze and don't make a sound."

"But there's still forty-five minutes until naptime…" Delta could hear the captain's faint protest as they disappeared out the door.

Marie watched them leave with an amused smirk, then her golden-eyed gaze turned back to the only other agent left in the room. "So; you know what you're gonna do with Ayla now?"

"…I think so?" Delta answered, tentatively. "You think I need to use the same workarounds Callie did?"

"Eh, probably not." Marie replied with a shrug. "Yours is gonna be a lot more informal—think like a casual, curious conversation or something. No need to read rights or anything like that." The green idol began collecting the notebook and folder Callie had accidentally left behind before motioning for Delta to follow her out the door. "You can watch what Cal and I do with Lars tomorrow; his questioning'll be much more casual."

"Yeah, sounds good." Delta eagerly nodded along; she really had no confidence in deliberately working with the subtler undertones of conversing with an opponent.

"Don't worry, we'll get you good and ready for this." Marie glanced at her protege's obvious unease with a knowing half-smile. "But I've been wondering…what kind of a name is Lars?"

A/N: ...I mean really, what kind of a name is Lars? What on earth was going through my head when I decided that name was a good idea?

Anyways hello. Hi. Yes. I am still alive. Somehow. Magically. Pro tip: if the lymph nodes in your neck start swelling up, see a doc before they become the size of walnuts and press on your airways as you sleep. Maybe it'll help you sleep better. Funny how that works.

Haha…yeah. Apologies for the sudden hiatus but after watching the traffic stats for Chapter 7, I decided to grab a little feedback. Which meant I had to spend a good 2-3 weeks sorting through and interpreting that feedback, which led to a good 2-3 weeks re-outlining the whole story 28493784320842 million times, which meant that I didn't even start Chapter 8's first draft until mid/late November. Then, because life decided to not like me, I got super sick and what should've been a week's worth of revisions at most turned into four. I had wanted to take a little extra time and spruce it up for you guys since you've waited so long at this point, but I'm still not feeling 100% so I think I'm just gonna cut my losses and try again next time. Hopefully Chapter 9 will cooperate a little more.

But enough complaints; I wanted to touch on some of that feedback I mentioned. I looked through it all and the only thing I'm concerned about is whether the story's progress is starting to drag for you guys. If I hear it's dragging then one thing I might consider is extending the chapter size so we move through things much more quickly, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let me know what you think about the draggy-ness.

But in the meantime let's talk about the actual chapter. This one has a lot of complexity in the details but I'm sure that comes as a surprise to absolutely nobody at this point, haha. Of course I can't explain all of them but I wanted to clarify just a few of the benign ones this time around:

-Squidgle = Google

-Callie and Marie's talk towards the end is a reference to one of their dialogues during Inkopolis News Time, where Callie would suddenly ask for change for the vending machine and Marie would just be like "…you do know we're still live, right?"

-Google Translate tells me that "chippu" is Japanese for chip—and it's a very Callie move to name herself after her favorite food XD

-According to a little sleuthing through Inkipedia, there's about 446 pieces of gear in Splatoon 2—hence the line "over four hundred different kinds of shirts and hats and shoes"

-Those "mission earbuds" mentioned are essentially a—you guessed it—earbud version of the radio-connected Hero Headphones from Caught in a Lie. Not 100% sure that was clear, but that was also the part where I was too sick to care

-A headless chicken fish is an actual thing that exists—it's a nickname for a specific genus of sea cucumber but DON'T LOOK IT UP, I've learned my lesson from last time XD