Agent

Congrats on winning the race, squiddo!
You're, what, best in your class at every sport?
And you haven't even grown legs yet—
I know, I know, you're just twelve.
Listen, though.
There's a way you can help people.
But it's super secret, got it? You can't tell anyone.
Not even Marie.

Marie's voice crackles in her ear: "She just left."

Callie types out a got it on her phone and gets to her feet. They lost her here last time, when she got on a full train; this time, Callie's already standing there, waiting, when Marie's voice comes over the headphones again. "She's at the station."

Callie looks down at her phone, flicking through webpages without seeing them, and glances towards the entrance.

Headphones, goggles, basic turf gear, roller in a carrying case, enemy octoslob Marina walks in and scans around for an empty chair to wait in. Callie gets on the train before her and goes to the back, where a soft drink machine stands; she waits until she can slide into a seat behind the octoslob. When the ticketer comes around, she buys the same one the octoling did.

Callie slurps her soda and texts Marie with the name of the stop. "Got it," Marie says. "I'll be there."

Callie tries to get comfortable, but she can't. She just keeps watching the octoslob's tentacles. She seems relaxed, even tired; she was turfing all morning. They've established turf is her only means of supporting herself, which Gramps says is good. It means she can only tell Octarian Command about the turf scene and weapons, no new info. It means she hasn't infiltrated other aspects of inkling society.

The 'yet' was unspoken.

Callie's off the train before the octoslob, depositing her empty can and paying no attention at all to Marie. Marie follows the Octoslob out into the street; Callie turns on the mic in her headphones and goes up a minute later. The car the New Squidbeak Splatoon has for this stuff is gray, dirty, and over ten years old. No one notices it.

Marie texts her an address, and that she's going in. "Be careful," Callie murmurs, starting the car. It's only a few blocks away, but Callie shudders as she drives. Even this car may be too nice for this neighborhood. Callie parks the car and reaches under her sweater to adjust her hero shot so it's in plain view. Rollers can't be carried most places unless they're in a case, but she wishes she had hers right now.

New text sent to the octoslob's phone. Callie opens it. Pearl—poor Pearl, she has no idea she's being used—will pick the octoslob up for an evening practice in ten minutes. "Marie, get out of there," Callie whispers. "She'll be leaving any minute."

Marie doesn't respond out loud, but a moment later Callie gets another text: Soon as she leaves, we're going in.

One of Callie's hearts climbs to her throat and chokes her, but Marie is right, this is what they have to do. "I'll wait outside the building," Callie says, though she doesn't want to.

Callie doesn't leave anything of value in the car. She makes sure it's locked, then kicks her way through some slush to the sidewalk by the building's entrance. An anemone, the ends of his fronds dyed a shimmery purple; eyes her; Callie meets his gaze coolly and puts one hand on the hero shot. The guy turns away.

He bumps into the octoslob as she comes out. The girl trips and lands in slush. Callie takes a step forward to help and stops herself. This is an octoslob, not an inkling, no matter how similar they look from behind; she's an enemy. No doubt she deserves worse than to pick herself up, dripping wet and muddy, and to stand by the street in the cold winter air.

It still makes Callie's hearts ache. Still, she stays there and watches until a car—not quite a limo—pulls up, and the door opens. "You're soaked! Get in quick, I know I've got some towels somewhere, you could've gone upstairs to change, ya know!"

The octoslob shrugs. "I haven't done laundry," she says, ducking her head and shoulders as she climbs through the open door. "I'd just put on dirty clothes again."

"At least they'd be—"

The door shuts, cutting off the rest of the conversation. Callie waits until the car drives off to murmur, "She's gone. I'm coming up."

After a moment, Marie's in her ear again. "It's about time."

Callie doesn't answer; she's too busy climbing the stairs. Marie's waiting on the right floor, and leads Callie to the room. Locked. But a cheap lock, the sort Callie could pick even when she was a child, bored and told to amuse herself quietly while the adults talked. She's got it open before anyone can catch them, and then they enter... a perfectly normal apartment.

Marie shuts the door, and Callie looks around. Desk. Computer. TV. Couch. Table. Tiny little kitchen. Callie opens the fridge: normal food, not Octarian rations.

The whole thing makes her hearts clench, because they were supposed to find something. They're supposed to be protecting Inkopolis, and this—

It feels like they've invaded a civilian's apartment.

Callie moves back to the living room; Marie's got the computer on. "Jelly brand," she says. "All this stuff—it matches what Pearl was buying, when gramps and I checked her bank history for the past few months."

"Pearl Houzuki. Richer than we can imagine, even with our best sales," Callie supplies; her throat feels tight. "This is probably just a gift to a friend, for her."

Marie snorts. "The odds that she's bankrolling an Octarian infiltration is slim, but she may not know. Either way, we can't leave them alone until we've got some answers."

Callie nods. "If an octoslob could come to Inkopolis for peaceful reasons, they would have before. So what is she here for?"

Marie frowns at the computer. "I'm gonna have to hack in. This could take a while. Three possibilities: she's searching for Octavio, she's gathering information for a future assault—likely going for zapfish again—or something else."

Callie nods. "Shall I keep watch?"

"We've gotta be fast," Marie says, typing away. "Check her room."

Callie was hoping Marie wouldn't say that. She feels like such a sharking creeper right now. She focuses on her breathing until she's got herself under control, then moves.

The door to the octoslob's room is closed. Callie pushes it open and stops short.

Callie and Marie have two CD's, singles on five different multi-artist albums, and a pink-and-green collector's edition splatfest recording. Since joining the news, they have two plushies each, one of them in squid form and the other in their performance outfits. They have tiny collectible statues posed in their Stay Fresh stances and over a dozen posters.

All of which are crammed into the octoslob's room.

The only things in here that aren't squid-sisters brand is the weapons wall (it looks handmade, the sort of materials you'd get at ink depot) and the bed (with a squid sisters coverlet). It's more than a little unnerving, and Callie's hearts are all beating out of sync as she searches. She can't find anything.

Callie emerges to find Marie turning off the octoslob's computer. "She had Squid Sister wallpaper and half her search history was checking for concerts or candid vids of us," Marie reports, "but I have her e-mail and squiddor accounts now. What was in her room?"

Callie shakes her head, because that— "I think she suspects we're agents."