"In an ironic twist of fate, murder suspect Rodney McNotme was arrested by police yesterday morning…but for a different crime entirely. The security guard was caught in an illegal weapons deal and will be held in custody until the court decides what to do with him; it's unclear if the incident is enough to charge McNotme with the past eight murders that have terrorized Inkopolis. But either way, citizens can start to relax now that McNotme is safely off the streets. This has been Haikara Walker with Aric, and now it's time for Deepsea Drama—last episode we were investigating mysterious rumors of a blue-and-yellow lightshow that residents assured us was likely just a dance-off between shrimp…"
Ayla's attention swung back to the espresso cup she was cleaning. It was seven in the morning and only a couple early risers had stopped by Icthy's Cafe, but somehow they were already out of the tiny cups and the Octoling didn't want to look at the mound of dirty ones behind her. Maybe it had to do with the lanky sea urchin sitting by the window—Ayla could stack a tower that would rival the Deca's at the rate he was plowing through caffeine.
The barista spared him a concerned glance as she reached for the next cup. She'd half expected him to keel over by now, but his fingers were still frantically flying across his keyboard. Wow. Ayla hadn't even guzzled that much coffee during her time in the Octarian army.
She was gonna need more espresso cups.
The chime on the front door made Ayla turn to the cafe's entrance—only to duck behind the counter with a terrified squeak. The young Octoling held her breath as familiar footsteps plodded past the counter and toward the window. She let it out in a quiet, aggravated huff at her luck; there had to be thousands of denizens and hundreds of cafes in Inkopolis—why did this one Inkling have to pick this one cafe during her shift?
"Uh…are you okay?" Ayla looked up to find the other barista—Jay—staring at her from the kitchen doorway, drably chewing on a piece of bubblegum. Of course the Inkling had to return from her 45-minute-long 15-minute break that very second.
"Um, yes I am fine…" Ayla managed to swallow the lump in her throat. "Just…hiding. From someone." Jay raised a questioning eyebrow.
"It's…comp-li-cated?" Ayla offered an unsure smile; "complicated" was a new word she'd only learned the other day. Jay stared for another second before popping her bubble with a disdained sigh.
"Whatever, it doesn't get me money so I don't care," she jabbed a dismissive thumb at the kitchen doors, "just keep the weirdness away from me." Ayla didn't need to be told twice; she sped into the kitchen and watched the new customer from the safety of the door's window.
Holy carp, it really was her.
Ayla had always been afraid of running into Agent 4 since her move to Inkopolis. She'd faced the Inkling several times in Octo Canyon and was promptly demolished in each and every fight. It didn't matter how Ayla had attacked the girl; in her eyes Agent 4's ferocity would reach nearly comedic levels of impossibility. Did Ayla catch her weaponless? Disarmed and splatted. Four-against-one ambush? Shot and splatted. Unarmed, pinned to the ground and held at gunpoint? Dodged the line of fire, wrestled free…and splatted. It was awe-inspiring, but it was also terrifying—because Ayla was usually on the receiving end of said splats.
And that made meeting Agent 4 aboveground really, really awkward. Ayla had moved to Inkopolis to start a new life free from the constraints of Octarian society and meant zero harm to the city, just like the rest of the refugees. But she had no idea if the NSS was a forgiving organization, and Ayla knew firsthand not to get on Agent 4's bad side. Days where the barista made it back home in one piece were always good days.
"Whaddya want?" Ayla could hear Jay's bored drawl through the door as the agent glided to the cafe's counter.
"Largest coffee you got, please." Agent 4 shoved her hands into her custom F-3's pockets. "Black."
"Name?"
"Delta."
Delta, Ayla echoed inside her head. So that was her name. Ayla's superiors had always called her "Agent 4" as per NSS nomenclature, but the Octoling had a hard time believing that was her real name. "Delta" made much more sense—and it sounded so…cool.
"I'll call you when it's ready." Jay plopped the coins into the cafe's register. "Until then you can wait…wherever."
"Right. Thank you, ma'am." Delta retreated back to the window seats after a curt but courteous nod, leaving Jay to roll her eyes. Ayla wasn't sure Jay deserved such a respectful response.
"I'm goin' on break." Jay pushed Ayla aside as she waltzed back into the kitchen, filling the Octoling's stomach with dread.
"You just…" Ayla managed a whimper. "…got back…"
"And what're you gonna do about it?" The other barista called over her shoulder. "The boss isn't in and I need to get away from all this un-freshness." Jay slipped out of the café's back door, leaving Ayla gulping at the counter through the kitchen doors.
Another peek through the window revealed that Delta had taken one of the window seats beside Spyke and had started talking with him. Ayla took the chance to slip in undetected and leaned against the counter to watch Delta's cup fill with coffee. Maybe if she just played it cool and minded her own business, Agent 4 wouldn't recognize her ex-rival. Ayla was sure that Delta had fought several other soldiers in the Canyon—and she probably never had the time to memorize faces. That goes double if Ayla stopped staring at the agent, right?
Definitely.
…Stop peeking.
Ayla tore her eyes away from the Inkling for what felt like the umpteenth time…until Spyke mentioned something about "murder" and piqued the barista's interest again. She glanced over to watch him pass a black thumb drive to the agent, who in turn slid a bag of coins at the sea urchin. The countertop was too far to fully understand their conversation, but she could pick out mentions like "ninth one," "last night," and "cap'n."
Cap'n…Ayla could vaguely recall the major general mentioning something about a captain in charge of the New Squidbeak Splatoon. If there was talk of a captain near Delta, then…
Holy carp, she was here on NSS business. Holy carp, they were gonna kill her for overhearing. Ayla could already imagine another forty splats courtesy of Agent 4 and instantly turned back to the coffee machine, trying her absolute best to look as aloof as possible. Hopefully Jay would grow another heart—Ayla was certain the squid was missing a couple—and return from her break in time to deliver Delta's coffee.
But a sharp beep made her groan internally—life wanted to be extra inconvenient today. She smacked the off button before the coffee could overflow and wrapped the cup in a cardboard sleeve before reaching for a plastic lid.
"Okay," Ayla whispered to herself in her native Octolish. "You can do this. All you have to do is call her name and give her the coffee. She probably doesn't even remember you." The barista took a deep breath as her feet dragged her to the counter.
Ayla held the cup over the counter, trying her best to keep her voice from squeaking. "…Delta?"
The Inkling slid out of her chair and locked eyes with Ayla in one swift motion, instantly gliding over without a single misstep. Her brown Moto boots clacked into place as she stopped in front of the counter.
"Thanks." Delta's hand reached out to grab the cup, and Ayla half-expected the motion to end in some sort of epic takedown. But the Inkling simply tugged the coffee from the Octoling's grasp and began backing away. "Have a nice day, 'Agent 4 Expert.'" Delta simply readjusted the pilot goggles on her forehead and walked out the door.
Ayla was left frozen in her spot, dumbfounded hazel eyes staring ahead as she tried to process. What…had…just…happened? Delta definitely knew who she was—the reference to Ayla's old title proved that—and the Octoling was still alive. Agent 4 had walked right up to her old enemy, took the cup and walked out without so much as a single punch.
…
What does that mean?
Did Delta decide she wasn't a threat? Was she just waiting for another opportunity to strike? Then why would Agent 4 hint that she remembered Ayla? Wouldn't that ruin the element of surprise? Why did she leave? Was she done talking with Spyke or did she leave to fetch a few thousand weapons? Could Delta even hold a few thousand weapons? Was there anything Delta couldn't do?
…Could Ayla start breathing again?
The nervous barista downed her own shot of espresso before daring to exhale. Holy. Carp. Ayla hadn't been that nervous since she'd respawned in front of the major general—a good twenty ranks above anything a lowly scout would've ever wanted to encounter. Her eyes glued themselves to the door every time she heard a new customer for the rest of the day, but Delta never returned—and Ayla found herself leaving for home with a half-relieved, half-disappointed exhale.
New Albacore Hotel was about as inviting as ever—not. Ayla didn't need to be a genius to know that its managers hated the idea of homeless Octolings living in their basement floor, but they tolerated it for the excess coin the program gave them. Which was probably what Marina was counting on.
Off the Hook's hyperfresh DJ had founded Eight Open Arms to house Octoling refugees once the second wave arrived about a year ago. Most of them—Ayla included—had fled Octo Canyon with no plan, no job, and nowhere to live; Marina's program was intended to give refugees a place to stay until they made enough money for their own place. Ayla had already learned the ropes: walk inside, head downstairs to the bottom floor, go to her room and make sure she didn't tick anyone off.
But this Octoling standing before her didn't seem to know any of that. He stood in the middle of the fancy foyer with a black suitcase in each hand—already unusual for the refugees that often arrive with nothing—and was looking around like a lost hatchling in a fairytale. Given that the hotel's main reception was a good five paces from the Octoling, Ayla wagered a guess that he wasn't searching for a regular guest room.
"Hey." Ayla didn't think twice about approaching him; most Octoling strangers in the city were friendly toward each other. "It's this way." She led him to the stairwell in the lobby's corner and opened the door for him.
"Thanks." The Octoling dipped his pink mohawk into a nod as he wrestled his suitcases through the doorway. "…I'm guessing it's obvious I've never been here before?"
"Just a little." Ayla gave a tiny chuckle as she closed the door and followed him down the steps. "Don't worry, it's my second time living here and I'm sure I still look like a fish out of water up there."
"Your second time?" The Octoling paused on the landing and turned back to his helper. "What happened?"
"Uh…" Ayla stopped next to him, wringing her hands. "I'd only made enough coin for an apartment in the carppiest building ever; one demolition later plus a tiny bank account equals moving back here." The ex-scout cracked a tiny smile at her wordplay; Octolish was such a welcome comfort after a long day in a foreign language. "But I'm surprised you've got all that stuff—" she gestured to his suitcases and stepped down the stairs again, "—but you never needed a room 'till now. Did you steal a bunch from the military before you left?"
"I wouldn't know." Ayla heard the Octoling scoff behind her, but he was quick to change the subject. "I, uh, I have a friend I'd been living with for a while. He's a very…go-with-the-flow kind of squid, and I guess the way I do things annoyed him after a year. Said I'm 'stricter than an unloved nun' and told me to get my own place. We're still friends, but sometimes even the best of friends can't live with each other." He gave a tiny, kindly chuckle—not unlike an old grandfather's.
"You had an Inkling friend right out of the grate?" Ayla raised a curious eyebrow as she opened the basement door for him. This Octoling was growing more and more unusual with each passing detail.
"Long story." He scoffed again, pulling his suitcases through the door. "Thank you, Miss…"
"Ayla."
"Ayla!" He dropped a suitcase to shake her hand. "That's a pretty name. I'm Gavin, thank you again for all your help."
"Don't mention it." Ayla did her best to shrug her curiosity away; Gavin was an Inkling name instead of an Octarian one. "I'm just down the hall if you need help with anything else."
"Will do." Gavin called from the line at the reception desk, waving at Ayla's retreating form. She turned and headed through the door on the far right to walk through a long, algae-green hallway—passing four doors on the left before stopping at the one she called home. The barista was about to fish her keys from her bag when the door across the hall clicked open.
Ayla had been expecting her neighbor, but the Octoling that strode into the hallway was one she'd never seen before. He looked in his early twenties and was a good four inches taller than the scout—she'd seen taller but this octo felt more intimidating than the major general on a bad day. Maybe it had to do with the well-built muscle and numerous tattoos peeking out of his Garden Gear's wifebeater. Or the fact she could hear #$ %* Dudes Be #$ %* Sleepin from a pocket in his cargo pants.
Brown eyes glared into hazel, and Ayla shrank from the gaze with a glance to her right. But her eyes didn't get very far, sticking themselves to some weird symbol drilled just above the Octoling's collar. It looked like...some sort of eclipse? Or a kite? With horns?
"Hey!" Chipped fangs chomped inches away from Ayla's forehead; she hadn't even noticed him close the distance. "What're you lookin' at."
"N-nothing." The scout braved a glance at his face with many steps backward, noting the nose scrunched into a primal snarl; the newcomer looked about as inkthirsty as the Salmonids tattooed down his right arm. "...Sorry."
"Good." The Octoling's voice lowered into a low growl. After a final glare, he rolled his shoulders and prowled through the exit, leaving Ayla frozen in the hallway.
…Valerie really needed to start dating nicer guys.
The aforementioned Octoling's head peeked from her room to look down the hallway. She glanced to her right and found Ayla staring back at her, keys still in hand.
"It's not what it looks like." Valerie groaned and reached over her head to straighten her ponytail.
"Uh huh." Ayla dipped her nose into a disbelieving look.
"We needed to talk about work." Valerie walked over to lean on the wall beside Ayla's door, watching the ex-scout slip her keycard into the slot. "A lot of us think we're getting conned out of bonuses. I swear my last few shifts were way over Grizzco's quota, but it's been weeks and I haven't seen a coin of that extra pay."
"And he just had to meet you in your room." Ayla deadpanned back as she pushed the door open.
"...Something isn't right." Valerie scrunched her nose in distrust. "I don't really trust their office anymore. Ares is their armorer—he handles each shift's weapons so he should've known something. He wanted to meet here to keep other staff members from listening in."
"His name is Ares?" Ayla turned to her neighbor with raised eyebrows. Holy carp, that guy had to hatch out of the egg angry. "See, this is why I never signed up for Salmon Runs. That place attracts bad news like sun to algae—no offense." Ayla propped her door open with her bag and walked inside.
"The pay's still better than serving coffee to cranky customers." Valerie called after her with a chuckle. Ayla replied with a dismissive grumble and kicked her bag away from the door. She sat on her bed and pulled her shellphone from her pocket once she heard the door close. Ayla tapped her bank's app and waited for the software to boot.
"GREETINGS, AYLA." The application read. "YOU HAVE: 3,182 COINS IN YOUR ACCOUNT. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO?"
Cry, Ayla thought to herself with a wince. That wasn't much, and Valerie had a point: Grizzco Industries definitely paid more than the café. But the barista job made up for that in hours; a quick glance at the clock told the Octoling she'd spent a good nine hours working. Income wasn't really the problem.
Ayla's finger reluctantly tapped "send funds." A little pop-up asked her how much, and she raised the slider to one thousand. The software sent a request to ensure she wanted to send an entire third of her finances. Ayla hit "confirm." The pop-up asked where she wanted to send the money to, but the ex-scout paused for a steadying breath. Her keystrokes spelled "Cephalon HQ" before hitting enter and Ayla crashed onto her bed with a guilty sigh.
She'd kill to have her salary be the problem instead of this one.
A/N: Welcome back! Huge thanks to those who favorited, read, followed and reviewed—because I wasn't sure this story was gonna get any kind of audience. So this time I mean that even more than usual.
I know this chapter's a little shorter than what I usually do, but I'm also aware I just took y'all from a borderline thriller prologue to a borderline expository chapter. Exposition might have a bad rep but it's almost always necessary in the beginning; thankfully Ayla's been absolutely fascinating to work with as a narrator and I'm glad to see she made things a little more engaging. And I should probably mention that even though this chapter felt a little exposition-y, it's also riddled with important clues. This isn't some inconvenient info dump, I promise.
And just as an interesting comparison, I looked through Caught in a Lie and discovered that Ayla's entire finances by the end of this chapter are about equal to the cost of Marie's bathrobe. I don't know if that speaks more to Marie's wealth or Ayla's lack thereof, but that's insane.
Aaaand that's probably enough out of me. Give yourselves a pat on the back if you can guess who Gavin really is before the next chapter!