They had dragged him in sometime in the afternoon, and it was no easy battle. The kid had put up a huge fight, kicking and screaming with all he could. It took three soldiers to subdue him.
They had finally got him just an hour ago. He was trapped, with five octolings surrounding him, he had no place to go. The kid tried his best to resist, but the moment one of the 'lings kicked his weapon out of his hands, things weren't going to work out for him.
The inkling had switched to hand combat after that, punching, kicking, even biting some of the soldiers in hopes of escaping, but to no avail. He took out two soldiers with just his fists, so the remaining three held him down and knocked him out.
Now he was awake, trying to shake out of the octolings harsh grips. He obviously knew it wouldn't work, but he kept trying anyway. They had smashed his armor and confiscated his communication headset to use later. The boy had no way of contact to that dreaded CuttleFish, an old man who had fought in the Great Turf War. Agents one and two were still on the loose however, and they were very difficult challenges that the Octarians had yet to be victorious against as well.
Oh well. They had caught this one, and now he could be used as a hostage.
The octolings threw the inkling into the cell, not giving a second glance before they locked the door. He landed with a harsh THUMP, laying sprawled out on the floor for a split second before jumping back up with large amounts of rage fueled energy.
The next two hours were filled with angry screeching and loud banging, the inkling just wouldn't shut up. He had charged at the bars numerous times in hopes of breaking them down, failing each and every time. He tried punching them, ended up bruising his knuckles. He tried kicking them, he was certain his toes were messed up. He even tried biting them, and he was absolutely positive one of his fangs had cracked.
The guards outside of his cell hadn't moved a muscle, save for switching out every so often. One had threatened to go inside his cell and twist his arm to the point where his skin would tear if he hadn't quieted down. The inkling hadn't, and now he was sitting in a corner with a heavily bleeding, bruised arm. It was dripping out a light yellow, the inkling's current tentacle color.
Ten minutes after that he was yelling insults at the guards, trying to get a reaction out of them. Seems he was pretty brave, either that or incredibly stupid as the guards could do whatever they wanted to him as long as he wasn't killed. One guard had sighed in exasperation, turning slightly and firing a few shots at the angered inkling to quiet him down for a couple of minutes at most.
Wasn't really all that fun, being pelted by his mortal enemy's ink color- that stuff burned. Turf wars weren't all that bad in his opinion, only a light burning sensation. This, however, felt like his skin was being torched with the sun. So this was great situation he was in. His fang was cracked, his arms and feet hadn't stopped hurting, he couldn't walk without a limp, and he had to ink. And not the kind in turf wars.
And he was hungry too. Would they even feed him? Hopefully.
"Yo! Guys, heh, can we just forget what happened a bit ago and uh... give me some food? I'm starving over here." the inkling asked, looking over at one of the guards with anticipation. To his dismay, they didn't move a muscle.
He sighed, slumping against the wall. He brought his hands to his face and counted his fingers out of sheer boredom, one to ten, ten to one, two four six, ten eight six... Ugh.
He was kinda glad the wound on his arm that came from the octoling twisting it so hard had stopped bleeding. In all honesty had he bled out a little more, he probably would've fainted from blood loss. In a short moment of curiosity, he had licked the blood on his arms. Doesn't taste all that good, but not the worst taste in existence.
He shifted slightly, his need to empty his bladder was rising fast. The last thing he wanted was to end up going in his shorts, but he also didn't want to ask his mortal enemy to go to a restroom of all places. A quick choice was made in his mind, hold it and hope someone comes in soon to let him out, or ask to use the bathroom and suffer from humiliation?
He was told he was a rather air headed inkling, but he honestly wasn't that stupid.
He picked up his light frame and limped over to the bars of his cell, where the octoling guards stood, "Hey, guys! Sorry to have to bother you again but..." he shuffled his feet, "Unless you want this place smelling bad with a certain kind of ink everywhere, I suggest you take me to a restroom in the next...Five minutes? Yeah."
For a moment the guards stood still with no reaction evident upon their faces, then one of them sighed and turned around, "Fine. You're powerless against us anyway, but if you try any tricks we won't hesitate to bring you back here." the inkling couldn't be happier.
Well that could've gone better, the inkling decided. They had taken him to the restroom and let him do his business, but on the way back he had tried to escape. He succeeded in taking out one of the guards, but the other had caught onto him before he could knock him out, and quickly dragged him to the cell before throwing him back in.
Now there were four octolings in front of his cell, double the amount previously. They had told him they wouldn't let him out of his cell after the little "stunt" he had pulled, even to use the restroom. How nice. Future him was going to be regretting this in a couple of hours, he bet.
He had asked them again for food a bit later, and got nothing but moldy bread slices and rotten fish that had failed to evolve over the years. Still, it was better than nothing, and the young inkling slowly ate them, not really able to savagely eat them like he was planning to with his injured arm and hands. Wow his breath probably reeked by now.
It was ten minutes later when he felt sick, wow his stomach really hated those fish, though he didn't blame it. The bread he could stand, all he did was block out the fact that they were moldy. So now he was back to sitting in the corner, except on his side and facing the wall while holding his stomach in attempts to ease the feeling.
This was nice. This was so, fucking, nice. Not even a day in enemy territory and he was already miserable. He was sick, injured, and homesick. Six hours haven't even passed, he wanted to facepalm at his patheticness but found no motivation to do so.
Tears of many emotions started slipping out of his eyes, mostly clear but with a hint of yellow. He hadn't even tried to stop them, instead he began to sniffle. He was just a kid. The guards outside his door were probably kids too, but older kids. Like sixteen or seventeen. This inkling right here? He was thirteen. The average age for inklings to be able to turn into humanoids was fourteen, but there were the occasional exceptions. He was one of them. He had actually turned on his twelfth birthday, a huge surprise to both him and his parents. It was pretty exciting, knowing that he was a pretty early bloomer (after a doctor visit to make sure nothing was wrong with him).
Ah, he was rambling. He tended to do that. By now he was shuddering after every breath-and coughing too. Oh great, now he really was getting sick, this day was just getting better and better.
"Hey, kid. How old are you?" one of the soldiers guarding his cell asked, the inkling had no idea which had asked the question as none of them turned around.
His happy casual facade had long since gone out the window, "T-thirteen..." he stuttered, drawing in a large breath in an attempt to calm himself down.
The octoling grunted in response, looking over at their fellow guards in surprise. They were all startled that an inkling as young as he had managed to beat over half of the Octarians, as well as be considered as a "major threat".
Yet he could've sworn he heard one mutter, "Thirteen? CuttleFish must be going nuts..."
And he was sure his ears were lying to him when he heard, "I kinda feel bad for the kid."
So how was this one? There may or may not be a part two to this, you never know ;)
But in all seriousness, I had come up with this idea, asked my twitter followers what they thought of it, and wrote it out into this nice little chappie right here. I intended for this one to be filled with less comedy and more angst, as not everything going on in Splatoon is all fun and games.
I haven't given the inkling a name, because I decided to leave it up to you guys! Name him whatever you want, I can't really care less. After your Dad? sure. Your dog? why not. Your favorite porn star? Eh, that's up to you, kinda weirded out tho.
BTW: I'm gonna call this an "Agent AU". Basically, in some chapters Agent 3 is not going to be this inkling. They might be replaced by someone else. And that's okay! They (maybe) will come back! Agent 3 could be this yellow guy, or a blue girl, or a green dude, the possibilities are endless! Do you guys get me?
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next one coming: I really don't know, i don't plan these at all.