In that instant, Rebecca believed she had it all.

An ancient artifact, prized by researchers across Octarian society in her hands. Something that could finally level the playing field in her people's eternal war against underworld living and the Inklings far above.

A hostile stranger, impossibly strong, brought to their knees by her unit. Her brothers and sisters, securing this maniac and stopping what would've no doubt been one shell of a disaster. A hostile stranger she was about to put down, like the animal it was.

But in that same instant, Rebecca's luck had run out…

BANG!

…for time had taken its toll on the pistol she just fired.

The rusted-out gun exploded in Rebecca's hand, shattering the deeply corroded frame and sending a veritable hail of metal shrapnel in every direction.

The explosion blew her hands open, cutting deep and spilling vital fluids, while several bits of detritus ripped onto her legs. Her armor had absorbed the rest, albeit barely. In her shock, she barely felt the injuries. She did feel herself toppling onto the walkway grating, though.

Souls dotted the space above them. Her siblings, no doubt - she'd caught a glimpse of what the strange weapon's explosion did to them. Shrapnel perforated most of the siblings who were holding the stranger down, shredding their bodies and forcing them to have to go respawn. She didn't have that luxury. Not yet.

As for the stranger themselves, they'd collapsed where they once stood, albeit unscathed - not a single scratch or hole was visible on the strange suit they wore. However, the shock and awe of it all almost certainly had an effect on them, as they all but shrieked in terror as they fell. They laid there, shaking, just like she was.

Rebecca was rooted to her spot on the floor, her mind failing to process what had happened. Everything had happened in the space of a second, and… it was too much. Just barely managing to pull herself up to a sitting position, her eyes then glued themselves to the Stranger's form, a kind of sickening anchor to reality.

She had done this.

She looked to her destroyed hands, her battered legs, the ink splotched grating that had been her siblings.

She had done this.

And the Stranger knew that.

Rebecca watched in horror as they slowly got back to their feet, the lights of the Dome just barely illuminating their eyes through the mask's lenses. She could see enough to know they were staring right at her, boring a hole through her coddamn soul.

The way they held themselves now was different… an amalgamation of emotions she couldn't quite discern. Their strange charger had been reclaimed, and the way they were holding it, a shaky, yet steely grip, with something else binding it all…

It terrified her. Much more so when it was squarely pointed at her chest.

At that moment, as the charger whirred to life in the stranger's hands, she figured it out.

Rage. Blind rage. That's what it was.

CRACK!


As purple paint sprayed all over the catwalk where that freak once stood, he finally exhaled, lowering his mag rifle and dropping to his knees.

Everything was alight with tingles and fire, fighting to overtake him, every wrong movement sending a lance of pain through it. The pistol going off (not to mention that strange pressure washer beam thing) had to have cracked a few ribs, at least. Miraculously, the actual bullet had barely missed his shoulder instead of cracking his skull open, opting to nail one of that soldier girl's buddies instead of him.

Fuuuuck. That was close. Too close.

But now? He felt alive. Awake.

Lucid.

Angry, but lucid.

Like he had been sleep walking since the Flood, and only now had he woken up. His mind felt clear, so clear for the first time. His body screamed at him for all of the neglect it had gone through, and yet, he was calm, clear headed, despite everything.

And all it took was almost dying by the hands of a filthy pseudo-human, wielding something she really shouldn't have gotten her hands on in the first place.

Everything had been going fine for him. He'd been watching the fight between the two factions of pseudos, trying to guess why they fought. And, of course, putting on his best vulture impersonation by watching the whole thing through a rifle scope. He didn't care how this place was cleared out, as long as it was accomplished without him getting involved. The less he needed to… ugh, 'kill' anyone, the better.

God, why'd he even come here in the first place? He could've avoided this whole shitshow if he wasn't so easily lured around by crap like this! Moth to a flame, except instead of a moth and a flame it's the last goddamn human alive and CERTAIN DEATH.

Now, he was here, he was almost shot and killed, and he had no choice but to push forward. No choice but to fight through this. For better or for worse, he was going to make it out of this. He couldn't screw this up any worse, not when failing here would ruin everything!

He would get everyone out of Polaris, even if he had to kill his soul, his mind, his morals to do so!

And now, he'd almost failed. Almost actually fucking died.

The thought was foreign, terrifying.

It only served to fuel his thoughts. This couldn't continue, that he knew. He just couldn't see it until now.

But he had already seen enough.

These pseudos were deathless, somehow. Every kill the neon yellow pseudos a few catwalk levels below scored would come back, little 'ghosts' flying off from the inky corpses to some device they'd set up, which resurrected them and allowed them to continue their stupid little paintball fight.

So, when he pulled the trigger, sending the pseudo bitch at his feet to a temporary oblivion, he didn't puke his guts out. She wasn't dead, he hadn't truly killed her. Payback, mixed with justice and a small measure of guilt. But even that was beginning to fade.

They'd done something to the people in this Shelter. Either captured them, or killed them. The latter, if that purple pistol-wielding prick's antics were any indication. She made an attempt on his life, enlisting the aid of her goons to rush him and keep him down.

She'd put him in a self-defense situation, and he did the only reasonable thing a mortal man fearing for his life would do.

Now, he was a mortal up against immortals. But, that would soon be equalized. He still had enough ammo to make that happen, after all.

He'd keep sending them back, warding them away. Again and again and again, however long it took.

No chances this time.

He wasn't truly killing them. Just… incapacitating them temporarily. Yes, that was right! Some part of him panged with guilt over it - after all, this was murder, sure, but if they could come back just fine… was it truly murder? No! It wasn't!

They could try and stop him, but he knew (painfully) well that those weapons of theirs couldn't really do a damn thing to him. Push him back? Perhaps. Kill him? Not a chance. Goofy toy paint guns and oversized pressure washers could only mildly inconvenience him, him and his very real magnetic rifle.

Scientist could now beat soldier.

He was never going to leave out the human element ever again.

He was alive.

He was awake.

He was angry.

The burning in his sternum, his soul, was proof.


Almost there…

While the Octarians tried to hold the gray-suited stranger at bay, Agent Three was creeping along the walkway towards them, considering her options.

This unknown had (very loudly) proven themselves to be a deadly threat, and if she and Four were to succeed here, they needed to be neutralized. They weren't friendly with the Octarians, yet equally, they had almost killed her and Four. Now, they were watching the fighting from above, albeit with great unease.

Three had to do something. They were too much of a risk to be left alone.

From what she'd seen of the fight before that Octoling exploded her comrades, ink shots had little effect, even from a splatling. A Stingray couldn't kill them, but it managed to get them down and keep them down. Immune to ink, but not the force behind it.

Bombs it was, then. She'd throw one to try and disorient the stranger, and if she played her cards right she'd have enough ink left over for a second. The bombs didn't exactly have much kinetic force, but the blast of ink would hopefully throw them off.

Throw two bombs, then rush the bastard and subdue them with good old fashioned close quarters combat.

She could do this.

Stepping up to the stranger's level, she made her play. Their back was turned, watching the Octarians below. Perfect.

One bomb sailed through the air in a perfect arc, landing at their feet. They wheeled around, stumbling to get away from it before it blew.

SPLASH!

A veritable blast of ink caught them before they could, staggering them and coating their gear with a carpton of neon yellow ink (she chose to ignore how it failed to stick).

Again!

A second bomb detonated at their feet, sending them sprawling to the grated floor with a muffled yelp. Their strange charger slid from their hands, clattering to the walkway at their feet.

Perfect!

Three was on them in an instant, slamming her fists into the stranger's masked face as hard as she could. Before they could react, she put her whole weight on their chest, keeping up her veritable barrage of punches to keep them down. They were a tad larger than her, but in their dazed state, they weren't putting up much of a fight, unless gibbering cries of - gah ███ stop god dammit - were to be considered as such.

If it was one thing she found herself appreciating the Metro for, it was allowing her to relish this moment - hearing this freaky bastard's frantic yelling in the back of her mind was disorienting, but knowing it was her doing was satisfying, in a vaguely concerningly sado-masochistic way.

Well. At first.

When their body suddenly tensed, Three didn't exactly have time to react.

Suddenly, they exploded upward, like a bastardized fusion of a slippery sea snake and mass of flailing appendages. She flailed for purchase on the stranger's gear, trying to catch a hold of a strap or something, anything to get her back on the winning side of this fight. The sheer strength behind the panic was unnatural, something she couldn't quite appreciate until an arm struck her across the face.

Pain exploded across her cheek. Three was tougher than most squids, but this blow wasn't on the same tier as what she was used to. A white hot stinging pain blinded her for a moment, and she lost her grip, in her instant of weakness, she was thrown off of the stranger, rolling across the walkway.

"Three!" Someone shouted. It sounded far off, all kinds of… muddled.

She shook the fog from her mind, forcing her mind to clear the static. Blinking a few times, she managed to get her squit together just in time to see quite the sight.

- get the ███ off me -

The stranger was on their feet, a furious Four grappled onto his back. They were angrily clawing at her, but couldn't quite reach around all the gear to throw her off. Like a rabid shark they bucked, yet Four held.

A terrifying sight, but one that left them vulnerable.

With a disgustingly weak battle cry, she shot up and tackled them, driving her shoulder into the stranger's chest…

…only to realize a second later that Four was still on their back.

The Stranger staggered, and for a heart stopping moment, they stayed upright.

Four, getting the message, threw her weight backwards just enough to tip the balance. And with it, down they went onto the grating, unfortunately crushing Four, who was gasping for air from under them.

Now or never! She had to end this!

Three pounced on the stranger, managing to rip off the weird plastic-y hood on the suit they wore. While it didn't manage to take off their mask, it exposed the helmet it was attached to. And, much to her malicious glee, a very visible neck underneath some kind of rubbery suit. Perfect.

She wrapped her hands around the stranger's neck, squeezing and pushing with all her might. The stranger began to flail once again, and she could barely hear Four's panicked gasps from underneath the bastard.

Not that Three cared. She jammed her fingers into their windpipe as best she could, trying to speed the process along. And it seemed to work, their struggling slowly weakening, their odd mask staring up at her. She could see the eyes behind it, barely. They were staring into her own, her cool visage fighting theirs, wide and tinged with madness.

Then, the stranger tensed once again. Squit.

In one, jagged movement, one of their arms shot up, gripping her neck in turn. In her rush, she had forgotten to restrain them. With a roar, another hand found purchase around her neck. Whatever thoughts that she may have held were crushed as the fists squeezed. She gasped, her chokehold falling off, instead going to hands around her throat.

Their gloved hands were hard, knobbly, and very, very, strong. They dug into her flesh, deforming it, cutting off her air supply totally. She clawed at them, trying to dislodge the hands, but to no avail.

The grip tightened, in no way padded by the gloves they wore. The hands were iron, alien. Her windpipe had been closed completely. Her gasps and cries for help only came out as choked garbles. There was no respite.

Three's vision was narrowing, darkening at the edges while her lungs screamed for air. Everything was fading. Her throat was on fire; she could feel her strength bleeding away, second by second… She could hear…

the stranger yelling, or perhaps Four, but everything was…

too distant…

to translate…

to…

Just as Three was all but certain she was going to pass out, the hands suddenly released her.

She dropped to the grates, gasping for air. Despite her desperate heaves, she managed to glance up to see what had caused them to release her.

Four, remarkably, was still clinging onto their back despite being crushed. She had tried to get them into a chokehold of sorts, struggling to find purchase thanks to all the flailing the stranger was doing. However, in a terrifyingly fluid motion, they yanked Four over their head with her own arm, sending her crashing down to the grating with a painful-sounding thunk.

The poor girl had barely any time to react before the stranger then delivered a solid kick to Four's head, putting her down for the count. Squit. Three was on her own again.

She forced herself to remain calm, to pull her remaining strength together. Shakily getting to her feet, she noticed the stranger turning towards her, stepping over Four's prone form. She had no battle cries left in her this time, but still she tried, rushing the stranger with all the energy she had left.

She managed a brutal punch to the center of their mask, but it only proved to be a small victory. They reeled back, managing to catch Three's leg with their boot as they stumbled backwards. She collapsed to the side, vision exploding with stars as her forehead met solid metal railing on the way down.

When she rolled over and blinked her eyes back open, she was met with their charger's barrel, leveled directly at her head.

Time stood still.

She looked past the weapon, past the mask, into the stranger's barely visible eyes, filled with battle madness.

Four had managed to regain consciousness, just barely, reaching for the stranger's leg. They glanced over at her, not taking the charger away from her face.

"Please… D-Don't kill her." Four murmured, weakly gripping their boot with tears in her eyes.

A pause. Then, the stranger merely shook her hand off, their eyes flicking back to Three, trigger finger tensing as they did so.

With all the malice she could muster, Three spat at them. It hit their suit, sliding off and disappearing through the grating.

For a moment, neither moved. Slowly, the charger lowered from her face, falling to the stranger's side. A small victory.

One quickly negated, as the stranger raised a heavy boot into the air…

…and slammed it down on Three's leg.

SNAP!

Immense pain tore through her, like she'd never felt before.

She screamed, hoarse voice echoing throughout the Dome as the stranger strode past, heavy footfalls fading away.

Fading away…

Just like she was. Pain like this…

Not even the best…

…could stay conscious through this.

Not even…

Her…


"You did what!?"

As it turned out, Rebecca's commander was none too happy. An exalted Elite, Dirk being his name. An unassuming name for an exceptional figurehead who she totally didn't look up to. Even in his enraged state, she couldn't help that giddy feeling of being noticed.

Naturally, that didn't change his mood.

He was none too happy at all at being disturbed from his work, which was stuff far above her pay grade. None too happy at having to leave from the surrounding complex into the Dome. None too happy at an invulnerable maniac rampaging about. And most especially, none too happy one of his soldiers had pissed the thing off.

"-and you thought it would be a good idea to use an untested artifact!? What were you thinking, Corporal? Do I have to-" His yelling refused to cease, despite the pitched battle above them.

They were 'speaking' near the edge of the Dome, next to the inert Octostomp. Even if the area was semi-private, and the scolding somewhat deserved, she was withering away. For her entire career, she had looked up to the Elites! She worked herself to the cartilage to have the privilege of joining them! And now, one of them was ripping her a new one, tearing her down for trying her best! It felt like her innards were melting away from the shame and resentment.

Though, she thought morbidly, at least soon no one would be around to hear it.

Honestly, she could barely understand his furious rants. Not that it didn't hurt to hear.

Here was one of her idols, an honest to cod Elite, something she desperately aspired to be, and here he was chewing her out for using her intuition and ingenuity. Not that it hadn't backfired, but still! It was the thought that counts!

Regardless, he knew better. He was an Elite, they didn't make just anyone one of them, after all..

"-re you even listening to me!?"

"Oh, uh-! Y-Yes sir!" She shouted, snapping back to attention.

"Good!" He took a breath, and just when Rebecca thought it was over, Dirk continued, "You should have gotten more reinforcements to deal with the threat!"

Rebecca bit her lip. The shame was slowly transmuting into an odd, acidic annoyance. She had, but he just didn't get it-

"And more egregiously, you went and truly pissed it off!"

Oh come on! What else was she supposed to do? Roll over?

He took another deep breath, about to continue his enraged rant only for one of her siblings to run up, panting heavily. His uniform had several holes punched through it, through which she could see his flesh.

"Sir!" he shouted, collapsing against the Octostomp, exhausted, "We need help!" The screams, shouts, and weapons fire were only growing closer.

It was enough to snap the Elite from his burning anger. Or, the burning anger directed at her, at least. Now, the newcomer was on the receiving end of it. Poor bastard.

"Keep distracting it, soldier!" Dirk barked, "We're working on it!"

"Sir!" Her brother saluted, then ran off, albeit reluctantly. Being shot with their weapon was quiet agony. As such, Rebecca didn't quite blame him.

"Now then," Dirk turned back to her, "You will tell me exactly what you know about it. Leave nothing out!"

"I…" Aside from them being invulnerable to ink, as well as their strange charger, she knew nothing else. Not how they fought, their strategy, capabilities; all information that took time to learn, not a handful of seconds. What could she say aside from the obvious…

"Well, they're immune to-"

"It," Dirk corrected, cutting her off, "It's immune to?"

"It's", Rebecca amended, "It's immune to ink weaponry, but it seems bombs and Stingray shots can stun it, or at least slow it down."

"I see…" Dirk fell silent, thinking. His gaze went up to the walkways; high in the air, flashes, cracks, and ink explosions were visible, and only were getting closer. She flinched at every crack. At least half of them meant some of her siblings had been struck down.

"Lure it down here," he finally said, "We simply can't fight it up there." His tone had calmed, replaced by a steely thread of determination.

"Sir?"

"We get it down here, where we have both space and area to work with. Down here, ink can at least be utilized." He finished, taking a step forward, "I'll get the defenses ready."

"What about me?" Rebecca asked, somewhat dreading the answer.

"You?" A wicked smile came to his face, "Corporal, you're the reason it's rampaging up there. You'll be the one to lure it down."

"...Oh." She deadpanned. Oh shell.

"'Oh' is right. Now move!"

CRACK!

And with that, Rebecca emerged from the respawner. Again. That was going so well, too…

She cursed under her breath, stumbling to her feet.

This was all going badly for her, much more than she thought possible, but conversely, it was perfect for the plan. This was the third time she had been sent back, and it still hurt as much as the first.

It certainly didn't help that the burns and lacerations on her legs and hands still screamed their annoying and painful protests. It was… an unfamiliar feeling. She had been hurt before, yes, but never so badly, and their weapons never left any real, long-lasting marks. The Respawners tried to bring their bodies back into what they had been before, before any mortal wounds. Unfortunately, that didn't account for injuries that weren't fatal. Only now did she come to hate that. (how did those things even work?)

She was beginning to hate a lot of things.

Such as the action that started this whole damn mess.

Threatening that thing with the metal weapon had to be the worst idea that she had ever had. They had seemed hesitant, almost reluctant in their actions before. Shell, they had tied her up and given her a head pat instead of knocking her out. It was just… surreal!

But, after that old weapon had exploded, their demeanor had changed entirely. Like a switch had been flipped.

CRACK!

...and that was the result.

She was already running up to meet them yet again. Both as a distraction and as bait. Down below, the rest were gathering, waiting for when they inevitably made it down. Not that they hadn't run into difficulties while doing so. Previously, her brother with the Stingray had been sniped, not to mention the shot destroying the Stingray itself. Only bombs, splatlings, and well-aimed charger shots were at their disposal now.

CRACK!

She cringed, diving to the ground. By then, though, the projectile had long since impacted the Dome's walls, the sound echoing throughout the space.

Oh… that wasn't shot at her.

Though, it had pulped two of her brothers. The narrow walkways only served to bunch them up into a group of easy targets. Collateral damage was a concept Rebecca had never really considered until now, when a tumbling slug of Cod-knows-what would repeatedly tear through multiple groups of Octarians.

If nothing else, Dirk had spared a few of her siblings from the defenses to join her. As such, she wasn't taking all of the heat, just some of it. They'd managed to force the stranger down several levels of walkways, one of her brothers having the idea to push from above using super jumps versus trying to bait it from the bottom.

This was good, sure, but it didn't exactly stop them.

Now, they were just two levels above the floor, sniping at them between dodging charger fire and Octocopters. Occasionally they'd score a hit, staggering the stranger and allowing her siblings a chance to strike. Which would inevitably fail, unfortunately.

It was almost impossible to get in melee range of the stranger, as they were quick enough on the draw to fire their charger despite being stunned by a well-placed shot or splat bomb. Even if half their shots missed, the other half still hit, and the immensely loud report of that damn thing was enough to throw even the most resolute of her brothers and sisters off their game.

They were still making progress, though.

Her most recent attempt was almost perfect - she'd managed to force the stranger down a level by herself, spraying ink wildly to disorient them. They'd stumbled a bit, trying to wipe ink off their mask only to fall down a conveniently placed set of stairs, rolling down to the level beneath her.

Switching forms and sliding through the grates, she tried to keep up the pressure, only to be met with a charger slug through the leg. As the stranger readied another shot to finish her off, several of her siblings had super jumped to her position to assist, no doubt having seen her go down from below.

Fat lot of good they did. The stranger was up and firing once again before they could even ready their bombs.

And now, she had no real option but to just keep trying herself, praying for another win like earlier. If anything, she and her siblings were wasting the stranger's time and energy. She didn't know if they had ink or not, but whatever they had powering that weapon of theirs had to run out eventually.

This was a battle of attrition, now. Endlessly respawning Octarians versus one nigh-immortal super-cephalopod creature shell-bent on tearing them all to pieces.

Clamoring back to her feet, she continued her sprint, running up the stairs at the stranger. At the sight of her, they stopped their advance, lining up another shot. She grimaced, not bothering to dodge. Part of the plan part of the plan partoftheplan-

Their trigger finger solidly flexed. The same flash, the same bright, excruciating pain, darkness…

…and there she was, popping up from the Respawner yet again.

It was infuriating. But, it had to be done, even if it looked like tactical suicide. Not that the stranger would notice.

It wasn't that they were skilled. If they could be lured to the floor, the Stranger could be subdued, easily. In theory, they would have plenty of inked surfaces to work with, flanking routes, cover, the like. Thus, her role as bait in this plan. A role she played reluctantly, despite the plan's callous and conflicted nature.

Even if the plan came from an Elite, it still had a few flaws. Least of all, her and a few others acting as living targets. Those shots still hurt!

The stranger was still invulnerable to all their weaponry. They could be staggered, stunned even, but that was only possible with blunt-force trauma. Shots to the head, covering the mask's eye lenses with ink, so on and so forth.

Without the Stingray, they didn't have an easy way to keep that thing down, and all their other options could only do so much.

There was one benefit to the stranger being who they were, at least. They were the equivalent of giving a young, newly grown fourteen year old a powerful weapon, invulnerability, and having them assault a fortified base. Effective, yet without elaborate tact. Without strategy. A child.

A very dangerous child, sure, drunk on rage and power and seeking vengeance for Rebecca's actions. The stranger knew what that weapon she had held was. If she hadn't had it at all, they could've been subdued, easily. They almost had them, but her impulsiveness had ruined it all!

Rebecca took a moment to curse herself. She had been so stupid. What had she been thinking? Threatening them with a weapon she knew nothing about? Stupid!

And now, their rage was burning against them. She… didn't know what they were. They were utterly alien. Everything was about them. They were unnatural, their equipment doubly so. Whatever the case, that weapon was linked to them, somehow. Not that it mattered now.

CRACK!

They'd made their way down to the last level now, just above the bottom. Ever since the stranger went mad, the Agents had vanished. Two problems they didn't have to focus on for now.

The pieces were falling into place. Most of her siblings were now hunkering down on the bottom floor, setting up defenses for the final phase of their plan. All she had to do now was get them down to the bottom, where ink and numbers could finish the job.

She could do this.

This was her moment. Her chance to make things right.

A few tentacle troopers had already laid down a layer of ink on all the surfaces they could, while the Octolings had spread out all across the floor, ready to flank and ambush them. Perfect.

What wasn't perfect was the Stranger's advancing ceasing.

CRACK!

One trooper Octarian exploded into purple ink.

CRACK!

Another.

CRACK!

The stranger had perched themselves on a railing, picking off the tentacle troopers with contemptuous ease. They were slow, yet efficient, aiming each shot carefully. With no one but her daring to go after the stranger, they were all but uninterrupted up there.

It… how- what!?

Unless...

The rage had cooled, Rebecca realized. It had gone from hot-blooded impulsiveness to a slightly cooler calculation. The battle madness remained, she knew, but in a more controlled form. It was intoxicating in the moment, thinking you had found your peace.

It had taken a lot of training to get that out of her. Training she was sure they didn't have.

CRACK!

One Octoling broke ranks, rushing up the steps to the walkway, but was quickly sniped.

They were all powerless.

She could only watch as the last tentacled trooper was annihilated, leaving only the Octolings left.

Even then, she still had numbers on her side, plus the ambush. The stranger had taken down Octarian support, but that didn't mean she and her siblings couldn't stop them.

The weapon fire ceased for a moment, yet, they refused to move.

Another damn, awkward standstill. Their forces couldn't fight back until the stranger went down to the floor, yet they refused to. Did they know of the trap? Regardless, they were simply content to stay where they were, watching, waiting, scanning, searching.

Until their eyes fell on her.

Their charger was brought back to a firing position, their aim falling onto her.

But, unfortunately for them, she wasn't a brain dead Octarian.

CRACK!

She dove into the ink, the fired shot narrowly missing her. Even in her element, the shot passing overhead took the breath out of her.

Hah! No more restrictive grating for her!

CRACK!

Another shot impacted the floor, almost hitting her.

Ok then, keep moving!

Rebecca darted through the ink, as swift as a salmon. All the while, they were trying to snipe her, but horribly missing. Her confidence only grew as the seconds past, as well as a sense of catharsis. She could only imagine their rage flaring up, destroying their aim even further.

Not so easy when your targets aren't literally herded at you, huh, jackhole!?

It could have only lasted for a minute before the shots abruptly stopped. From what she could see, a flurry of movement had taken over their position. Rebecca abruptly jumped from the ink to get a better look.

Oh.

Oh!

Dirk and several others had taken advantage of the situation, having managed to sneak up onto the walkway, then to the stranger, whose rage must have blinded them. To add icing onto the proverbial bread, the Elite had knocked them down, holding aloft a metal rod. One he used to beat the stranger into submission.

...quite savagely, actually.

Dirk and the others held nothing back, viciously swatting at their prone form. Strong kicks and blows landed on their arms, their legs, their head. Gibberings, unnatural shouts of pain and anguish washed down onto them, the only real noise in the din.

It was… she wasn't sure. Cathartic, but also wrong? It felt good, yet had a sour, uneasy undertone that took away from it.

She didn't like the feeling.

Not that it lasted long. An arm caught the rod, though it came with another shriek of pain. Then in a swift motion, Dirk was thrown over the railing. The other Octolings backed off in fear, not helped by the stranger starting to wildly swing the rod around, forcing them back step by step.

As Dirk conveniently smashed into the floor in a spot that wasn't inked, she couldn't help but wince at the sickening crunch that followed.

CRACK!

A wince that kept her blind from the shot fired at her.

Agonizing pain, then she popped up from the Respawner. Another CRACK, then Dirk popped up beside her, furious.

"You!" he shouted, "Why did you-"

Behind him, something on the walkways glimmered. A charger's scope glare, she realized too late. Their charger's scope, for that matter.

The other Octolings had failed, too. Whether they were dead or simply scared off, she didn't know. What she did know, though, was that they were next.

Not again!

She dove out of the way, slipping back into the ink and swimming to safety.

A flash.

CRACK!

Sparks flew.

The shot hadn't been aimed at either of them, she realized.

Rather, what Dirk was still standing on.

The respawner itself.

Rebecca could only watch in horror, as for an instant she could see a large hole punched through the respawner, electricity arcing dangerously. For another, a whistling shriek crescendoed fiercely. Dirk had dived off the respawner, but he wasn't quick enough.

The grievous damage done to the intricate systems was too much for it to handle. The immense pressure within gave away, culminating in a massive explosion of ink and fire.

BOOOM!


Everything was a blur.

Three was fading in and out of consciousness, that much she could figure.

Whatever the shell the stranger did to her leg… it wasn't like anything she'd ever felt before.

Cod, this hurts…

She was being carried, she noticed. Somebody was supporting her as she sort of sleep-walked around on her good leg. Probably Four.

"Three? Y-You with me?" Yeah. Four.

Three grunted in response, barely able to respond through the pain.

"That freak snapped your leg cartilage. Just like he did my foot the other night." Four muttered.

Three figured she had it better than her, what with the light bit of head trauma that overhand throw thing the stranger did to her gave the poor girl. Concussions weren't something ink-based folk had to deal with, thankfully.

Still didn't change the fact that sweet Cod above this hurts!

She needed a distraction. Something to get away from the pain. Or knock her unconscious until Four found an exit and dragged her out of here. Whatever worked.

Judging from all the CRACKS echoing through the Dome, the Stranger was no doubt currently rampaging below, tying the Octarians up quite a bit. Three supposed there was a kind of poetry in that fact; well, she would have if the implications of it all weren't so unsettling. Though, for the moment, it was a kind of blessing to have such a potent distraction.

Granted, once one factored in the fact that said 'blessing' was the sole reason for their current misery…

Taking some phrases out of her handy mental catchphrase storage, Three figured they were "making the best out of a horrible situation!" Or, "life throws a mean curve ball" and they'd just missed it, badly. Clearly, Life was quite the bastard pitcher.

She managed to voice that thought to Four, a pained hiss between bouts of unconsciousness. The thought managed to get a laugh out of her, despite the situation.

Suffice to say, Three found herself not appreciating it.

"Yeah, gah- l-laugh it up, dickweed." she hissed, another pained grunt escaping her as her broken leg flopped around a bit.

"Okay, okay!" Four replied, trying to bring her giggling under control.

If Three had to be honest, she didn't exactly blame her - a little bit of stress relief wasn't a bad idea. But alas, she wasn't in the frame of mind right now to be honest. She was hurting, she was about to faint again, and she was angry.

"Seriously?" Thee shot back, "We're deep in enemy territory, in very real danger, and you're laughing?!" A hand unconsciously went to her busted leg, followed by another grimace.

"S-Sorry, sorry!" Four finally got herself under control, taking a deep breath, "Just… what are the odds, y'know?"

"What-argh! What odds?"

"Of the mission turning this sideways," she amended, "Like… I dunno, everything just… went wrong in the wrong ways, you feel me?"

Oh, Four, of course you'd say that.

Of course an invincible asshole wielding an unknown superweapon would happen to them, huh? And here, of all places? Of coddamn course that had to be how this went down, huh?

Nevermind the thousands of other possibilities that would have thrown this plan on its head, we just had to get one of the single worst ones to ever happen!

Cod! So much for a peaceful post-Metro existence!

"It could've been worse." Three finally replied, voice strained. "Could've been the Metro all over again."

She was getting tired of always having to bring it up - she'd gone through literal HELL ON EARTH back there in the Metro! This sucked, sure, but it could've been so much worse! She was lucky she'd made it out of there with only a light bit of severe brain damage, not to mention all the other myriad of scars and glowing eyes she now had!

And doubly not to mention the ability to understand that stranger!

Cod, she was going to have to think about that! Think about why that was happening! Why everything was happening! Just-

Before Three could begin painfully vocalizing her rage at everything, Four cut in.

"It's just that… L-Look…" Four stuttered, trying to voice her feelings. Yet, the right words refused to be found. Three deciding to glare at her certainly didn't help. It only served to shrivel her voice further. Something Three also decided to take advantage of.

"This is fine Four, you hear me, fine." Three stated in ire, "We're fi-"

BOOOM!

Three and Four stopped for a moment, shocked to a standstill. But not for long; Four shot from supporting her, to instead looking over the walkway railing. Three yelped, partially collapsing onto the railing as well.

The two of them looked out over the scene, down at the battlefield where the stranger and the Octarians had thrown themselves at one another. A moment was all it took for Three to identify the source of the explosion.

All the way down on the bottom floor, where the respawner once was, was instead a gaping hole punched through the floor, purple stained all around it. Eerily, there was no rock or dirt under the flooring, simply a yawning abyss that had been opened.

Oh…

On instinct, she unclipped the respawn anchor from her hip, only to be greeted by a steely, red glow.

Oh no.

She looked up to Four, who looked just as shaken as she was.

"Now it isn't fine."


/ REWRITE A/N: /

Falk here, once again with yet another rewrite!

We're actually fighting and kicking ass now, which is great! Cool! Action! Hell yeah! This, however, comes at more than a few costs.

For one, we've gone and undid Piston and Ancient's hard work making our beloved human not an edgelord, as I felt ramping up the anger and intensity of the Dome fight would make this much more "realistic" in a way. Polarisguy (working name) is pissed - he's hungry, he's alone, he's tired, he screwed up his only way out, an Octarian just tried to kill him with a real gun, and he's operating under the assumption they've captured and/or killed the human denizens of the Shelter, and more!

As a result, we also made the Octarians put up so much more of a fight, managing to give Polarisguy hell until he finally snaps. Now, with the Respawner out of the picture, we're about to get real. What'll happen next? You'll find out, as soon as you hit that Next Chapter button!

With that, I'll hand this back over to 2021 Piston to send this chapter off. We hope you enjoyed, and hopefully we'll see you for the next! Have a good one!

/ ORIGINAL A/N: /

I suppose you could say the shoe is on the other foot now, eh? All jokes aside, apologies for how long this chapter took to come out. It was a challenge to write, honestly, and I'm still not entirely sure if it came out correctly. Still, one can only learn through experience, right? Regardless, I think we avoided a case of the dreaded "edgelord", hopefully. AncientDragonDuelist thinks so, and he's proven a great help, so I hope you agree with him.

Even then, some mistakes in previous chapters may have messed some things up beyond repair, chapters Five and Six specifically. So many opportunities to actually give our human friend some real character, only to be squandered. It needs another rewrite, I guess. Someday. The sins of the past must be repaired. I suppose this is true with the previous chapters as well; I was re-reading them earlier, and they feel flawed still. Wasted potential.

Anyways, thanks for reading, and thanks again for the reviews and advice! It is incredibly useful in writing this story.

See you next time!