On a no-name pier hanging off the southern coastline of Inkopolis, a lone Inkling boy sat, a fishing rod in hand.

Contrary to the hustle and bustle of the flexible and ever changing docks, the kid stuck to his task with a manic kind of determination. No one bothered him, and no one could bother him. His concentration plucked his mind away from the surrounding world; the only entities that existed were himself, the rod, and the ocean.

He'd simply sit on the same piece of pier, day after day, casting his fishing rod in search of whatever it is he was trying to fish up. The hook was sharp and wide, more attuned for grappling onto something rather than catching fish, and bogged down with weights rather than afloat with a bobber.

He would cast it into the water near the pier, then pull it back to the surface soon after. Over and over and over.

By now, those who worked at Pier 6 paid him no mind. To them, he was just an odd teen, an odd teen and his fishing rod. He hadn't caused any trouble, though he resisted any attempts to get rid of him. As such, the pier workers all but stopped trying to bother the kid. He wasn't doing any harm, and wasn't in anybody's way, so everybody more or less kept their distance.

Everybody except Steve, at least.

After he'd scarfed down his lunch, the older Inkling dock worker had made his way down to the kid's usual spot, having unofficially taken up the role of 'guy who watches the weird kid on the pier.' Lo and behold, as Steve expected, there he was, fishing away with his fishing rod for whatever the shell he was fishing for.

Steve had quickly learned that the kid would always return, no matter how many times he was driven off. As such, he'd decided to try and make the kid useful around Pier 6 - after all, his back's cartilage was giving out as of late. Having a hand on deck to help move Grizzco crates was simply divine. In return, Steve would let the kid keep fishing at the pier, unbothered by him nor any of the other Pier 6 workers.

If anything, the kid's presence and help was appreciated. Pier 6 had already been dealing with a reduced workforce, meaning longer hours for Steve and company, and with his employer bleeding money, it also meant a reduced salary as well. It wasn't ideal, but it was manageable.

What truly stung, however, was the loss of the Ark Polaris worksite to Salmonids. With Pier 6 being the closest docks to the site, the place was alight with business in the form of Grizzco's Salmon Run shifts going in and out, as well as all manner of logistics and materials handling related to the business.

Now, however, that was gone. The pier was quiet, and what was once maybe fifteen to twenty ships per day became one to two. Grizzco still rarely sent shifts out, mostly to evacuate equipment the company somehow forgot at the work site, or in the case of a particular shift, take advantage of a rare opportunity to get a metric squitload of Power Eggs and Golden Eggs. Or, at least, so he had been told.

Knowing that kid fishing on his pier was one of the lucky bastards to be on that shift was one heck of a realization for Steve. Oh, to be out there again, blasting Salmonids with his crew and getting paid dearly for it. He missed it, if he was being honest.

If he were a younger man, he could have gone back on Salmon Runs, maybe. Yet, his body was no longer the lean, mean machine it had been in his youth. Years of cartilage damage and all manner of heavy-lifting related wear and tear meant he was more or less stuck in this job now; nobody else would hire an old bag of a man like him. This job was now the only work he truly knew, what he could reliably do.

The world had left him behind. Kinda like how the teen was an anchor in the otherwise chaotic nature of the pier.

Yet, the kid wasn't hurting anyone, and kept out of their way, so again nothing much could be done about him. Well, nothing entirely legal (the new generation was quite sue-happy), of course, hence Steve's little 'extortion of labor' plan.

Not to imply he didn't like the presence of this teen; honestly, he had grown on the older man a bit. He was quiet, he followed orders, and he was surprisingly resilient. Much stronger and smarter than his looks let on, that was for sure. Who knew a scrawny teen could lift a crate that heavy?

Steve took another bite out of his sandwich. With this new situation, official lunch breaks were a thing of the past. Let it not be said he wasn't a company man.

Speaking of company…

"Hey, Marius!" a feminine voice shouted, high pitched and obnoxious.

The boy, newly named to Steve as 'Marius,' jumped and nearly fell into the water. An Inkling girl had walked up behind him, covered in spray paint and wearing a tie-dye shirt. Great. A hippie. She clashed horribly with everyone here. At least the boy wore darker, more conservative colors, even if the clothing wasn't meant for any real work.

This Marius guy certainly knew colorful folks. Pun intended.

The girl ignored Marius' near-death experience, instead grabbing his shoulders from behind. "C'mon, you're still doing this?"

Marius quickly regained his composure. "Why yes, I am! It's still gotta be down there!" he snapped back, all flustered and angry-looking.

'It's still gotta be down there.' And what was that supposed to mean?

Steve took another bite of his sandwich in contemplation, watching as the two began to bicker. Maybe it would be a welcome distraction from the endless grind of work? Already, his imagination had been clicking and reassembling pieces as to what this Marius was up to.

"And you intend to get it with a fishing rod?" the girl asked, putting her hands on her hips.

"Rio, Rio," Marius tutted, waving a finger, "how else am I supposed to get it?"

So the girl's name was Rio? That… sounded familiar to Steve, actually. Where had he heard that name?

Oh. Rio. That Rio. Yeah, he recognized that name. While he did doubt that this Rio was the same one he had the misfortune of knowing, he still had his suspicions. The docks had its fair share of miscreants and folks like the Rio Steve knew, even before things had gone belly up.

For example, the night after the boy started his fishing, Steve and a few friends had just finished a graveyard shift and had been standing around, talking. Mainly, just keeping an eye on things. Thefts had been becoming more and more commonplace around the docks the past few weeks, usually tools, materials, the like. Compared to the lack of crime in the city, it stuck out.

And that night, away from them, someone had crawled out from the sea, the water sliding off of them without issue. A gray suit, a full-face mask of sorts. Heavy boots clunking against the wood. Then, they took off, running full speed into the industrial parts of Inkopolis beyond Pier 6.

That was a strange night. And why he now refused to stick around after his shifts anymore. Steve wasn't exactly a stranger to strange things, but after that… No thanks. Thankfully, that night's encounter was the strangest one he could remember, at least. Though, nothing would top that one time a ship brought back a Salmonid infestation.

Nothing ever would. Bits of him still ached after that squitshow.

Turning his attention back to Marius and Rio, Steve listened as Rio spoke up yet again. "Ok, but you do know that you're probably not gonna find it, right?"

"I've already found so much though! Look!" the kid stammered out, picking up his bucket to emphasize his point. Steve could clearly see the inside, which was full of unimportant-looking trash, briny and stained from the seawater and salt. "I'm telling you Rio, some of this stuff was in his pack!"

Who's pack? A backpack? What were those kids talking about, and what were they tangled up in? Come to think of it, he did remember the stranger from the water wearing what looked like a backpack…

"That's just random junk, Marius." the girl deadpanned. "Do you really know how many people litter around here?"

Even though the statement was true, the boy rolled his eyes, gaining her ire. "Really, do you not listen to me at all?" Rio hissed, angrily.

The boy sputtered, before coming up with, "Well, I think this is a bigger deal!" Real persuasive, buddy.

"It… really isn't, dude." Rio said. "Well, not right now, at least. Yeah, Vista's still a bit paranoid, sure, but it's about time we moved on from Salmon Running."

With that, the two passed their tipping point, the conversation devolving into inane arguments. Nothing truly vicious or mean, but more like… siblings bickering. Were they siblings?

...nah. Steve really doubted it.

He really should be getting back to work soon. And judging by how the two were still going at it, he would have quite the entertainment this afternoon. Aside from the brief bliss of eating, of course. He could make a damn good sandwich.

The bickering came to an abrupt end, however. Not from either of them crossing a line, nor from the argument fizzling out. Rather, from the boy's rod. It twitched, the line suddenly going taut.

"Whoa- Hey!" Marius yelped in surprise, nearly pulled off the pier by the rod.

Rio instinctively grabbed his shirt, trying to keep him from falling into the water. With both their combined effort, the line snapped back, throwing its bounty into the air. A thrashing fish, impossibly hooked onto the hook. It futilely flopped on the cobbles of the pier.

Unconsciously, Steve straightened. Huh? How'd he catch that? He wasn't fishing for fish…

Steve's thinking was quickly halted when the two bent down to look at the catch. A glint of metal on Rio's waist caught his eye, and then said bit of metal clattered to the ground, escaping its waistband prison to confirm Steve's suspicions.

A can of spray paint. Yup. She was that Rio.

Pier 6, for the longest time, had always had a graffiti issue, and plenty of them bore that name. Rio. The bits of paint staining her arms and hands only cemented the connection. She was the one who had forced him to spend untold hours cleaning up her 'art.'

Oh, vengeance would be his.

As he approached the two, the girl looked his way, and upon seeing the look on his face, paled. Quick as a bolt of lightning bolt, she grabbed her spray paint can and took off running. Not a chase Steve could manage, but unfortunately for Marius, she left him blindsided. Before he could bolt, too, Steve closed the gap.

"Say, kid. Your friend, she a painter?" he asked, leaning on a nearby mooring post between the kid and the rest of the docks. Marius instantly paled, eyes wide. Fear, plain and simple. He didn't wanna scare the kid, but if he was to have his revenge on Rio he'd need to put the fear of Cod into her friends. Necessary sacrifices.

"Oh… um, no?" Marius stammered out, clutching his rod and bucket as if they were stuffed animals. Squit, now Steve felt bad. Time to tone it down a bit.

"Look, kid." he started, abandoning his anger in favor of answers. "You've been a good help 'round the pier, but why are you doing this? Why are you fishing here?" A good question, right?

Apparently not, if Marius' reaction was any indication.

The kid's fear devolved into pure terror, face losing what little remained of its color. "Uh no thank you Ishouldreallygetgoingnow-!" With that, Marius made a break for it, tearing past him at a full sprint.

"Kid, really-"

The boy was already gone. And with him, the answers to this small mystery.

Steve shrugged, sighing. The guy would be back tomorrow, right? Perhaps he could try again then, hopefully with less abject fear and terror and more normal social interactions.

As a sort of strange consolation prize, the two left the fish Marius caught flopping about on the pier.

Well, if they weren't going to take it…

Steve licked his lips. He wasn't one to let a catch go to waste, after all.

Meanwhile, for Marius, it hadn't taken long to catch up to Rio. He'd found her in an alleyway, wedged between two generic looking fishing stores. After a moment's rest, they were off again.

"What was with that guy?" Rio asked, panting slightly. Confident that none of the dock workers would follow, they'd stopped running. As they walked, the city slowly transitioned from fishing and industry into the familiar streets and stores they knew.

"He was asking questions, apparently was watching me." Marius huffed, still a bit out of breath. "I think he's a government plant. I'm telling you, they know about the Stranger."

Rio rolled her eyes. "Maybe. Or, maybe you're being too weird about it."

"And you aren't either? He totally had something against you, Rio. I mean, really, do you need to do your graffiti there so often?"

"It's the perfect place! There are barely any cameras!"

"Gah. Just- forget it." Marius ground his beak, grimacing. "It's not like either of us can go back there now, anyways. And just when I was getting along with 'em too…"

He groaned, seeing his plans collapsing around the two of them. He had been so close, so close to finding something! Now everyone at the docks knew too much, especially since he and Rio had been babbling about it in the open. Could that one worker be a government plant? How much did they know?

"Well, I know exactly how to cheer you up!" Rio said, a smile coming to her face, "How about we go to Sheldon's! Would you like that?"

A moment passed.

"Yeah, sure." he pouted.


"So, what is this thing, exactly?"

"Something marvelous…"

In all of her life, Agent Three had never heard Sheldon sound so reverent.

And why? All because the melted scrap of the Stranger's weapon was laid out over the table. Seeing it in such a disarming and normal setting still threw her for a loop. She had almost died against this very object, used it against its master, and now, the terrifying device had been defanged and destroyed.

Sheldon had begun the dissection in the main space of his shop, in part due to the cramped conditions of his small workshop, and partially out of impatience. He wanted to work, he wanted to do it properly, and he wanted to do it now. Tools were laid out over the large table set at the center of the space, alongside diagnostic apparatuses and a chalkboard sat along one wall. Due to the confidential nature of the project, Sheldon had closed up shop for the day, closed the blinds, and locked the doors for good measure.

He had already started his analysis, if the disassembled parts of the weapon were any indication. Sections of the melted plastic had been cut away, revealing the delicate, fried innards of the weapon, all of which had been carefully cataloged by various sticky notes and diagrams on the table. All of it was utter gibberish to her.

Granted, the whispering at the back of her mind wasn't exactly helping either.

How the shell was she supposed to know what a - C6703 MagCoil sync system - or a - KTech experimental user-interface interface - was in the first place? She wasn't even trying to read text or anything, it was just information making itself apparent in her head, for some strange and probably Metro-related reason!

Cod, she had a headache. Both from Sheldon, and her little gift.

She still hadn't told any of them about it. As much as Sheldon might appreciate knowing the human names for all the parts he's working with, Three didn't want to deal with the can of worms revealing the Metro's lasting effects would open up. They'd already treated her with great suspicion after Eight had revealed she got possessed down there, and Three really didn't want to deal with that again.

Instead, she'd rather deal with Sheldon. He was infinitely more tolerable, despite his extremely annoying nature. Which, speaking of…

"Could you be more specific?" she asked. While she didn't trust Sheldon to be concise nor clear, he was a master of engineering, and possibly the only one who could decipher the secrets of this weapon in a manner she could understand. To her, the weapon was just a piece of scrap that whispered at her, but to Sheldon? It had to be revolutionary.

"Certainly!" Three swore the smile on his face grew impossibly wider. No doubt he had been dying to share his findings. "Here, take a look at this."

Sheldon pointed to the metallic barrel of the weapon, the true one that lay under the hard plastic. "You see the rings wrapped around it, right? They're just copper wires, and that got me thinking about their use. It was quite perplexing, but then, the reason hit me!"

"And that reason is?" Three asked, pointedly ignoring the whispers. She didn't need to know the model number of the barrel, no thanks, weird Metro gift.

"It explains the hyper-dense battery and solid ammunition, it explains everything about it! It's surprising how simple it is!" Sheldon chirped, adjusting his glasses.

Three sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, "What is it, then?"

"Magnets!"

Three looked at Sheldon, confused. A minute passed, Sheldon holding a bated, excited breath. Even the Metro whispers stopped.

"...magnets?" Three finally said, feeling vaguely let down. "You're telling me that that person weaponized the things I use to pin things on my fridge?"

Admittedly, despite her vague disappointment she was more curious about the physics of it all;, like how did the wires create the force to propel a projectile? How much energy did it need? Copper could be magnetic? What did magnets have to do with this at all? Nothing she would bother asking, however. She would gladly sacrifice her burning questions if it meant Sheldon wouldn't go into a babbling monologue for an hour.

Granted, not that not saying anything at all would stop him.

"No, not like that at all!" Sheldon replied, excitedly. "The coils generate some kind of magnetic induction force! It's genius!"

One, what was a magnetic induction force? She was never good with those science classes back in high school.

Two, why again did Callie and Marie want her to help Sheldon? That answer she did know. As a punishment. Seriously, what had they expected her to do? Act as some kind of scarecrow for Sheldon to talk at?

Probably.

"...I still don't get it." she muttered.

In the blink of an eye, Sheldon had wheeled the large chalkboard from the back wall to the forefront, on which was a myriad of diagrams and equations, none of which she remotely understood. How long had Sheldon been working on this?

Judging by the amount of cardboard coffee cups in the trash can, the bags under his eyes, and his jittery behavior, he must have been up all night. Not that she entirely blamed him. An unknown artifact of immense destruction; she could only imagine how gripping this discovery was to him.

"-the coils must give off some kind of timed inductive force-" the weaponsmith eagerly explained, pointing at several different spots in a whirlwind of motion.

Three tuned him out. He was using too many 'sciencey' words, and quite frankly, she wasn't entirely here mentally. What could she say? On one hand, her head was a warzone between hospital-grade painkillers and a bank of information from the Metro trying to cram facts about the Stranger's weapon into her head. The other? Stand there looking like a doofus, blankly staring at Sheldon's chalkboard until he shook her out of her stupor.

Meh, latter option it was. Briefly, she tuned in, just to see if he was still going.

"-the inner barrel, according to my calculations, should be molten slag from the friction-" Aaaand he is still saying words. Great.

Her attention fell on the weapon, anything to distract herself from the migraine inducing monologue. It was still jarring to see it up close, especially with how destroyed it was now. She still remembered how it ripped through flesh and metal alike, it had seemed so unstoppable back then. And that was just at the Dome. This weapon had probably seen more death than she could imagine.

It was uncanny, a disconnect between herself and reality, and all from just looking at the thing.

She blinked, trying to push the thoughts back. Whispers at the back of her mind, yet again. All of her mental fortitude was going into not snapping like a twig in Sheldon's store. And all the while, the crab himself kept babbling.

"-I simply cannot fathom the amount of heat-"

Stop…

"-there must be some kind of cooling or-"

Stop.

"-a built in computer! It has a-"

Stop!

"-how they even managed to-"

"STOP!" she shouted, leaning on the table, breathing heavily. Her leg throbbed, as did her head. Sheldon stopped, disturbed by her outburst. Dimly, she registered her eyes gleaming in Sheldon's glasses, flickering teal rings in the reflection.

"...you alright Three?" he asked sheepishly, his expression one of concern. "Was I going too fast?"

"Yes." Three gasped. "Please, just- just explain it to me like I'm an idiot. Or a kid. Or a squid. I don't know." She didn't really want an explanation at all, yet, anything to slow Sheldon down. He would continue talking regardless, but she would do anything to slow him down.

Sheldon thought for a long while, before saying, "Timed magnetic coils push and pull a bit of metal to extremely fast speeds." he said, before shrugging apologetically. "That's as simple as I can make it."

Three slowly nodded, "...I see."

"There's more, though. Now, you see…!"

Rather than launching into another tirade, Sheldon flipped the chalkboard over, revealing an entirely different diagram drawn on the opposite side. One of a weapon.

"I've come up with a rudimentary design for a new weapon. I suppose… ah, you could say, I've felt quite inspired recently."

"-and in conclusion, this should prove to be an invaluable asset in our defense of our home. What do you think?"

In the true fashion of the enigma that Sheldon was, he had taken a simple concept and extrapolated it out. Extrapolated it out way too much for its own good, if you had to ask her.

Something as simple as "this new weapon is a lot like the Stranger's" turned into a HOUR LONG explanation that bordered on fervent rant. Tapping into various explanations of the systems, the power source, the very physics of the weapon, the philosophy of bringing such an immoral weapon into existence, Sheldon covered every facet and more.

Once again, Three was convinced Marie and Callie knew what they were doing when they sent her to Sheldon.

"You've really thought this out, huh?" she finally said. Really, what else could she say? Well, aside from the obvious statement of 'Marie will love this.'

Like the Stranger's own weapon, Sheldon's design was that of a sniping weapon that utilized the same technologies. Unfortunately, that was where the similarities ended. And without them, Three could finally appreciate the technological gap it presented.

Where the Stranger's weapon had been sleek and self-contained, heavy but not unmanageable, Sheldon's design was impressively less so. He was using an E-Liter and salvageable bits of the Stranger's weapon as a base, if the blueprints were drawn accurately, and from there, he'd added the necessary technologies.

Coils looped around the barrel, connected to a capacitor that replaced the backset pressurizer tank. All wired to a series of batteries in a backpack, where Sheldon had also drawn a few boxes holding bits of metal for the charger to use. A note scribbled to the side read 'talk to Spyke about the 3D printer farm for mags.'

It was… Well, it was something.

The reliability of the weapon was definitely questionable, no thanks to the reliance on 3D printed plastic and bits scavenged from the Stranger's beat-up weapon. It also didn't have Sheldon's 'elegance of design,' to put it lightly. Not that she could blame him; the fact that he had put this all together from utterly foreign technology all in the span of a few hours was awe-inspiring.

"It's a mess, I know, but this is the first prototype I want to put together. From there, I can refine the design." he proudly stated, puffing his chest out. "It'll take time to pu-"

The chime of the shop door opening rang out.

Sheldon's face dropped.

Three saw the door swing open, revealing two Inklings - a boy and girl, probably two or three years younger than herself. She had half a mind to knock the table the weapon parts were on to the ground, but it would be far too suspicious, not to mention destructive as shell to both the table and the parts on it.

As such, she and Sheldon simply stood frozen, staring at the two.

"Um… are we coming in at a bad time?" the girl asked, unconsciously clutching her tye-dyed shirt, clearly uncomfortable. Sheldon shakily nodded, before speaking.

"I, uh, forgot to lock up." Sheldon stammered, nervously chuckling. "I'm sorry, we're closed for today."

He told her he locked up, he told her! Damnit Sheldon!

The girl grinned sheepishly. "Oh, I see. Sorry for barging in." She tugged her friend's sleeve. "C'mon Marius, let's… go…"

Her gaze had fallen on the table, where her friend had been staring at since they had entered.

Abruptly, she yanked on his sleeve, dragging him out of the store. "Wellsorryforbarginginwe'llbegoingnowBYE!"

Three stared at the door, watching it shut as the two took off.

Sheldon let out a breath, hand clutched over his chest. Coming to his senses, he quickly moved to the door, and once there, locked it. That taken care of, he slouched against the door, a relieved smile growing on his face.

"That was a bit too close, eh, Avanna?" Sheldon, to his credit, did wear a guilty grin.

His smile faltered as he saw Three still staring at the door.

"Avanna, are you alright?"

Three looked to Sheldon, worry shrouding her face.

"Sheldon, those two recognized the charger."


In the end, Rebecca couldn't do it.

She couldn't shake the Agents' words, the blasphemous claims that she would be rejected. Claims that she herself should have objected to. Try as she might, the self-doubt plagued her waking thoughts. She stood near a kettle concealed in a bush for the better part of two hours, her mind waging a brutal civil war with itself. To go in, or to not go in. She was so close to returning home, yet, it felt hollow, wrong, even.

She still had family back home, friends, even.. It was the only life she had ever known. How could she throw that all away? She said it herself to Agent Two! She still had to try!

And yet, at the idea of returning to her highly regimented life, at risk to repeat the tragedy she had barely survived, her mind filled with an odd, maddening combination of nostalgia and loathing. In a sense, she craved that stability, yet, it had left her for dead when she needed it the most. Everything she had done wasn't even accounted for. She'd been left behind like a piece of disposable trash.

When Rebecca was young, she had once listened to a speech by their long-since-deposed leader Octavio, one that had stuck with her throughout her life. The words of the speech had long since faded, but the meaning had stuck.

'No one left behind.'

Truly, a lie.

In the end, that was what tipped the scales. She had been treated as disposable, and in a sense, she was. A disposable foot soldier. And if fate (and two Agents) hadn't spared her, she would be a dead disposable foot soldier.

With that, she turned her back on the kettle, her hearts heavy with shame. Rationally, she knew she was making the right choice, yet everything in her conscience screamed otherwise. There was a lesson in there somewhere, not that she cared to learn it.

Of course, this wasn't to imply she was all buddy-buddy with the Inklings now. She still had her dignity! They had implicitly saved her, yet, she couldn't help but feel they were responsible for the Dome incident. They were just as much to blame, if not more so.

Though, she could still negotiate with them. Armed diplomacy, she called it.

Granted, she never did use her Octoshot. The sight of Agent Two was enough to give her cold feet, not to mention the damage it'd taken during the fighting. So, she simply asked nicely.

And, she received.

The Agent had been surprisingly cordial to her demands. A tent, some water, some food, a backpack, some quick field repairs to her Octoshot; she received everything she would need, all clearly surplus gear the Agents used for some assignments. Whether out of pity or apathy they were given to her, she wasn't sure, but Rebecca did appreciate it.

There was just one last thing she needed to ask, though.

"Would you be able to take me somewhere?"

Rebecca… needed isolation. The Canyon and Valley weren't safe to stay in, the City doubly so. With what she had, she could carve a new life for herself, somewhere safe and away from everyone else. She was both blessed and cursed.

And as such, she had asked Agent Two to take her to the area farther north of Inkopolis, into the deep, rural forests, mountains, and valleys of the inner land. From her experience with the old Dome and the area around it, places like these had proven to be abandoned. Inklings, the lazy beings they were, had barely probed the outer layers of the rugged terrain. Her recent, personal history with these places notwithstanding, it was the perfect place for her to vanish.

In theory.

In practice, it was strange to be back to this particular type of environment. Rebecca had never expected to ever return to these accursed lands, and now that she was here, all her meticulous planning fell away. She had forgotten how eerie and… well, how much she didn't belong here. Her very genetics rejected this place. Yet, this was her best shot at a new life. It was a simple matter to continue walking in, further and further, deeper and deeper.

She didn't particularly care where she ended up, and honestly, she couldn't care less. She knew there were a few Inklings who lived rural lives out here, but they were few and far between. It was useless land, after all. And if worst truly came to worst, she could always return to the accursed City and find her way back to the Valley. Or call the Agents, as an absolute last resort. They did force her to take the phone, after all.

As the sun began to set in earnest, she stopped her trek. Her walking had led her to a small river, one that was shaded by copses of tall, thick trees. Rebecca leaned up against one, chewing on her inner cheek, thinking.

She could maybe cross the stream before night truly fell; this spot was a bit too exposed for her liking, though she could perhaps set up camp in the shelter of a little group of trees. On the other hand, there could be a great site to set up at across the river. How she would get across the river was a whole different matter, but nothing she couldn't solve in due time.

Looking over at the tree she was leaning against, Rebecca weighed some options. It was a tall specimen, dotted with sturdy branches. Perhaps she could climb it, to better see what lay beyond the river? She had never climbed a tree before, but it did hold an odd appeal, a rebellious attraction, perhaps…

And so, she did. Grabbing onto some branches, she hauled herself up onto the tree, clambering up awkwardly. Higher and higher she climbed, pushing aside leaves and loose branches as she went.

Finally, she reached the top.

Wow…

From her perch, she had quite the view. As far as she could see, the land around her was heavily forested, even the mountains in the distance. It was a magnificent sight, and in the sunset, one that enraptured her.

She took a moment to bask in it. The breeze, the feeling of freedom… things she never had in Octarian society. It was almost intoxicating.

And, as a consequence, she nearly missed the person sitting downriver, fishing pole in hand.

Not that she could be blamed for almost missing them; they were cleverly concealed in the trees by the river, and the earthen brown cloak they wore did wonders to conceal them.

Rebecca froze, her stomach jolting at the sight. She couldn't make out any details from where she was, just their shape. An inkling, most likely.

Oh dear. She was stuck on her perch, forced to watch the person fish. She didn't dare move, for fear she would be discovered. She was not risking her newfound freedom just because some rural bum Inkling saw her. They might just kill her!

Rebecca did take small solstice in the fact that while she was watching, the person failed to catch a single fish.

As evening turned to night, they finally snapped, cursing in an unfamiliar language. The rod was thrown to the ground, their patience utterly spent. They pulled an odd device from under the cloak, a strange, ugly thing she could barely make out, and pointed it at the water.

Whirrr…

BANG!

The world erupted into light and noise. Rebecca shrieked, losing her grip; gravity gripped her, slamming her to the ground. Pain shot through her, stunned her, knocked the air from her lungs.

What just happened!?

She shakily got to her feet, ears still ringing fiercely. The world heaved under her, what had happened?

Self preservation stolen by her disorientation, she stumbled to the river's edge.

The water in the river had been flash-boiled, steam curling from its surface. Several dead fish had floated to the top, but more importantly, were being scooped up by the mystery person, who was standing waist deep in the water. Rebecca could barely make out their face in the darkness, except for the eyes.

Two eyes that were locked onto hers.

Rebecca froze, her own shock mirrored by the person in the water.

Unfortunately for her, this stranger recovered first. They raised the same device to point directly at her. Rebecca barely reacted in time, dropping to the ground just as the weapon fired.

Whirrr…

BANG!

The same blinding flash, the same overwhelming explosion, an intense heat, but she had screwed her eyes shut and covered her ears. The simple action had saved her life.

Because when she looked to where the shot had hit, all she saw was the tree she had previously climbed, save for the base of the trunk having been obliterated, leaving almost nothing. And as such, the rest of the tree fell right on top of her.

She screamed, throwing her body to the side, barely getting out of the way. Even then, the branches still caught her, driving gashes into her flesh and pinning her. She grunted in pain, trying in vain to dig herself out of the broken branches. Her thrashing slowly dug her out, but not quickly enough.

All the while, this stranger approached her, some kind of oversized, angular hook of sorts in their hands. Rebecca gulped at its dull gleam; where did they get it from, a fishing dock? Only then did she realize just what she thought: she saw them as a Stranger. Not the same one from the Dome, but… no, could they be the same?

The thought alone was enough to bring her blood alive with adrenaline. Regardless of who they were, she wasn't sticking around to find out! She threw all caution to the wind, forcing her body through the rest of the branches, staining them in her inky blood.

And just in time. The branches she had just untangled herself from were smashed to bits by the sickle, its iron gleaming in the evening light, only bloodied by her blood on the branches. Rebecca paled further; her legs spasmed, wanting to run, while her torso remained rooted in place.

She finally had a clear look at the new Stranger, who'd shed their cloak in their rush to chase her down.

They were her height, a tad shorter than the original Stranger, but unlike that one they wore heavier protective gear, almost like body armor in design. More significantly, they weren wearing a mask, nor a helmet. As such, she got a perfect view of their unnatural face and head, the lack of eye rings or pointed ears, the wavy hair.

Guttural utterances filled the air, lighter in pitch than the Stranger at the Dome, but the same type of utterances regardless. Curses, if Rebecca had to make an assumption at a time like this.

What was this thing!?

The stranger swiped at her again with the sickle, almost hitting her. The new surge of fear was enough to jolt Rebecca out of her stupor. She took off running, not caring where she ended up. As long as it was away from the new Stranger, wherever she went was fine by her.

She had the head start, but she simply couldn't move fast enough. For every few meters she struggled to move, the stranger easily covered the distance in a quick sprint. And in the dark, Rebecca couldn't move too fast, lest she trip. And if she slipped up…

She had to act, not run. Grabbing her backpack from her shoulders, she opened it, grasping her Octoshot. In doing so, she had to slow down, and as such, the person had almost caught up to her. Rebecca, gritting her teeth, turned around suddenly, weapon already aimed at their face. She fired.

The effect was instantaneous. The ink slapped their face, eliciting several surprised expletives from her pursuer. They clawed at their face, their eyes, howling in pain. Yet, they didn't explode into her ink.

How!?

HOW-

Rebecca swore, instinctively firing down a path of ink to dive into and escape. And just in time too, as the new stranger lunged at her. She dove into the ink, feeling its cool, safe embrace… only to abruptly feel a pair of hands close around her, and then wrench her out of her ink.

The pressure from the grip was too much. Rebecca yelped, involuntarily forced back into her humanoid form. The sudden shift threw off the stranger, who awkwardly tossed her aside. Rebecca hit the ground hard, the impact jolting the Octoshot from her hand. The stranger promptly kicked it away.

But, she had landed back onto her ink. Rebecca dove in yet again, and this time, raced down the path she had laid down.

Until, it ran out. All she could do was run.

Despite having gained some ground, the stranger had already made up the lost ground. They were fast, too fast. The few times she had looked back, their movements lacked the fluid grace of an Octoling, yet felt efficient. Not that she consciously observed it; every look back only served to send another spike of terror through her.

And a spike of pain. While she looked back, her foot caught on a root, sending her crashing to the ground. Before she could even process the event, the Stranger was already upon her.

She'd just barely managed to flail back to her feet when something sliced through her left leg, immobilizing her. The last thing she saw was the Stranger crashing to their knees above her, one hand holding the bloodstained sickle and the other balled into a fist, reeling back to deliver a punch.

WHACK!

Rebecca felt nothing after.


/ REWRITE A/N: /

Hey-hey, Falk here. Again. As usual, at this point, if you're reading this in 2023. If you're in the year 2022, or 2021, you're probably experiencing a dimensional anomaly, or you're using Internet Explorer.

Anyway, we're finally past halfway (relative to the rewrites, since we're redoing chapters 1 through 20) so… well… Celebration? Woo! Yeah! Confetti! Funny honky horn that they have at parties that I forgot the name of!

This one was a very short chapter, even when rewritten, and it wasn't exactly in need of much work, so there's not a lot I can really say about it. You may notice more of Three's wacky-ass mind shenanigans going on, which wasn't there in the original chapter. More retroactively implementing ideas that showed up for the first time later in the story, I guess.

Anyhow, this one's more or less the first step into the absolute nightmare that'll be the next 9 chapters. As 2021 Piston will tell ya in a second, we're going into a Slavjank-inspired clusterfuck of both content and writing, and bringing that up to modern standards will be quite the challenge. Granted, you'll be reading this probably after we've gotten those chapters fixed, but I'm still going to tell you it's going to be a challenge.

With that, it's over to 2021 Piston (or 2023 Piston, if he adds any of his own author's notes after I write these,) so I hope you have a great rest of your day, and we hope you're enjoying THE POLARIS PROJECT!

/ ORIGINAL A/N: /

For how short this chapter was, it took far too long to write. Apologies for the wait.

I suppose you could say that this is the final 'interlude' chapter before we descend into a hell that is decidedly Russian in adaptation. A last chance to put all the pieces in place for what's to come next, you could say. I hope it was enjoyable to read, and hopefully, it made up for the lacking previous chapter.

With that out of the way, there was something I wished to ask. Does this story feel like a Splatoon story? It's an odd question, but one that's been eating at me while writing this chapter. I'm not sure why, but it feels like it's lost a bit of that aspect, if it possessed it at all. And for how to get it back, I have no idea. Other writers seem to have it down, and if there are any suggestions you have to bring such a phenomenon here, they would be greatly appreciated.

Regardless, thank you for reading and your kind words, and see you next time! Happy Halloween, by the way! That dates this chapter, but to hell with it.