There was something to be said for how a person's home reflected on their character; specifically, how they chose to decorate their personal space.
Much like how any system in nature eventually returns to a balanced state, a home is more than just a place to live, but rather an extension of someone's personality. How do they choose to keep their home, and more importantly, do they have the character to maintain it?
For the first time in far too long, the man from Polaris was feeling slightly better about one of his choices.
The Ashens' household was a plain, orderly affair, but it still carried an odd sense of familiarity with it, acting as a balm for his soul. For that, he was grateful, as otherwise, he may have lost his nerve earlier. Even after all the horrors he had witnessed, facing Sally's family was perhaps the most difficult. At least the eldritch insanity of the past few days had no right, nor mind, to judge and alienate him.
Revisiting it all over the past hour or so wasn't exactly cathartic, but it did provide a kind of emotional release, a sense of closure to that horrid ordeal. The look on Michael Ashens' face, however, as he finished his rant wasn't exactly promising.
"Yes, that's… everything."
His voice caught on his last words, breath hitching in his throat. There was an incredible pressure in his sternum and the edges of his eyes, his lower lip quivering slightly, yet he kept himself under control. Despite this, he still had to reorient himself, to confirm that he was, in fact, not back there in that nightmare hellscape the Metro had proven itself to be. The tendrils that were rooted in his subconscious were not so easily dispelled.
He was seated in an armchair opposite of the Inkling family, who occupied a small, fabric couch within the living area. His eyes remained glued to an ornate wall clock that was hung up on the beige back wall, its hands telling him the time was 3:47 AM, the witching hour.
Below the clock itself were several framed pictures, hung just above a small shelf of fine china. The majority of the photos featured the Ashens, alongside other unfamiliar pseudos and sea creatures of varying sizes and shapes. His eyes hung on a picture of Sally, all smiles and innocence.
A wall mirror was positioned over an entry table, in which he could see his luminescent, teal eyes. His face was reminiscent of a ghoul, gaunt eyes and visible cheekbones amidst pale, scarred skin. God, he looked like a ghost.
Heh. a ghost.
He could appreciate the irony, in a twisted sense. After so long, he had finally returned 'home', albeit a shadow of his former self.
Simply put, this place reminded him of his old home, which was quite the bitter concoction of nostalgia and sadness. Even after all this time, it still hadn't quite sunken in that he would never be seeing his family ever again, nor his home. But now that things were slowing down, and he was faced with the reality of the situation, he could feel his emotions finally catching up.
Some detached part of him chuckled to itself. If he was gonna have a breakdown now, at least he'd do it where he wouldn't be sucked up by a blob or eaten by a comically oversized frog or something.
If nothing else, the apartment didn't make him feel self-conscious, just the people. The decorations weren't judging him, nor making him feel out of place in his own skin. Currently, the living area rug was his best friend, occupying his vision with its intricate swirling patterns. Coincidentally, his boots had tracked a bit of dirt on it. Quite unfortunate, as he enjoyed the otherwise unsullied design. The order spoke to him. He would take this nostalgic melancholy over scrutiny.
And yet, it couldn't keep him frozen in time, where he could blissfully pretend he was alone back home and that he wasn't being observed by a family of humanoid cephalopods, of whom this place actually belonged to. There was a metaphor in there, if he was to look hard enough.
"That is… just, wow." Michael, the father, cautiously stated. He coughed into his hand, the barest trace of humor in his tone, "You've had quite the week, I take it?"
His words dissolved awkwardly into the ether.
If the human kept his head down, he could pretend that the squid's khaki pants belonged to a human owner. But, that did nothing to mask his bubbly accent, nor the alien language he spoke.
"Don't remind me."
It wasn't that they were scornful of him; far from it. On the small, wicker glass topped table that stood in the center of the living room was a pot of coffee and several mugs of the ambrosial fluid, the all-important creamer and sugar set to the side as well. They'd also laid out a plate of cheese and crackers, something he'd gladly devoured.
Hell, they were kind enough to accept his request for 'a little something to take the edge off!' Azuma had poured him a few shots of some indiscernible alcohol, something that vaguely tasted like beer. It wasn't exactly strong, but it worked, and for that he was going to be eternally grateful to the Ashens.
Granted, he still had his suspicions. After all, they were almost too nice.
Perhaps it was the compounded shock of their lost daughter turning up alongside a member of a literal extinct species in the wee hours of the morning, but they seemed relatively receptive to him. He'd been expecting distrust, paranoia and perhaps even a little bit of screaming, but not this. Not this level of care, not them giving him a chance to speak, to catch his breath, and not a goddamn plate of cheese and crackers.
If his own hypothetical daughter brought back a strange alien man, he wouldn't have been so receptive. Perhaps he was a horrible person, or maybe his own paranoia had come out to play. But, he had earned the right to be paranoid, and such a feeling grew within him as the room lapsed into an awkward silence, both parties unsure of how to continue. Everything had been laid on the table, so to speak.
…well, 'everything' was a blatant lie. Realistically, he'd call it a 'stitched together mess,' or something like that.
The Ashens, while without a doubt well-meaning, were still not human. He trusted Sally, sure, but that bond was forged in fire. He wanted to trust her family, wanted to trust them so badly, yet whenever he considered telling them the whole truth, he froze up, mind awash with the possibilities.
What would they think if they found out about the militia girl he'd mugged, or god forbid, the whole incident at that old Shelter, with the Cube and the many pseudos he'd put the fear of God into? Everybody had their limits, and even with Sally vouching for him he wasn't sure how well the Ashens would respond to all the 'shenanigans' he'd been up to before he fell into the Metro.
And if they freaked out, what then? Would they turn him in to the government? Expose his existence to the public? In one fell swoop, humanity's last chance would be squandered, and all because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.
There were too many factors at play, and ethics and morality were still a luxury he couldn't afford. He may have been out of physical danger, but now, he had entered an entirely different minefield, one that he couldn't attack or run from.
Eventually, Azuma cleared her throat, her voice overly energetic. "You've definitely given us a lot to think about. And, believe us, we are grateful you brought Sally back!"
"Yes, again, thank you!" Michael added, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Plastic.
"Yeah. Yeah, of course." he mumbled, a sense of guilt encircling him. He hadn't exactly saved Sally, and while he knew that his caution was justified, he felt scummy for deceiving them.
Briefly, he looked up, making eye contact with Sally, an indiscernible expression on her face. Much like him, she too was suffering from this trainwreck of a conversation, hands clasped on her lap. She nodded a little, awkwardly smiling. Just play along, she seemed to say.
Tentatively, he grabbed another few crackers, creating a little cheese sandwich to chew on. He had forgotten just how much anxiety killed his appetite; this was the most he had eaten in a while, and yet he could barely keep it down.
What Michael said next killed whatever hunger he had left.
"All of this aside, though, I assume you came to us for a reason?"
Sighing to himself, he finally looked back up, flinching at Azuma and Michael's piercing gazes.
"Spook, you good?" Sally asked, concerned.
"I'm fine, don't worry. I'm sorry, it's been a long few days for me, y'know how it is."
Michael interjected, "No, actually, I don't. Frankly, I'm surprised you're even here."
"So am…." he stifled a yawn, a few reactionary tears leaking from his eyes' edges, "Sorry, so am I. But, you're right; I won't beat around the bush here, I need help."
Internally, he choked down the rising bile in his throat. The unsightly combination of crackers, coffee, and alcohol in his stomach wasn't happy with him, and it was a vector that his turbulent emotions were all too happy to exploit. But, he still had to say his piece, and so he held it back with all of his strength.
"Look, all I want is to live a normal life, or some… semblance of one, I don't know." he said, looking up at Michael.
"Ever since I woke up, I've been on the run. Every day, I've been on edge fighting through Cod knows what, whether it be something real or my own paranoia." he continued, shaking his head. "This can't continue. Sally told me you may be able to help me with that. Granted, I know this isn't gonna be a free ride, and to that end I've got stuff that could help you out too."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"
"Information. Kid said you were a researcher, specifically studying us. Humanity. I might not be the best source of info, but I'm the only source you'll probably ever get. Well, primary source, at least."
Another technical truth. He'd decided early on to omit certain details about those back at Polaris, as well as Emily's whole deal. If that woman was still alive, there'd go his entire bargaining chip he had here with Michael, not to mention other problems of a 'I might've abandoned her down there' level and whatever she had gotten up to before then.
As for those at the Polaris facility still in stasis, he'd opted to completely gloss over them. Sure, they'd know that he came from a cryostorage facility, but they'd never know there were over fifty others in that same bunker with him. If the Ashens family blabbed and he was taken into government custody, then so be it. Whatever government reigned up here wasn't going to get their hands on the others, at least.
"That's… certainly something, 'Spook.'" Michael said, before turning to his wife. "Azuma, dear? We should talk for a moment, perhaps in the kitchen?"
After a moment of awkward silence as Sally's parents bundled themselves off to the kitchen to talk in private, Sally leaned closer, voice hushed.
"Y'know, Spook, I think they like you."
"I would certainly hope so." he whispered back, one eye on her, the other on her parents. "It's a big risk I'm taking here, but… I gotta try. I just hope you know what you're doing, though, kid."
Sally waved aside his concerns. "Hey, it's fine! Mom and Dad are really nice, and if anything, you've got 'em wrapped around your finger! Just keep at it, okay? For me?"
Sure, he did owe Sally for hauling him up from the Metro, but he still wasn't quite on board with helping her Dad get back into the good graces of his field. On one hand, he was completely sympathetic to Michael's plight, having been subject to that same bureaucracy (Background checks were a tricky thing for him). He was also in a way relieved that humanity hadn't been forgotten, yet on the other hand, he knew anything he said could be used against him. He was a living relic, and whatever he said would reflect back on him tenfold. What innocuous comment or detail would lead to his downfall? Or, was his fate already sealed due to some ancient, uncovered bit of knowledge of humanity they already knew?
And on top of that, he wanted to maintain his veil of secrecy. What would happen when this formerly disgraced researcher suddenly came back with a veritable dictionary worth of information, just after his daughter was found after vanishing for a few days? It may not point directly to him, but the chance was enough to give him anxiety. Someone might start pulling at that thread, and who knows what part of the deception would collapse?
And yet, it was his leverage, his bait, cheese for the proverbial mouse.
He wouldn't have agreed to any of this unless he didn't have a proper choice, and in this case, he needed help. He needed connections, he needed resources, he needed a damn bed.
"Do what you need to, I don't know how much more of this I can take, kid."
Just then, the parents returned, taking up positions standing behind the couch. Michael spoke up, gesturing to him.
"Guest room's yours, 'Spook.' We've got questions, but they can wait until morning. After all you've said you've been through, you ought to get at least a good night's sleep, yeah? Dear, could you show him to the guest room?"
While Azuma shot her husband a questioning glance, she did step up to it, herding an almost comatose human out of the room. As soon as they left, Michael sat down on the couch, next to his daughter.
"Okay, dear, what actually happened?"
Sally looked down to the floor, eyes unfocused and distant.
"Dad… I-I don't think I can ever describe what happened down there." Her haunted eyes locked onto her father's, and he winced. Mentally, he noted to find Sally a therapist. Several of them, if he was being honest.
"...we can talk about that later, dear. I was referring more to our guest. Your friend, the 'Spook.'"
Sally swallowed, "He was… mostly telling the truth?"
As much as she wanted to help cover for him, she was still a kid, who didn't have the heart nor the guts to lie to her parents. "He didn't tell me what he had been up to before. The way he'd talk about it, I'm guessing it wasn't good. He kept mumbling about some militia being after him. And, we may have met one of them, maybe?"
Azuma sat down next to her, and at her words, she drew Sally into a hug, muttering concerns for her safety. Michael, however, brought a hand to his chin in consternation.
"Militia? Are they talking about…? If he ran into them… that might complicate things."
"Dad?"
"I-It's nothing. Though, I'm still pretty conflicted about this. The ramifications of his existence are staggering, yet if he's attracted all sorts of wrong attention..."
He began pacing across the living room, the light padding of his socks forming a kind of rhythm. Sally never liked it when her dad got up to this behavior, it never happened during good times. It was always the pacing that happened when a dig site was destroyed by a freak high tide, or when they had been stranded on the other end of the continent. There'd been a lot of pacing before she ran away.
"And yet, he is quite the specimen…"
Down the hall, they vaguely heard the human ask where the bathroom was, followed by the sound of retching onto their hardwood floor.
"…even if he is rather strange."
"But, that isn't the most important thing right now," Michael said, a small smile crossing his tired face. "We're just happy that you're safe, Sal."
Said smile did falter, though. "Granted, we are also very upset too, and we will talk about that later."
Sally blanched. "Yes, Dad…"
Darn. Looks like she couldn't escape that…
Still, if it meant that things could return to normal, then she was happy.
The next morning, the human was somewhat surprised when questions weren't asked of him. He'd spent a few moments trying to bait them into it, trying to rip the metaphorical bandage off, but Azuma simply smiled and told him Michael wanted to talk to him.
Apparently, they'd instead opted to rope him into some kind of plan.
When Michael pulled him aside and brought up an entity named the 'Church of Madai,' the human wasn't quite sure what to think. He recognized the 'Church' part of the name, which brought to mind towering cathedrals built of old stone and organ music. 'Madai', on the other hand, was a bit trickier. Was it the name of some Inkling god, or perhaps was it some school of thought? A blend of West and East ideology, like this society seemed to be like?
But, that didn't get to the main point, which was 'how the shell- ahem, hell was a church going to help him here?' Michael had simply smiled, and said he'd explain it "after the service."
While he had a heart to ask what the Inkling man meant, he'd instead simply nodded and accepted his fate. He hadn't been to church in a long while (and neither was he really a religious guy, at least not the past few years) and even if it wasn't all that dedicated to God, maybe it could help him feel closer to the Big Guy.
Well, it might've, if the preacher wasn't screeching like an absolute lunatic.
"Every day, the Salmonid menace only grows stronger!"
The fire and brimstone-esque preaching certainly was familiar, no church was complete without it. Granted, the churches he used to go to sort of… specialized in schizophrenic apocalypse rants, but at least these 'sermons' were new and fresh. Not every church had a giant golden carving of fish battling people on the back wall, and not every church had mood lighting and projectors timed to the preaching maniac's sermons either.
At the current moment, he and Michael were seated in one of the pews near the back. While the place had the look of a decently funded religious institution, with all manner of lights and projectors and stuff strung up everywhere, there were certain tells that were all too familiar to someone like him. This was not a place of worship, but rather one of contemplation and information dissemination.
This wasn't just a church; this was a fucking doomsday cult. He was trapped in an echoing sanctuary with a bunch of potential and current militia members dedicated to the destruction of Salmonids.
Some part of him figured he'd blend right in, given his past experience with them and all, but still…
He leaned over to Michael, whispering, "Are they usually like this?"
"They're reliable, don't worry." was his hushed reply. Great…?
Militant churches were nothing new to him, yet this one seemed a bit more… extreme than what he was used to.
Perhaps it was because of the very real presence of the Salmonids, who were both a threat and lacking any real positive traits that'd make them likable, or maybe it was the fact that this city was a Second Amendment enthusiast's wet dream. Given the amount of guns he'd seen being advertised around the city and openly carried by pseudos here, he was more leaning towards the latter.
On the bright side, this hatred of Salmonids seemed to unify everyone here? Maybe? He hoped? If they were busy hating them, they might not hate him if things fell through?
His and Michael's spot was quiet, which worked just fine for him. He still felt incredibly uncomfortable around the other church-goers. And with good reason too. It just… he didn't belong here. They may have been more oblivious to him, but every differing detail between their species stuck out to him like a sore thumb.
An Inkling couple was seated in the pew ahead of him, early thirties by his estimate. The husband held a sleeping little squid in his arms; their child. Apparently, their human forms didn't manifest until they hit the teen years, and as such, they were stuck as squids until that time. So similar in appearance their species were, yet so different.
One of the wife's long tentacles draped over the back of the pew, swinging slightly like a pendulum. Slimy, heavy, and just alien.
Alien. Alien. Alien.
Even the adults, who looked much more similar to humans than the teenagers, still were off in a way he couldn't quite pin down. The proportions were just tweaked that much. So similar, yet so different.
In truth, he wasn't sure if the differences were truly that obvious, or if he was exaggerating every small detail. His very survival depended on him blending in, and he was rightly paranoid. He could fake the more obvious details, but the true intricacies were something he could never master. Still, at least he could reasonably try, considering that he was trying to emulate a species that was an entirely different animal kingdom than humanity.
And when he was stuck in a cathedral full of twitchy militia members with weapons, those small differences certainly stuck out.
"And to that end, we must never fall! We will prevail! We have the technology and the tools to protect ourselves!" the preacher continued to say, sweat all but pouring down the old man's face. "The stars indicate that another Great Migration is upon us!"
Such words struck an odd sort of fear into his heart. That first emergence from Polaris right into the Salmonid horde had beaten such a phobia into him. It might've explained why he wasn't discounting this whole Church of Madai business, now that he thought about it.
Whatever fucked-up ecological niche these fishy freaks filled, it had to go.
Aside from the whole militia-cult hybrid atmosphere, he could sympathize with these people. And considering this was mandatory if he wished to get Inkopolis citizenship through the Church, he may as well get into the flow of things.
"But, not all is lost! For, in these dark hours, a miracle has occurred!"
The projector of the church flared to life, displaying an environment he was all too familiar with in an empty space above the golden carving. Specifically, the tower he had emerged from. At the top, he could spy the remains of the unidentified flying crate he had shot down. The 'Mothership.'
Oh.
Ohhhh shit.
"Someone has downed an Icon of the Horde!" he all but shouted, face red with religious exertion. "No doubt this was a crushing blow to their morale! We shall stamp down on this menace with this angelic Stranger at our side!"
Did-
Are they-
Oh, hell. They're talking about me.
Did he… accidentally become a messianic figure?
(Again?)
Michael nudged his arm, an eyebrow raised in his direction. He looked as if he were trying not to laugh. All the human could do in response was to shrug. Smartass.
The sermon wrapped up soon after, and while the congregation adjourned to the lobby to socialize and snack on a small assortment of refreshments, Michael led him through the building, and soon after down a flight of stairs.
"I gotta ask," the human began, "how exactly do you know these people? You don't strike me as the…"
"Radical type?" Michael finished. They'd reached the end of the stairs, and had just begun walking down a nondescript hallway. "No, I'm just a friend of the church, officially. For me, a lot of the former Octarians did come from those old Domes, which, as I'm sure you're aware, were originally human made. Between helping out with the Octoling refugee crisis and conducting interviews with them concerning their old homes, I've been working with the Church on some human-related matters. They think your kind had to deal with the Salmonids, and had something capable of fending them off."
"That's…"
His mind wandered back to the image of the destroyed Mothership.
"I guess we did, technically. Having the means of fending them off, I mean. They certainly didn't exist in my time, though."
"Ah, so that was you that destroyed the Mothership, huh? What'll I have to do to pry the rest of that info off of you?"
"I… Ah, I'll fill you in at some point." he muttered, sheepishly.
"I'll hold you to that, 'Spook.'"
"Yeah, yeah."
There were many things that the human had seen since waking up, some wondrous (the Metro), and some not so wondrous (also the Metro).
Invariably, there had always been a bigger fish to surpass the one that came before, this being literal in a few cases. First the irreality of waking up in Polaris, then the Salmonid horde, then the Dome, and then what he had assumed to be the pinnacle of it all, the Metro. Each previous horror had been superseded by its predecessor, and now was no different.
Even in this new world, he couldn't escape the horrors of bureaucracy, nor religious cults.
But, even the religious cults back home didn't usually employ giant octopus bookkeepers. That was a new one.
"Alright Michael, what do you want now?" said octopus sighed. "We don't have many new people passing through right now."
"Here to call in a favor, I'm afraid. I've got a gentleman here who needs processing."
Every time the human swore he was getting a hang of this whole 'multiple species' thing, times like this threw him for a loop. Vaguely, he was reminded of an Octoling's 'swim form' (C- God, what he wouldn't give to know how that evolutionary maladaptation happened, and for that matter, how this all happened in a measly twelve-thousand years) but that didn't explain the gigantism, nor his bulk. Several lime, rippling scars graced his tentacles, while a hip-looking hat sat on his 'head.' If the octopus truly wanted to, the human was sure he could rip him into small pieces.
Great.
This was doing nothing but flaring up his nervousness. It'd graduated from a painful prickle that kept him teetering on the edge, to an extreme desire to throw in the towel and go play with whatever lived in the forest. He knew he wasn't in any real danger, especially with Michael's support, but did this cult's HR representative have to be so intimidating?
(Octopi must have made good bookkeepers with all those tentacles)
He was already on edge from the trip here, and this certainly wasn't helping, especially with his paper thin disguise. While humans and Inklings were similar on the surface, there was a certain gap that was difficult to cross, most notably the lack of tentacle hair. The Ashens had reassured him that hair wasn't exactly something people focused on, giving him an anecdote about Octolings and their differences, but that was tentacles to tentacles.
Tentacles to hair was a different story, and without any sort of wigs or hair gel, he was screwed. Tentacle gel did exist, but it looked more like some sort of extra-viscous dye than an actual hair care product. Luckily, Sally was nice enough to let him borrow a beanie. Sure, it might've been bright green and quite roomy (tentacles took up much more space than hair), but it was better than nothing.
As for his eyes, though, that wasn't something he could really get around. The glowing part? He was screwed, there, even with Sally's reassurances that people had bioluminescent bits here in Inkopolis. The lack of eye masks, though? A few minutes of letting Azuma draw one on his face with makeup later, and that problem was resolved.
His ears and teeth were another set of problems, and they were both issue he couldn't resolve, not without a cosplay expert or something in his circle. As such, he was out here in the absolute bare minimum disguise. He could probably fool a small dog or something, but he really doubted he was fooling this octopus in front of him right now.
Luckily, if the large creature had any suspicions, he didn't voice any of them.
"There is always room," the octopus replied, his many tentacles bringing out several forms and pens. "As long as he's willing to support the Church's cause, of course."
He couldn't help but note how the octopus spoke the last few words with a particular venom and impatience.
Guess he probably got roped into this too, like I have.
Wordlessly, the human nodded. For now, he was leaving the talking to Michael, partially because he knew what he was saying, and also because he couldn't exactly disguise his voice. He could speak the language, sure, but his voice still stuck out like a sore thumb. Another thing he couldn't exactly change, and frankly, he didn't want to raise more questions than he had to. The whole 'genetic deformities' and 'chronic chain smoker' excuse wouldn't hold forever.
Just what was he getting himself into? Even after Michael had explained it to him, he still couldn't quite wrap his head around it. Although granted, he didn't understand much of that day. Though, by jove, it was incredible what sixteen hours of uninterrupted deep sleep did for someone.
Michael had explained it to him during the family supper. The Church of Madai's beliefs ultimately boiled down to one fact; when the 'Seven Rings opened above the sea,' the Salmonid horde would come in full force to annihilate everything on the land, as according to the great warrior-philosopher Madai. To that end, the Church was stockpiling enough weapons to make an army blush, as well as recruiting as many fighters as they could.
Hence, their immigration racket. The Church had friends in many high places, or so he had been told, and they made full use of these connections. A recent geopolitical 'thing' had led to a massive refugee crisis of Octolings coming to Inkopolis, most of them being soldiers like the ones he'd fought back there at the Dome.
To that end, the Church pounced on the opportunity to pick up trained fighters, offering them Inkopolis citizenships and housing in exchange for attending Church sermons and training sessions. All off the books, slates cleaned, and a chance to start a new life.
It was quick, shady, and most importantly, covert. Even if he wanted to try to get his paperwork the 'legitimate' way, the whole 'last of his species' issue was insurmountable. Great Uncle had taught him much about deception and subterfuge, and one of the core principles was KISS; Keep It Simple, Stupid. The path to citizenship was often a lengthy affair, and keeping a consistent lie going for so long would be next to impossible, and that wasn't factoring in the whole 'different species' bit.
"Well, are you willing to take the pledge?" the octopus gruffly asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You read the pamphlet, right?"
"Of course, and yes, I'm willing." he rasped.
Willing, in this case, more or less translating to him having no real alternative to the matter. But, pledging his support to a militia cult was far from the worst thing he had ever done in his life. He still couldn't eat deer heart.
The octopus nodded, handing him a sheath of papers and a pen. "Well then. Go ahead and fill these out to the best of your abilities. Bring it back when you're finished."
"Will do, thanks."
As he sat down at a nearby table to work on the sheets, Michael joined him while the octopus slithered away to a deeper part of the archives.
"Octavio seems to like you." Michael told him. "That's a good sign, at least. Normally he's not that talkative around new joins."
"Octavio? The octopus?"
"Octoling." Michael corrected, raising a finger. "He's a… special case."
He nodded, partially listening. "How so?" The paperwork was already giving him a headache. He was still getting used to this new language, and the last thing he needed was to decipher the bureaucratic nightmare in front of him.
Break it down, break it down…
Name… What the hell was his name, again? Might need to do a little translation approximation…
As he put pen to paper, Michael continued. "It's an old injury, from what I understand. Keeps him trapped in that form, though I'm not too sure where the gigantism came from. His story's a curious one."
Species, Inkling, physical characteristics, how much could he fake…?
"I'm sure it is…"
Michael continued rambling. "I'll admit, when I first met him, I was a bit confused. What is one of the biggest enemies to Inklings doing within the Church of Madai?"
"Wait, what?'
Michael grinned. "Caught your attention, did I? He's living history, one of the few who still has memories of the old days." He shifted in his seat, peering over his shoulder. "Say, you never did tell us how you could understand our language. Is it the same as your own?"
Slowly, he entered the contaminated cultivation facility. A hand trailed along one gestation tube as he forlornly looked about. His back slouched forward slightly, an invisible weight being put on. He reached the center of the area when it happened. Above him, a small bit of the ink dripped off of the ceiling, directly onto his head.
It squirmed, then melted away; he could feel it penetrate through his skull, twisting amongst his neurons.
…
Not a memory he really wanted to relive right now.
"It isn't, no. I'd… prefer not to talk about it. Gonna be honest, you're better off not knowing. Did your daughter tell you?"
"She didn't, no. She… really did say much of anything about where she went, actually."
He sighed. "Honestly, man, like I said; it's for the best that you don't know. That stuff's not something you'll wanna hear. Just get the kid into therapy, okay?"
He needed therapy too, but that wasn't exactly an option for him, again, because of the species gap; he was beginning to notice a trend. Alcohol would have to do for now. Shaking his head, he returned to the paperwork. But, Michael wouldn't leave him alone for long.
"Listen, while I do appreciate what you've done for us, I am her father, and I have a right to know what happened down there. Whatever happened down there, it's got her barricading her door with a chair and sleeping with a kitchen knife under her pillow, 'Spook.' What happened?"
Yeah, definitely therapy.
He paused, considering his options. Well, his option was already set in stone, but there was still his surroundings to consider. Thankfully, all was clear.
"Since you asked…" he started, looking up at the Inkling man. "What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room. Understand?"
A confused nod. "Good."
"To sum it up as best as I can, there's two worlds, yeah? One that we're in right now, which is normal and has normal things in it. The other? Fucked up, for lack of a better description. Buried underneath this city is that other world, called the Metro."
Memories flashed before his eyes. The Collective. Giant frogs. Hallways to nowhere and everywhere at once.
"I don't know how Sally got down there, but she found me after I showed up. We both wanted to get out, but to do that? We went through hell, Michael. There were others down there that helped our escape, but even then…"
The Blob, tearing down the hallways behind them as they ran. Emily. A laser rifle in his hands, smoldering. Life or death.
"We'd almost died down there. Many times. Too many times."
Michael turned pale. "A-And Sally?" he stuttered.
"Pulled through, better than I did. She's a goddamn champion." he said. "You hug her real close tonight, and make sure she knows she's safe now, okay? Kid's therapists are gonna need therapy themselves after what she's been through, but the fact that she's kept it together this long is just…"
Neither of them had anything to say anymore, Michael all but visibly retreating into himself to ponder the bomb he'd just dropped on him.
It felt weirdly cathartic, in a way. Closure, perhaps? Something about telling Michael how much of a goddamn trooper his kid was, in the face of certain death and horrors beyond comprehension?
Hell if he knew.
What he did know is that this paperwork wasn't going to finish itself, though. Luckily, he was able to finish up the rest of the paperwork fairly quickly, only requiring Michael's input on a few questions, mostly origin and reason of immigration. Apparently, the Splatlands were a location, and one he gladly borrowed because he had no clue where anything was or what the significance of it was.
Soon enough, however, it was all filled out, I's dotted and T's crossed and all, except for one thing…
His name.
Back there, in the Metro lab, he'd finally remembered it. He'd been tapping away at a random laptop he found down there, muscle memory trying his Polaris login, when it suddenly clicked.
Of course he'd forgotten it. Cryostasis, hordes of hostile fish, and the absolute clusterfuck of the week following that had all but removed any real memory of (and reason to use) his name. But, right before he'd found the lab where his English skills were replaced with Aquatic skills, he relearned it. Great.
Naturally, the universe had decided to fuck him over right after that newfound revelation, though. When he tried to tell Sally his name, it just… didn't parse. Nothing coherent came out, even if he tried to phonetically sound it out.
And then, while Sally was asleep on the couch and he was laying there staring into the ceiling of that dingy Metro hotel room, he'd found out the solution.
When he worked for Polaris, he more or less had two names - one his Western coworkers would call him by, and one more suited to his Eastern coworkers. There were certain differences in how the languages were spoken, and it became necessary to transliterate his English name into something easier for other language speakers to work with.
He didn't think it'd work like that with English to Aquatic, but lo and behold, it did.
Who knew Japanese and Aquatic were so weirdly similar?
With that, he scribbled his name into the field on the paper. Standing up, he nodded to Michael.
"Let's do this."
He returned to the desk, putting the documents in clear view. Octavio returned from the archives, looking sour as he skimmed over the documents. Nodding as best he could in that octopus-shaped body of his, he met the human's gaze.
"Everything checks out. C'mon, let's get the pledge out the way. Just say it into the mic, and I'll take it from there."
The human cleared his throat, assuming a formal stance. He took out a small notecard, reading from it.
"I, Haido Jon, formally pledge myself to the teachings of Madai. From the fairest weather to the thickest tempest, I stand as a bastion against the Eternal Horde. As long as I stand, our spirit, our culture shall not fall."
Phone calls were a regular thing around the Grizzco Gang's (trademarked!) house, if Vista had anything to really say about them. None of them were really noteworthy, admittedly.
Occasionally, one of them would get a call back about a job offer or a scam call or whatever, and that would be that. Sometimes, it was the landlord calling about a utility bill or Rio hearing from one of her fifty thousand mysterious friends she has. Other times, it was Marius getting news of a sweet deal on a new shooter or something, or Celia getting a call from Grizzco about an upcoming shift.
Vista never really got any calls, not since… well. Things. Things happened. Not good things, but things nonetheless. Important things, things that fundamentally changed how she lived her life. Certain people got cut out of her life, and that was all she was comfortable saying.
Sometimes they'd call in, and every time she'd let them go to voicemail. Not like she ever used it, anyway.
Though, when several specific numbers call, she has no real choice but to listen.
"V, you with me?" a gruff voice spoke. She knew exactly who was speaking, and she didn't exactly like it. However, arrangements for citizenship were arrangements for citizenship, and what was she without the many sacrifices she had made?
"I'm here, DJ. Another one come through Church processing, or is this not a work call?" Vista said, sternly. "Former, or I'm hanging up, by the way."
"Processed another one, yeah. Bit of a special case this time; he's gonna be your second new neighbor. Already called ahead to your landlord, it's just a case of getting him to your place. I figured you'd be best for that part. You'll understand when you see him."
New neighbor? Huh. Two in one week. First Rebecca, that Octoling she'd met at Grizzco, and now this new guy. She wasn't complaining, though. Variety was nice, and as such…
"When do you need me to pick him up?" she sighed.
"As soon as you can. He's already finished processing, and I'm about to usher him upstairs to wait for ya. Make it snappy, kid."
The line went dead. Leave it to Octavio to pull a stunt like this, Vista supposed. With that, she was off. Rio and the others had gone to do some afternoon Turfing, so questions had to wait. Texts couldn't, though. Pulling up the Grizzco Gang Group Chat (also trademarked,) she sent a quick text explaining the situation.
Vista didn't have time to read their responses though. The Church were a bunch of real punctual weirdos, and she really didn't want to get fined or have her citizenship threatened over her punctuality. Even with the DJ having her back, he only had so much influence.
Which happened to be why she bought the fastest car several months of Turf War paychecks could buy, thank you very much. It may have been a direct link to her old life, but such a convenience couldn't be discarded.
Besides, it was amazing what a new coat of paint over the rust and differing license plates did for her anonymity.
Hopping in behind the wheel, she punched in the directions to the Church of Madai's place near Downtown, peeling out of the parking lot to the tune of a song she didn't know the name of. Smooth jazz, interestingly enough. Great listening, but not great fast driving music.
A radio station change later, and she was tearing down the highway to an Off the Hook single. Ebb and Flow, specifically. Shell yeah.
…
Then again, more like shell maybe? This song always made her think, even if she was driving a four-wheeled piece of heavy machinery at high speeds. Something about the lyrics fired a specific set of neurons in Vista's brain, the ones that'd reflect on everything she'd been through up to this point.
In this case, it got her thinking about the events of the past two days or so, specifically a series of texts she got from a certain isopod friend-slash-informant she knew. The many-armed man had revealed some… information to her, and she wasn't exactly sure what to think of it. Whatever she thought in the moment, though, was enough to get her to follow through on some obligations she still had.
Certain people, individuals she no longer associated with, still needed her services. After all, leaving Inkopolis' premiere clandestine paramilitary unit without an intelligence network spanning both the city above and the city below wasn't the best idea, even if Vista really didn't want to work with these people anymore.
They weren't like the Church, always dragging her around for one thing or another to ensure she was kept subservient to them, no. These people never dangled citizenship and housing in front of her, coercing her into doing all sorts of strange things in the name of eradicating an entire civilization of Salmonids. In fact, they took her absence shockingly well, only asking her to at least check in once in a while out of concerns for her safety. Not that she usually did, but it was the thought that counted.
Safety also happened to be why Vista opted to pass her informant's information on to them, mind you - she'd heard the horror stories about who the isopod was talking about.
Honey be on your guard tonight, just saw a strange looking man mug an inkling girl out by the fishing district, in the shops
V our Dome got hit bad - invincible stranger with souped-up charger shot our respawner and perma'd our CO
Got word for ya: rumor mill says somebody final deathed an entire team of government agents out in the woods north of town. Scary right?
Young squire, the Stranger's on his way out the Metro
'The Stranger's on his way out the Metro.'
The phrase sent shivers down her nonexistent spine. Somebody like them… scared her, to put it lightly. The damage they'd dealt in such a short timespan was immense, and if it was the same Stranger she met back there at the Ruins of Ark Polaris on that terrible shift…
Vista owed that man her life. Shell, Vista and the entire Grizzco Gang owed that man so much. That Mothership he downed had all but paid rent and utilities for months, and still left more for extra fun things, like Rio's painting obsession or Marius' guns or whatever. They were all indebted to that man, and Vista wasn't all too thrilled about that.
Cod, now she was thinking conspiratorially again.
At the back of her mind, a sneaking suspicion had made itself apparent. There was no real evidence to support it, but it was a thought her mind felt it pertinent to make her think about.
What if…
No. There was no way he'd know about the Church, even if Iso told him.
There wasn't any conceivable way. To get citizenship through the Church required knowing someone (and in the case of the Octolings, the DJ had their backs), and the only topside people the Stranger knew was, well, her and her roommates. Even then, it wasn't even a professional relationship or anything - the most interaction any of them had had with the Stranger was Celia shaking his hand and cringing as he attempted to repeat her greeting, with mixed results.
The person Octavio had called her to pick up for the Church was just another Octoling, and that was that. There was no evidence to the contrary, and there was no way the hypothetical series of events her mind had conjured up would happen, right? It just wasn't possible!
But then, why else would he have called her for this one?
Ebb and Flow had ended by this point, Off the Hook's voices fading away as the radio host spun up another song from some group she didn't know.
(Vista ought to give them a call, one of these days. They're probably worried sick.)
Pulling off the highway per what her GPS was telling her, she let her mind wander again.
Who was this Octoling? Were they another soldier, like her and Rebecca? A scientist, maybe? Probably the latter, she thought. Most of the fighters in the Octarian military were female, with logistics and R&D being done by the men for the most part. She wasn't sure where the gender gap came from, and nobody had really bothered to explain it to her back when she served.
Or, at least not to her knowledge. There were still a lot of gaps in her memories of those days, no thanks to the Metro.
Oh well. She had enough to help Rebecca adjust to Inkopolis life, at least.
Speaking of adjusting to Inkopolis life, she'd made it to the Church. Pulling around the side of the building to a back parking lot, Vista shot a quick text Octavio's way letting the old octopus know she was there, and to send the new guy up if he hadn't already.
Almost right as she sent the text, the back door cracked open. An Inkling man stepped out, followed by…
Oh.
An Inkling man had stepped out, followed by a man who was very much not an Octoling. Or an Inkling. Or any species Vista knew, really.
She watched them intently, as the two talked. The stranger had this… horrific sounding voice. Raspy, like they'd smoked an entire pack of kelp cigarettes before getting out of bed this morning. Raspy and guttural, just like… the…
Ohhhhhhhhhh you're really squitting me right now.
Of course.
That's a familiar backpack he's got on, huh? A familiar coat, like the one she'd dug out of that backpack back there on the boat, too. Isn't that something?
Of course.
He's even got those Metro eyes, too. Just like her.
OF COURSE her stupid conspiracy theory she had on the drive over here had to come true, huh? The DJ was doing this on purpose, she was sure of it.
Somehow, in a freak twist of events, the Stranger had managed to fall right into the Church of Madai, stepping out from the back door with an all-too-familiar citizenship diploma and a folder of miscellaneous documents to go along with it.
Vista fought to calm her breathing, to still her hearts. She knew exactly what this man was capable of, of the destruction he'd wrought after the Salmonids had happened.
Every part of her screamed run, turn the car around and GO, but… She couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. She owed him, as distasteful as the idea was.
…
The least she could do was hear him out, perhaps.
She took a deep breath, watching as the Stranger shook hands with the Inkling man, before turning to her. The man strode over to the driver's side, Vista rolling down her window without a second thought.
"You here to pick me up?" he said, voice like stone scraping against stone. She swore she could see recognition in his eyes.
All she could do was nod, a hand shakily unlocking the doors.
With an awkward thumbs up, the Stranger climbed in the back, almost just as shaky as she was. He was nervous, too, Vista surmised. A car of on-edge nervous wrecks with the combined mental stability of a sinking ship. She had to focus. Think good thoughts. Make small talk, or something.
…
…
Damn it, she was already at the first stop light on the way back and she hadn't even said hello, or asked his name.
Small talk, Vista!
"So… I take it you went through the Church, too?"
The Stranger jumped a little, before quickly calming himself. "Yeah. Wasn't an option I liked, but it was the only one I had."
"Same. Name's Vista by the way. Your next door neighbor." she chirped, trying to put some positivity into the conversation.
"Haido. Probably the worst neighbor you'll have, admittedly." Aaaand there the positivity went. Nice going, Stranger.
"Doubt it. If anything, we'd be worse. There's four of us crammed into the apartment next to yours."
The Stranger- Haido hummed in response, seemingly more preoccupied with looking out at the city, lit up all nice by the evening sun. She wasn't sure what he'd been through, but whatever it was… it put that 'look' on his face. She had seen the 'look' on many an Octoling's face, particularly ones that hadn't ever seen the sky or the sun before.
Those luminescent teal eyes had childlike wonder in them. Like the surface was new and alien to him. Then again, it didn't quite shock her - Vista knew he had been through the Metro, just like a certain friend of hers with the number for a name that she really didn't want to be reminded of right now-
Squit. Focus. Keep up the small talk, and keep getting information out of him. Haido was the Stranger, and there was so much she wanted to know. Where did he come from? Why was he here? Were there other humans out there, like him? The list went on, and on, and on.
Vista sighed.
Was it worth it to just… rip the bandage off? Ask the man as much as she could, before he either bailed out onto the road or pulled a gun on her? Either way, she at least wanted to confirm if Haido really was the man they'd met back there on that Grizzco shift.
When they hit the next stop light, she made her move.
"I feel like we've met before."
Haido looked up, eyeing her through the rear view mirror. "Have we?"
"Something about Salmonids and a fight come to mind. I'm not sure why, but that's what I think of when I see you."
Vista saw him stiffen, eyes glowing ever so noticeably brighter. She was on the right track, but what she was going to do next…
She had to be real careful.
A deep breath. Time to drop the bomb.
"Haido. I know exactly who you are, what you are, and what you've done." she started.
He froze, but she had to keep going. Get it out before he had any better ideas.
"I know what you've had to go through. What you've had to go up against to get here."
Turning to face him in her seat, Vista made eye contact. Blindingly bright teal to her soft amber.
"I owe you, Haido. We all do, for that stunt back there at the ruins, with the Mothership." she said. "As such, I've got a proposition for you."
Now or never.
"I can help you. Keep certain… mutual friends off your back. I know how they operate, what they'd do to try and get to you."
"And what's the cost?" the man finally said, never breaking eye contact.
"I need you to tell me everything."
So, that's another chapter down! Better late than never, right?
So, I know I said that we would try to get a chapter out every month or so, but I may have spoken too soon. Without getting into details, the past two months have been a perfect storm of chaos in my personal life, and to compound on that, this chapter's subject matter was quite difficult to write. We actually had to restart from scratch after getting a draft finished at one point, it got that bad.
Anyways, though, that's now behind us! Onto addressing some behind the scenes stuff
You can probably guess who Vista is, and may be thinking that this came out of left field, which it kinda has. Originally, I tried to sprinkle some hints and the like in earlier chapters as a kind of foreshadowing, but that didn't entirely work out due to me being a vague, cryptic dumbass. Allow me to apologize for that, it's an issue we're shoring up in the rewrites of earlier chapters, which, speaking of, are coming along well. We have chapters 4-10 mostly finished and in review, and after we get those up, the Metro chapters will be next. We have our work cut out for us on those ones, many mistakes were made. Of course, there is no need to re-read these rewritten chapters, as no plot relevant details are going to be changing (for the most part), we're just shoring up the writing.
With that out of the way, thank you for reading and reviewing, and see you all next time!
As always, we have a Discord server, which can be found here.
