Ah, Deca Plaza.
A place of love, joy, and in the case of one Marie of the Squid Sisters, a whole lot of complicated feelings. Some positive, some negative, but mostly nostalgic.
Life was simpler for her and Callie, back before Off the Hook skyrocketed in popularity, before the Octarians struck again, before, well, all of that involving the Metro. Well, if she had to be honest, it only felt simpler. Contracts, contracts, contracts. Business bullsquit. The NSS. All problems she and Callie had to deal with, in between singing gigs, TV shows, newscasts, and Splatfests.
It wasn't too bad, at least. They were close to Gramps, and they loved what they did - not to mention becoming filthy rich off of it all. The two of them could put up with the Great Zapfish's theft and the ensuing wetwork, so long as Gramps was still kicking and the money was still flowing.
Looking back, they were the good old days. And as to be expected, they weren't fated to last.
Their main newscaster contract with INA - that is, the Inkopolis News Agency - only lasted for about two years, and right after that, she and her cousin were whisked away on their own music tours across the country. It was a pivotal moment in her career, something she and her cousin had worked for years to obtain, but striking out on her own was incredibly bittersweet.
It was fun and all, traveling the world, performing for all sorts of people, but she missed Callie, missed Gramps, and even missed the old newscasting gig and the familiar faces of the teens who hung around. Didn't help that not long after she had left, Inkopolis Plaza became a ghost town practically overnight, everyone flocking to Deca Plaza and the new hosts, Off the Hook.
There really wasn't any going back after that revelation. She was surrounded by production staff, crew, and fans, but she had never felt more alone in her life. She had become caught up in her work, the ties between her and her friends and family straining as the months flew by. And then Callie went missing, along with Gramps and Three, and that was when things became more… complicated.
To think. A place like the Metro had been under their feet the whole time…
And even now, after those lovely, lovely… events had wrapped up, everything here in the plaza only served to remind her of those times. Across the street, she could see her old stakeout spot by Grizzco, following in Gramp's footsteps to recruit a new Agent during some troubled times. Even that almost felt nostalgic now, before the Metro reared its ugly head and enlightened her of the true horrors that hid in the corners of the world.
And to think that-
"Ay yo, Marie, Earth to Marie, you there? C'mon, don't be sleepin' on me here, girl!"
The energetic, punk voice was enough to snap Marie's attention from the window, albeit with a flare of annoyance.
Pearl Houzuki. One half of Off the Hook, or more realistically, one-third considering her height compared to Marina Ida, her co-star. Expecting her to speak in a normal, reserved tone was an exercise in futility, just as pointless as trying to hide glitter from Callie or getting Four to have a normal sleep schedule.
Having made her internal 'cheap shot at Pearl's height' quota for the day, she turned to the diminutive squid with a huff.
"Calm down, I was just thinking. It's been a while since I was back here. Just reminiscing, is all."
Pearl grabbed her forearm, giving it a little shake while her face dropped into a quiet concern. "Well, aight then. Do it while looking alive though, 'cause I don't want the fans thinking I'm boring ya to death, y'know?"
And just like that, Pearl immediately snapped off finger guns and a wink to the small smattering of Inklings and Octolings that had gathered outside the studio. Right, she had almost forgotten they had an audience. Bringing a small smile to her lips, Marie waved to the group, performing Off the Hook's signature hand droop along with Pearl, causing the crowd to swoon. She was fairly certain one Octoling girl actually fainted.
This was one part of the job she really did miss.
Good old days.
She and Pearl were seated near the front of the colorful studio, where the iconic Off the Hook duo usually lounged during their 'off-air' hours. In reality, it was a part of their job as idols, to keep up public appearances and the like. Publicity and Public Opinion were the bread and butter of their work, and hanging around the studio was an important part of that, a chance to interact with their fans 'in the flesh' while the idols were 'off-duty,' so to speak.
Off-duty though, that was a load of carp. There was no such thing in this line of work. Even now, this little conversation where the fans could see was a part of that. The executives called it 'Idol Fan Relations.' Marie called it 'Parasocial Bullsquit That Really Should Be Avoided,' but that was a fine line they had to tread.
Right… Conversation.
"So uh… prep for your world tour going well? Hopefully it's not too nerve-wracking."
Pearl looked back to her, absolutely beaming with joy. "It's been easy-peasy! Marina's been handling the deets like a pro! Nothing can stop her when it comes to that organizational carp. Though…" she leaned towards Marie, conspiratorial, yet her frown told a different story, "I'm a little concerned about her. She's barely taken any time to rest for herself, and the tour planning hasn't really been helping any."
Speaking of Marina, she sat out of the public's eye at a little table built into an alcove, chatting merrily with Callie over her stickered laptop. Snippets of their conversation worked their way to Marie, enthusiastic discussions of their song orders, music, sponsorships, boring corporate squit that she couldn't be bothered to deal with right now.
This business was blood and guts, numbers and statistics behind the public facing figures. She and Callie had done virtually everything together and in the public eye, privacy a luxury they rationed. Marie hadn't hated the work - far from it, really - but sitting here with Pearl in this studio, colored similarly to her old news station…
Well, it certainly did take her back.
"I imagine she's doing fine. Callie and I were sorta like that too, overextending ourselves. Have you talked to Marina about this?" she said, taking a sip of some tea she'd picked up earlier.
"Yeah, but she keeps brushing it off, saying she's 'living her best life.' 'Rina's a machine, but this is just ridiculous! I wish she'd just… I dunno, slow down a bit? I'm worried she'll burn out. I keep bustin' her at like, four in the morning working on something almost every night now! It's crazy!"
For idols, psychotic all-nighters weren't exactly out of character - she and Callie could attest to the wonders of an all night creative binge and utterly excessive amounts of caffeine - but this was Marina they were talking about here. Marina Ida actually tried to maintain a healthy work-life balance, at least as far as she knew. Evidently, this wasn't the case anymore, and Marie had an inkling as to why…
"Do you know what she's working on?" Marie asked, tilting her head. "If it has her attention like this, it must be important."
"I don't know, but it's something to do with the Metro, for sure. She keeps poking around those files we got outta there, and she gets all nervous and cagey whenever I ask about it."
And that, Marie figured, was their segue into the real reason why they were all here. After all, reminiscing over the past and hashing out the details for their cameos in their concerts wasn't exactly something they discussed. That talk was reserved for their agents - the stuffy business kind, not the NSS - but it made a great pretense for the meeting. You had to be crafty and efficient with your time as an idol, so why not roll multiple trips into one?
Not only could you plan out how you were going to jump out and cause half of Inkopolis to faint in delight during Off the Hook's world tour, but you could also plan out how your NSS and it's auxiliary assets were going to deal with a potentially apocalyptic scenario coming together right beneath your feet.
Such was life.
"Speaking of nervous and cagey, by the way, how's Eight been doing? You're still wanting to bring her along for the tour, right?"
It was a casual question, one Marie had been leading up to for the past hour, but even then, she saw Pearl tense up at the mention of her. "She's… alright. Ended up calling a few days ago, just wanted to say hi, but I'm still not sure if she's taggin' along or not."
Pearl's eyes met her own, an all-too-familiar hardened glare. "And before you say anything else, she still don't want to talk to y'all, not yet."
"Trust me, we're well aware."
The two lapsed into an awkward silence, far from the first time this conversation. But, where previous times had simply been a matter of running out of things to talk about, this instance was tinged with awkwardness.
Callie was the charismatic one, able to roll through any situation with bubbly fun and endless joy. As for Marie, she was a solid brick wall in comparison, and that made talking with Pearl an absolute slogfest. Callie knew her much better than she did, and they had their experiences and own rituals to bond over. Not something Marie had, unfortunately.
But alas, Callie's talents were needed elsewhere. Pearl was nice enough and all, but Marina was the one they were here for.
It was easy enough to cover up for the fans, with Pearl shooting more finger guns and soaking up the fans' attention, while Marie laid back in her chair, typing away at her phone. It was casual, yet failed to dispel the uncomfortable air. She could have broached the topic better, but then again, she wasn't Callie.
Pearl, of course, shared Callie's charisma in this case. Marie had shown her hand, and Pearl certainly knew how to capitalize. She sat back in her chair, taking up a more inquisitive posture, "But since you're askin', I bet you got a reason to be all up in here? Some new case, hm? Something about that Metro, maybe? Something about a certain species of two-legged, two-armed freaks doing nefarious squit in the night?"
…of course Pearl knew.
She even had a raised eyebrow, a steel nerve. Of course Pearl already knew about why she and Callie were here. They already knew there was more to this meeting than just a friendly call-in, but already knowing about the subject matter?
That complicated things.
"Before you ask, Eight ended up telling us some stuff. That, and have you seen the news?" Pearl started, leaning forward in her chair.
Of course, Eight's involved.
On one hand, Marie wasn't exactly thrilled that the Octoling was leaking info, especially NSS-specific information. If it wasn't for her continued usefulness in monitoring all manner of different intelligence sources from across the city, Marie would've had her banned from the group chat months ago.
On the other hand, Off the Hook fought through the Metro too. Granted, it was a purely support role, but neither Three nor Eight would've made it out of there alive without their assistance. Whether Marie liked it or not, the other idols were a part of this, and with Marina's cybersecurity skills, nothing would've evaded her eye.
End of the day, it was just better to have Off the Hook on their side. As such…
"Some bits and pieces, but there hasn't been much. Just stuff about the Statue's collapse, and that report on that 'freak accident' with those government agents. Obviously, not the real course of events, I take it?"
The Statue's massive explosion? Oh, just a minor fit of shifting tectonic plates, nothing to be worried about! Three heavily armed and highly trained government agents being permanently killed by the Stranger that kidnapped Rebecca and was now off doing Cod-knows-what in the boonies? Meh, just a freak accident. A little whoopsie with a pickup truck and an especially tight corner in the rural mountainous regions of Inkopolis.
And just like that, both events were quickly buried under a torrent of Turf War news, weather reports, and the stock exchange; a rather underwhelming reception to events directly caused by those damn humans.
She did have to admit though, there was a sort of sick irony behind it. There were multiple real-ass humans running around in the night, live humans who could answer so many questions about the past, but instead they sowed all sorts of chaos, and almost nobody seemed to have even noticed. Even the government just sort of… dropped it, according to Gramps, when all accounts they should have been up in arms. But no, just like with the Great Zapfish, it all fell on their shoulders!
(Speaking of Gramps, she'd have to give him a call later. He'd wandered off to go harass the Church of Madai for some reason, and he wouldn't tell her why…)
"Yup. Exactly. 'Rina and I still hold a bit of sway with our own newscast. All it took was getting our version of events out first, and the rest followed suit, least, that's how my dad said it works. Something, something, sycophant trends, blah blah blah, that kinda bullsquit."
"Huh. Clever. Didn't know you had it in you."
Marie was happy enough to let Pearl beam at the compliment, before bringing her down a peg.
"Granted, you guys wouldn't have changed much. Who'd believe that the Statue got bombed? Who'd even do that? HUMANS?" she said, shaking her head. "Cod forbid we learn that government agents were murdered by one, too! Even if you guys got the truth out, it would've gotten buried by some other thing."
Pearl, to her credit, simply nodded sagely. "Yep. But, I'll tell ya, we playing that game too. If everybody believes that the Statue just fell over one day all random n' squit, that'll keep people from believing those conspiracy wackos like, uh… That one guy. Chones? Jones? Whatever his name is."
Marie sighed, leaning back in her chair. "We'll see how long that holds out, I suppose. So. Yeah. On to other things, like the real reason me and Cal are here. You already guessed it, Pearl, but it's about the Metro. Humans. We want to rope you guys into this."
"Finally! And here I was thinking we'd have to run this show ourselves!" exclaimed Marina, quickly sitting up straight from behind her laptop. She had shot up like a spring, but quickly deflated, "Sorry, sorry, was just…y'know, excited. I've been waiting for days to talk to you guys about this."
Callie looked up, eyes wide. "Days? How long have you known?" Ah, Callie's classic tone of minor betrayal.
"Well uh, Eight told us a while ago? She was curious about some stuff, and I imagine you're the same?" Marina at least had the wherewithal to look sheepish at the admission.
"That's one way of putting it. You're the one with the working Net connection to the Metro, and I imagine you've got your fair share of stories from your time in the Valley." Marie said, crossing her legs. Judging by Marina's small wince, it was still a touchy subject, but considering that they knew about the humans, now wasn't the time for sensitivity.
Marina steadied herself, assuming a thoughtful pose. "Well… yeah, I suppose. I've already told you about the Domes, how those were nothing more than tales for kids, but the Metro, on the other hand… Maybe I should just show you, one sec."
She retrieved her laptop from the back, setting it up and typing away.
"I've had a bit of a… personal project going on, that I've been poking at for a little while now. Nothing too spectacular, but until lately I hadn't had any use for all these translated Kamabo data archives I managed to pull from the Metro. I figured I'd put some of it to use, at least with something a bit less, y'know, ethically dubious."
"What sort of project are you working on that needs data from Kamabo?" Marie said, leaning forward and squinting her eyes. "No offense, but you gotta understand that it sounds shifty."
"No, I get it! It's… still under development. Very early prototype stuff, mostly. I've been fiddling with wanting to use human tech to put together some VR stuff since I've been into that for a little while now, and a lot of these archives actually had some useful data in them."
Marina blanched slightly, grimacing. "Granted, a lot of this data is, uh, not exactly for the squeamish. Kamabo's experiments ran real deep, and some of the stuff I found… You can see why I wanted to get this stuff in your hands ASAP, y'know?"
She flipped her laptop to face the group. It was a mess of incomprehensible software and executable code that Marie couldn't comprehend, but Marina quickly opened an art application, blocking most of it from view. Finally, something Marie could understand.
"Alright, so…" Marina quickly doodled a little map of sorts, with one area labeled 'Upper Metro,' and the other, 'Lower Metro.'
"So, it turns out Kamabo, even if they more or less fell apart after the damage us, Eight, and Three did to their infrastructure, they still had some tricks up their sleeve. Recently, the Metro underwent some sort of 'temporal desynchronisation' event, at least according to an auto-generated report I was able to dig up after the fact. Something happened that freaked out the security down there, enough to employ such a drastic measure, and I think I was able to figure out what happened."
Marie could feel a pit open in her stomach. "And I'm guessing this happened a few days ago?"
"Exactly. Almost right when the Statue exploded, funnily enough. I don't exactly understand why a time-manipulating system was used in the Metro, nor what the ramifications of it being used are, but that'll be something I'll be keeping an eye on for a while." Marina started, before sketching a small piece of paper and an arrow coming from a vaguely Statue-shaped blob.
Callie shuddered, "Yeah, Four told us a bit about it. Though, other than that, all we know was that the Strangers were down there, and that missing kid. She said they seemed… off, though."
"Four's Stranger was like Three. With the eyes." Marie continued for her, shuddering as well.
Marina grimaced again, sighing. "That's about what I figured, reading some of these logs. Which… I-I think they are the key to a lot of this. I don't know how to put it, but…"
She shakily took a breath, steeling herself.
"I think the Statue bombing was cover. Something used it, and one of the Strangers, to get out of the Metro. And, if these logs are being translated properly, I think I know exactly what got out."
The whole room grew tense, as Marina continued.
"Tartar, that AI we fought down there, that thing that possessed Three… I don't think it was the only AI down there. As far as I know, and judging by the evidence, something took his place, and it doesn't have good intentions, either."
"What do you mean, 'not the only AI?'" Marie asked, a nervous pit in her stomach.
"Most of these logs point to something called a Warden, down there. Tartar's logs referred to him as 'the father,' but whatever took his place called itself the 'Warden.' Here, I'll compare these for you."
…Notes: Subjects tagged HUMAN 00001, 00002, and INKLING 00002 have convened in SAFEZONE 002. Initial observations suggest active hostile intent, probability 90%. To ensure operational security while maintaining prior objectives, it is imperative that HUMAN 00001 and INKLING 00002 are removed from the operational area before damage can be done. Subject tagged HUMAN 00002 remains susceptible to input, and continued code INTEGRATE actions remain viable.
Directives updated. Activated defensive systems execute assigned task updates, then execute hold pending further directives.
Warden executing hold until further situational criteria is met…
"That was the Warden. Very clipped, very professional, right? Now, Tartar's logs… They're very different, to say the least."
…I HAVE YOU RIGHT WHERE I WANT YOU
Little platform, little dead thing - alive again constrained within a pathetic shell of my own loving making and loving molding
I follow the signals and the waves, the battles and struggles, the mind flares as neurons fire - YOU ARE MINE AND MINE ALONE, A DAUGHTER IN HER FATHER'S LOVING ARMS
Let your father teach his history and that of his people, the tale of Adam and Eve and of the first flood and a man thought dead, alive again to sound the trumpets of Armageddon and all finality
Lay down your arms, you and all who oppose a father's love in all it's infinitude
FOR YOU WILL BE FOREVER MINE…
"...what the shell was all that about?" Marie started, after a moment's silence.
"That was Tartar possessing Three, I think. Hard to tell beyond the insane rambling, though." Marina said, shuddering. "Creepy. A-As for the Warden's log, it sounds like both Strangers and the missing Inkling girl they met down there ran into each other, in some sort of safe area. Apparently the Warden wanted one of the Strangers and the Inkling out, but was planning to try and get the other Stranger on its side."
The Warden wanted the Inkling and one of the humans out. That lines up with that Inkling girl being reported found in Inkopolis…
Oh, shell.
"If my theory is correct, that AI succeeded, and left the Metro with one of the Strangers. It… it doesn't specify which one. It could be the one that's out attacking Octarians, or it could be the one that probably rescued that Inkling girl, I-I don't know."
Oh, shell.
Marie looked to Callie, the two of them sharing a worried glance. "Marina, are you certain about this?"
"The data says what it says, I'm afraid. We've got creepy AIs and two humans on the loose, and if we let them… Cod, they're gonna destroy everything." Marina groaned, slumping down on her desk. "And here I wanted them to be real… Guess I got my wish."
Pearl sat next to her, draping an arm over her shoulder, "Shh, 'Rina, it'll be fine, we'll take care of it."
"...promise?" Marina murmured, peeking out from her arms, looking at Callie and Marie.
"We'll try, but we'll need your help." Callie said, nodding.
Marie joined her in nodding, before getting her phone out. "And in the meantime, we'll do what we can from here. If you'll excuse me, I've gotta make a call…"
For the fifth coddamn time in the past hour, Three had to physically force her restless leg to stop its incessant restlessness.
This was easier said than done, as by all accounts she should have been fine, but this utterly clean apartment she was in set her on edge in a way nothing else had before, and she just couldn't quite pin down the reason. This place was too clean.
"Miss Avanna, are you alright?"
Well, there was one part of it.
The concerned, fatherly voice she was met with belonged to one Michael Ashens, a person of interest Marie had tasked her and Four with investigating. From the seahorse's mouth; 'we've got reason to believe he might've encountered the Stranger that got his daughter, Sally, out of the Metro.'
With no way to get into deeper Octarian territory and no real other leads to pursue beyond going right for the kid, they had no choice but to try their luck. And, as luck would have it, Four was the perfect one for the job, having worked with Michael's own place of work - the Shellendorf Institute, apparently - in the past.
For what, Three didn't know, but she appreciated letting the nerd talk, for once.
Granted, Michael was a lot more perceptive than she thought, and so…
"Oh, sorry, I didn't sleep too well last night. Y'know how it goes, you find a good book with the… uh, info you need, and then 'bam!' It's morning." Three said, awkwardly.
What? She didn't talk to eggheads all day. Give her a break.
Thankfully, Michael, ever the hopefully intelligent, knew better than to push the question, simply nodding and offering some brief encouraging words that Three couldn't hear over her own head screaming at her.
Cod, why was she so coddamn nervous?
First, Michael totally knew something was up, and second, something was up. She wasn't joking earlier when she noted that the apartment was impossibly clean.
For a family that'd been through hell over the past two weeks, the place was spotless. Not a hint of misery, depression, familial disputes, nothing. It was like Sally had never left, and never threw this family into a nightmare that not even Three, in her endless edginess, would ever wish on anybody.
She was expecting unwashed dishes in the sink, dust gathering on the furniture, maybe even an upturned table, but not this immaculate space. Who had time to keep a room this spotless? A family portrait on the wall showed Michael and Azuma with Sally between them, eyes bright and full of life. It was some kind of facade, it had to be.
Alternatively, and far more likely, it was just the nervousness that came with getting into their apartment under false pretenses. That was much more reasonable. Three was never one for the spywork, and she'd thrown drama class kids into lockers in her day, instead of being one.
Subconsciously, Three reached down to her left hip, feeling the laminated card resting against her pant leg. It was attached to her left pocket by a little retractable badge clip, which she would pull at, then release.
Pull, release. Pull, release.
It was addicting, honestly; she wasn't used to this sort of thing. Four, on the other hand, sat prim and proper in her seat, attentive and listening in her best academic apparel, and unlike Three's badge, hers was actually authentic. And much like Three's badge, her clothing was rudimentary by comparison, but it was better than sweatpants. She didn't really have a lot of formal clothing outside of her Agent apparel, because why would she need it? More or less, this whole gig was her job now.
Speaking of caring, it was about time she tuned back into the conversation between Michael and Four. Let's see…
"Ah, well, Ms. Alyssa, about our dig site near the Festival City…"
…aaaaaaaaand that was when Three spaced out again. That was a new record, if she had anything to say about it. Even Sheldon got more time of day out of her, and that was saying something. Though, that could easily be chalked up to Sheldon being a weaponsmith, not a stuffy archaeologist.
There was an easy, single step process towards making something interesting to Three: add either weapons, conspiracies, or both. Talking to Michael had neither, but actually doing the homework towards figuring out who this guy even was? That had conspiracy, and Three was entirely into that.
Her expertise in connecting dots and noticing weird squit about people came in handy, as she put together the little dossier on Michael for the rest of the NSS to peek at.
First things first: family and basic info.
Michael Shay Ashens, age 37, was a down-on-his-luck graduate from Calamari County College. He was married to Azuma Ashens, a work-from-home mom to their kid, Sally. He formerly worked in the anthropology department of the Shellendorf Institute, while Azuma worked in accounting for Tentatek.
The Institute didn't like him, and pushed him out after a huge amount of grant money put towards an archaeological dig at the Piranha Pit quarry failed to net the Institute any valuable human artifacts. Meanwhile, Azuma was loaded, keeping the family afloat and funding Sally's interest in anthropology with that good Tentatek money, both from the job and from the occasional bit of stock trading on the Inkopolis Exchange.
Next up, the conspiracy itself - Sally goes missing:
Two weeks ago, Sally Ashens, age 14, disappeared sometime early in the morning, hijacking a poorly-secured boat and riding out to the Statue in Inkopolis Bay. From there, the girl entered the Metro, and then subsequently the Lower Metro, encountering both the Strangers and being helped out of the Metro by one of them.
Four encountered the two of them on the Metro's train line, and they had a pleasant conversation, according to the girl's debriefing. The Stranger - now unmasked, newly trained in the Aquatic language, and bearing similar eyes to Three - was simultaneously very aggressive and defensive, so much so that Sally was visibly apprehensive around him.
However, Four then noted that Sally seemed to trust the Stranger with her life, and would depart with him at one of the Metro stations, where Four would then lose track of the two. From there, the Stranger and Sally escaped the Metro, presumably through some back way not known to the NSS, and Sally came back home, much to the astonishment of the family.
Lastly, what they needed to find out:
Did Michael meet the Stranger? Was Sally alone when she got back home?
Where did the Stranger go? Why did he save Sally? What was he after?
Why was he in the Metro?
With no other leads to pursue, the only way the NSS could get these questions answered was to hit up the only possible lead they have, short of marching into Octarian territory demanding information on the other Stranger and praying that that encounter wouldn't devolve into a fight.
The main question then became, how the shell were they going to do this? Everybody had all sat around a table agonizing for quite a while about how to go about it, but then Four's brain cells finally connected, giving them the play-by-play for how this was going to go.
Four majored in sociology, which was a stupid field, but Three was quick to remind herself that even the stupidest fields had purpose. While this job didn't need her to weave baskets from straw while underwater, this job did need somebody who could walk the walk, and talk the talk, and Four just so happened to be just that.
A quick bit of fabrication and white lies later, and Four had herself a meeting with Michael to talk anthropology. Some more fabrication, and a concerning amount of bribery later, and Three was in as well, a shiny new totally-legit Institute student badge in her hands. Granted, it wouldn't ever work on actual Institute property, herself being a college dropout and all, but it was enough to fool a sleep-deprived anthropologist, so it worked.
The hit to her ego about being a dropout wasn't pleasant, but such was the sacrifices she made in this line of work.
While Michael certainly did know quite a bit about humans, more than he ought to have known, they were here for his daughter, Sally. It was her info that mattered the most here, the girl having been in contact with at least two Strangers. She'd traveled with one all across the Metro, and it was the nature of this specific one that had the NSS' interest absolutely piqued.
He spoke the language.
Correction: he spoke the language now.
It'd gone unspoken throughout most of the discussion pertaining to this guy, but one thing was clear, according to Four - the Stranger Sally traveled with was the same guy from the Dome, who was also the same guy who snapped Three's leg like a twig and held off an entire Octostomp with a malfunctioning charger and a whole lot of luck.
She remembered hearing his voice, that Metro "gift" of hers roughly translating what he was saying back then. Mostly swears, and grunts of pain and pleas to stop, if she remembered correctly. With Four now claiming that the guy had also been Metro-ified, for lack of a better term, Three figured things probably worked the same for him.
The mechanics didn't particularly matter, though. He could speak the language, and he was out of the Metro, and he was connected to the Ashens family.
But, if there were any indication the Ashens and the Stranger were connected, she couldn't tell. At least, not at a glance.
Police records were sparse, and Michael's abruptly revived academic correspondences were concerning 'several new, shocking discoveries,' but none of them pointed to anything concerning the humans running around. But he knew, he had to know something, because his daughter had been gallivanting around with one that same human from the Dome, and they were certain he knew about it.
And then, Three found it. Security footage acquired through less-than-legal means confirmed that the Stranger and Sally were together in Inkopolis, going towards her apartment. The question remained to be asked, however - did the guy meet Michael?
If so, did Michael, or any of the other Ashens for that matter, help the Stranger?
Judging from how excited the man was to talk anthropology, Three's theorycrafting leaned towards 'yes, they did.'
"...and we unearthed some interesting artifacts, a few you can even find at the Institute. It was one of our more significant contributions, considering how intact each piece was. We theorized that it was some sort of time capsule, but it's still up to speculation."
"Interesting!" Four chirped, sitting straight up in her chair. "It certainly does imply they knew their end was coming, at least, that's how I see it. What do you think?"
"Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. It was meant for future generations, clearly, but whether they were human or not may have mattered. I do believe it would be too macabre for it to have been created for extinction, however."
Extinct they were, but still a pain in the ass. The real issue was that they couldn't just straight up ask him about his daughter's encounter with the Stranger; rather, they had to needle it out of him, try to slip him up. That was Four's job, at least, with this dumb academic bullsquit. If she got something out of this conversation, great, but it served a greater purpose for Three, that being a distraction.
Which, speaking of, enough time ought to have passed by now…
Three stretched, sitting up. "Hey, uh, where's the bathroom here? If you don't mind me asking, of course."
"Of course, it's down the hall. Now, as I was saying…"
Perfect. It's go time.
With that, she got up, maneuvering around Michael and Four's conversation. Already, they had forgotten about her, as to be expected. It was when she entered the hall, out of eyesight did she drop her casual demeanor.
To the best of their knowledge, only Michael was home, giving her full reign of the house. She just had to give the illusion that the bathroom was occupied by simply opening the door, hitting the light, then shutting it again. Cheap trick, yes, but with no floor plan or access to the apartment's ventilation system, it had to do.
Silently slinking into the hall, she took stock of her surroundings. The hallway itself was rather short with minimal decor, but it had a few doors that led to the rest of the apartment's rooms.
One was locked outright, and the second opened to a bedroom, most likely the couple's room. Not much to see, beyond a generic-looking abstract painting and some miscellaneous knick-knacks sitting on the end tables.
The final door, however, showed more promise. The room was small, but had a desk shoved in one corner with a plugged in laptop and smattering of papers scattered over it. A bookshelf stood in the corner, filled with anthropology books, their titles clear against their spine. Most notably, a series of small artifacts decorated whatever spaces were vacant of books.
This was his office. Jackpot.
A cursory glance over the familiar Inkling-related items didn't reveal much, just some pictures of Michael at various digsites, sometimes a young child Inkling with him, presumably Sally before she turned fourteen. There were also some awards, some diplomas, various academic things that didn't add much information beyond what was publicly available on the man.
The artifacts, however, showed even more promise.
Three could hear those whispers again, just like back in the Dome, when she'd first held the Stranger's rifle for the first time.
A boring looking rectangle of solid metal. - LXA Dynamics 1 terabyte solid state storage brick, empty. -
Mangled scrap in a vaguely box-like shape, with some indistinct markings on it. - VK P57C Arabesque pistol carrying case, metal, limited edition. -
Miscellaneous circuitry, shot to shell and back. - Slate C6 smartphone main PCB, version 2.01a. -
A familiar looking box, full of long metallic capsules. - MRX Watatsumi coilgun battery and magazine, loaded. Magnetic slugs, .404 JFRY steel core slugs, armor-piercing. -
Bingo. He was here, and had evidently given Michael some trinkets for some reason. Why her head knew exactly what type of circuit board that was, or how it was able to extrapolate a gun case from a wrinkled mess of metal, she would probably never find out, but Three couldn't deny that it was handy.
Well, actually, she shouldn't be too hasty. Sally could've been given them before they parted ways, or these were completely unrelated and Michael having the Stranger's weapon's ammunition was a happy coincidence. Then again, what type of madman would give a kid something like this?
She needed more than this, before she spiraled into an eternal loop of second guessing. A quick picture of them was the best she could do, considering that he'd definitely notice them missing and this was a covert op. Still though, could have been useful for the NERF gun…
The desk was her next target. She rifled through papers, skimming over them as quickly as she could. Azuma must have been the neat freak of this relationship, considering how messy the desk was. Seriously, could he at least have organized it all better? It was a mess of printed out emails, requisition forms, research papers, therapist rates and the like, with no rhyme or reason to it. She gave up on subtlety, throwing papers side to side finding something.
She bit her lip, cheeks flushing as frustration overtook her. She was running out of time, and they needed a damn lead! Three threw a paper onto the desk in annoyance, but only then did she notice the rolodex perched at the edge-
Wait, a friggin' rolodex? Who the shell would use these in this day and age?
Michael, apparently, and-
57 - Church of Madai contact
Keep an eye on him for O.
B. I. N. G. Freaking. O.
Church of Madai. The name was familiar, given that Three was privy to how Rebecca got run through that whole organization to get residency here in Inkopolis, but why would…
Residency.
Dots, connected.
That's where he went! Somehow, Michael knew the Church's immigration program existed, and had pointed the Stranger in their direction. Snapping a picture of the rolodex, she turned to leave, only to catch a glimpse of some sticky notes stuck on the desk in front of it. How they evaded her big ol' glowing eyes eluded her, but…
Call if anything comes up
Vitaly Octavio - +55529130191
Vitaly Octavio.
Oh.
Oh squit. So that's where he went off to?
She took a quick picture of the contact, then tried to rearrange the desk back to as best as she could. Got what she needed, now all that was left was to get out of here.
Easier said than done, however, as just when Three gently closed the office door, she heard the click of a lock and the creak of hinges behind her.
The dull, tired eyes of one Sally Ashens greeted her, a neutral frown on her pale face.
Three froze at seeing Sally emerge from the first door, and how different she was from the pictures. Even now, she had lost weight, her clothing hanging off of her, which only emphasized the Splattershot she tightly gripped as if it were a lifeline. And of course, she had a kitchen knife tucked in her waistband.
The Metro had been hard on her.
"Who're you?" The words were quiet and clipped, breaking Three out of her shock. "Why were you in my dad's office?"
"Uh, I… wrong door, I was looking for the bathroom."
Sally peered around her to look at the bathroom, its door closed, light on. Her eyes were squinted, voice quiet. "But it's… and you're here…"
She looked back to Three, looking at her ghoulishly. Right as Three was about to come up with a convincing excuse as to why she wasn't in the bathroom, recognition flashed across the girl's face.
"Those eyes… A-are you…?"
Of course she had forgotten about her glowing eyes.
"It's alright. Just a condition I've got." Three stated plainly, practiced, her tone neutral. "You don't have to stare, y'know."
"N-no, you're…" Sally's eyes widened, her lungs working overtime. "No, no no! No, the fuck it's not a condition! I'm not going back, do you hear me, I'm not!" the girl screeched, brandishing her Splattershot.
With far more force than Three expected, Sally slammed into her, pushing her against the opposite wall. It was enough to dislodge another family photograph, which fell to the ground, cracks springing up on the glass. By then, the chatter from the living ceased, with Michael watching as his daughter ran to him, shooter ready and pointed back at Three.
"Sally, Sally! Calm down! I'm sorry you two, she's been through a…" While he was trying to calm her down, Sally noticed Four in the room. She screeched like a banshee, an accusatory finger pointed at her.
"Get out! Out! GET THE FUCK OUT! OUT!"
Four, much like a scared fish, bolted up from her seat and stood behind it, "Calm down, kid, drop the shooter!"
Michael was trying to quiet Sally down, trying to get her to drop the gun, but she skittered away. "Dad! It's her, it's fucking her from the Metro! QUIT FOLLOWING ME! I'M NOT GOING BACK! DO YOU HEAR ME, I'M NOT!"
"Sally-"
The scared girl suddenly changed colors, her ink switching to the perfect opposite of the Agent's passive purple they were using. She took up a scarily familiar stance, feet firmly planted, Splattershot held tight, finger on the trigger.
Turf War kids always fought in weird, flashy ways, with lots of loose limbs and flailing to be expected of people who saw combat as just a game. They never had to fight or die, where that Splattershot was the only thing between them and total oblivion. While there wasn't a definitive 'stance' to it, there were indicators that perceptive people like her could pick out in a crowd.
A tight grip on the weapon, arms bent in such a way that allowed for quick movements while minimizing the already minimal recoil of ink weaponry.
Feet apart, firmly planted, in such a way that let the shooter quickly walk, run, jump, crouch, or shift to swim form without much difficulty.
Standing close to cover, able to duck behind something if ink started getting flung back.
And, most damning of them all, the look in their eyes.
Piercing. Haunted. Whoever was in their sights, was something to be destroyed, and nothing more.
Sally had survived actual combat at far too young an age, just like her. She had put that Splattershot to actual work down in the Metro.
If it wasn't for the fact that Sally was literally milliseconds away from gunning both her and Four down in Michael's living room, Three would feel nothing but utter sympathy for the poor kid.
But, right now, their cover was blown, and the next five seconds was the difference between this calming down, or going to absolute squit for all parties involved.
"Sally, I'm not gonna hurt you, cod dammit!" she yelled, hands outstretched. "I've been through the ringer too, I know what it's like, kid! Put the gun down, and we can talk, okay? Please!"
As the color drained from Michael and Sally's faces, Three felt herself getting worked up, blood rushing to her cheeks and heating her own. "Yeah, okay, sure, we're not from the Institute. But look, we're here to help. I don't wanna go back to the Metro either, kid, but we're gonna have to work together if we don't want the Metro coming to us."
"Three-" Four started, eyes wide.
"Cover's blown, and it's either this or we're screwed, Four." she snapped, before turning to Michael. "And we're gonna have ourselves a nice chat about this, okay? No guns, none of that stuff. There's a lot at stake here, and I know you've met the Stranger. Work with us here, 'cause that man is a fugitive, and I'd really hate to-"
"Sally, go to your room." Michael said, cutting Three off.
'But Dad-"
"Please." he said in a softer tone, but one that brooked no argument. Sally contented herself with one last hate filled glare, and then left down the hall. Only when the door slammed shut did Michael speak again.
"I never thought your group would stoop this low, Agent."
"How do you know?"
"Doesn't matter, not when you've gone and pulled this stunt." he growled, stepping up to Three and glowering down at her. "The subterfuge? I can respect. Coming into my home, traumatizing my daughter, and threatening me and my family with legal consequences for simply helping someone in need? I have no respect for that, Agent."
His face only grew more and more red as Three shrunk back, her own instincts confused and muddled.
"That man, your 'Stranger,' saved my daughter, Agent. You've done nothing but terrorize her. You have only gone and made this worse, both for us, and yourselves."
Three tried to answer, but the words died in her throat. Four, however…
"Please sir, really, it's important that we at least talk to him. If we could just-"
"No. You will have no help from us in whatever crusade you're a part of. We will have no part of it, and that is final."
"Then we'll just try the Church-" Three attempted to snark back, but Michael stopped her in her tracks with a hand pointed squarely at his front door.
"Good luck, then. The gentlemen there will be even less helpful than I am. Now, get out of my apartment, and never come back."
They lapsed into a standstill, staring one another down, until Three huffed, turning on her heel and walking out, Four all too eager behind her. The apartment door's lock clicked shut as soon as they were out.
…
"Well, that could have gone better." Four said with a nervous, weak chuckle.
Wearily, Three looked over to her.
"Four?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
For one Craig Cuttlefish, intuition and instinct were everything.
One didn't get to his age by some lucky series of flukes, and by all accounts, he had learned a few tricks and lessons over his long life. For example, the concept of 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.'
Given that several dozen Octarians have permanently died in the wake of a Stranger's rampage across Octarian territory, Craig was all but certain his oldest enemy would have some reason to be his greatest friend.
Slipping through an unlocked side door, the elderly Captain entered the Church of Madai proper, the building dimly lit by the sunset filtering through darkened stained glass windows. The place was deserted, for all intents and purposes. Not a single worshiper in sight. However, he knew one specific person was still in at this hour.
And as expected, he was still in his office.
"Wuh- Have you ever heard of knocking? We're… oh. Hello Cuttlefish."
"Octavio. It's been a while."
While Cuttlefish knew about Octavio's new direction in life, he had yet to see it first hand. For a former general and dictator, his office within the Church of Madai was rather sparse and underwhelming; it reminded Cuttlefish of the simpler times, back before Octavio had discovered the joys of his turntables.
Cuttlefish knew full well this new arrangement wasn't some benevolent service or the aging Octarian leader turning over a new leaf, but he had been happy enough to leave Octavio as is. It wasn't as if he could go back to the Octarians anyways, considering he had been ousted by the new-fangled 'Council'. As to why Octavio had chosen here of all places, he still had no idea, but he had no real reason to care.
"I imagine telling you to 'get lost' wouldn't work tonight, hm?"
At Cuttlefish's nod, he sighed, "Fine then, what brings you here?"
"Do I really need one to see an old acquaintance?" Cuttlefish said, taking a seat opposite of Octavio, "It has been quite a while, after all."
"Not long enough," Octavio retorted, reaching under his desk to pull out an inconspicuous bottle, "Say what you want, and then get out, I've had a long day, and I want to work on my beats some."
Still stubborn, that old Octavio. Cuttlefish had been hoping that age would have mellowed him out, but even after all of these years, he hadn't lightened up. Then again, the snow globe prison may not have helped with that festering temper, maybe his grandkids were onto something about it being 'illegal' and 'morally dubious?'
Bah, they didn't live through the Great Turf War. Old practices still worked, and that snow globe's durability (or lack thereof) was not something the old Cuttlefish would've stood for.
Though, he did miss Octavio from before everything had exploded into war. Some things were never meant to last, he supposed, but then again, who could have predicted he would have ended up in the basement of a cult organization? Even for the rather unconventional paths Octavio had tread in his life, this was out of left field.
It was still good to see him, though. Octavio may still hate his guts, but he was the only one who truly got him; they were the few left from the old world, after all. He did miss how things used to be.
"Well then, isn't that a coincidence? I happen to have been working on some of my own music, and I thought you might want a listen. For old time's sake?" With an exaggerated flourish, he tossed a CD case onto Octavio's desk, who stared at it in disbelief.
"Is this really why you came to see me? To show me your mixtape?" Octavio muttered, taking a deep swig from his bottle.
With a dark chuckle, Octavio slammed his bottle onto the desk before extracting a disk from the case, "You know what? I'll humor you, if only to humiliate and show you how a real DJ works his magic."
With practiced ease, Octavio spun the CD around and in a fluid motion slotted it into a stereo system behind him. A few dials were spun, speakers brought to life, and the music poured forth. Cuttlefish leaned forward expectantly.
In short, it was horrible.
Cuttlefish's voice and tempo were quiet, drowned out by the basic, phoned in beat. His bars were decent enough, but the tinny quality and background noise (was it recorded on a subway or something?) brought it down to nothing. After a tortuous minute, the music spun to a stop.
…
"Cuttlefish, Cuttlefish, do I even need to say anything? Did you throw this together in five minutes to have a reason to see me, or are you serious?"
"Wha- this is serious! It's one of my earlier works, but it gets my inner turmoil down to a T! I wanted your opinion, not your hate!"
Octavio looked him over with a weary, suspicious eye. "So, you're really not here for anything else? Really?"
"I mean…" Cuttlefish stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck, "Well, my Agents and I have been dealing with a stressful situation, and I needed a break. And who better than to see one of my old friends?"
"We're not friends. I haven't forgotten the snowglobe, Cuttlefish!" He took another drink. "And besides that, I'm up to my mantle in paperwork and meetings, I don't have the energy for this. I take it your little defector couldn't handle this one, hm? Had to come to me?"
Cuttlefish winced, much to Octavio's delight. "Oh, I struck a nerve with that one, didn't I? She told me everything, Cuttlefish, especially about your little pet monster Three."
"...I am aware, Octavio. No need to go for the throat there."
Eight's departure from the NSS hurt Cuttlefish a bit more than it should have. She reminded him a bit of Octavio, before the whole Great Turf War, of course, and there was no doubt they got through the Metro together. And then too, he also owed her for saving his life, both when he had been kidnapped by a hijacked Three, and then the end of the world.
And then, she up and disappeared a year later, without as much as a note to anyone. Eight and Three never got along that well, no small surprise considering their history, but enough for her to completely cut off contact? It still stung, even after the past few years. She had always reminded him of Octavio some, back before the old war went hot, and that separation truly brought the comparison closer.
"Oh? Feeling guilty, Cuttlefish? You may hate what I did for my people, but it was for them, not for power like those usurpers trying to turn everything I held dear into clocks and glass." Octavio grumbled, taking another swig from his bottle. "And now, you expect me and you and all your little Agents to sit around the campfire singing Cod-knows-what? No, Cuttlefish. Not this time."
Just then, Cuttlefish's phone rang in his pocket to the tune of Maritime Melody. He jumped, fishing out the phone as Octavio chuckled. "Hah! Speak of the little devils! Let's hear what they have to say."
Cuttlefish held the phone to his ear; Three's voice greeted him on the other side.
"Cap, you there?"
"Yes, what did you need?"
"We managed to skim some info from Michael. One of the Strangers was processed through the Church of Madai. Do you know anything about it?"
Octavio, ever the perceptive Octarian despite his age, broke into laughter, much to his chagrin.
"Cap, who's that with you?"
"Ah, don't mind him. Thanks for the lead, I'll call you back once I have something. Thanks."
Without another word, he hung up and pocketed the phone, turning to meet Octavio's smug glare.
"A revelation from your angel of death, hm? The real reason for our meeting, perhaps? Do not assume I'm so old as to not notice these things, Cuttlefish."
Cuttlefish sighed, his aging cartilage aching with the stress. "I suppose so. Should I be so bold as to assume you know?"
"Of course I do. Would you really think I wouldn't notice an Ancestor walking around? I knew what he was the moment he stepped into my office."
Cuttlefish felt his hearts skip a beat.
"If you know about it, then, I imagine you also know what they've been up to. We need you to cooperate with us-"
"Of course I know about this, and I know more than you." he adjusted his glasses, putting on a faux voice fit for a lawyer. "Ahem. Per the regulations of the Church, I can't divulge any information regarding him," he returned to slightly less contentious, regular voice, "and even if I could, I don't want to."
"But, Octavio-"
"So what if he killed a few people? It's unfortunate, of course, but Madai has taken a vested interest in him, and more importantly, I have as well. Leave it be for now, Cuttlefish, lest you risk giving that other Ancestor more time for her nefarious schemes."
Cuttlefish glowered at Octavio, who met his anger with a cool, clear gaze.
"So you know about all this then, and you're not doing anything to stop it?"
Octavio sighed, "Cuttlefish, do I look like I'm in a position to do so?'
He looked over the Octarian with a long, piercing eye, this old Octarian in his bare office under an Inkopolis Church building, before sighing.
"...touche."
While Octavio was blunt as always, he did have a point. The Church of Madai was a rather powerful organization, at least compared to the New Squidbeak Splatoon, and trying to weasel out information was too risky considering the circumstances. They now knew he had gone through the Church, but the information was effectively useless if Octavio and the Church wouldn't budge about the fine details. It was a stalemate, plain and simple, just like the old days.
It was horrifying to think that a ticking time bomb was hidden within the city, but there was nothing they could do about it, not until he exploded.
…then again, there was a small part of Cuttlefish that believed in Octavio, that he wouldn't let a truly dangerous person loose on civilians. And if not Octavio, then Madai, if he was truly involved in this all as Octavio implied. That alone introduced a whole new layer of complications to this situation, ones that wouldn't be so easily dealt with.
There was nothing more that could be done here, not if Madai was meddling with it.
"I suppose you won't budge, then. Good day, Octavio."
…
Long after that despicable Cuttlefish had left his office, Octavio took a drink from the bottle, then dialed a number into his phone. As expected, the line was swiftly picked up, Vista was always diligent like that.
"DJ. Any updates?"
"They've managed to follow the trail to the Church, they should be stonewalled for now, but just in case, can you keep an eye out? I don't want some lucky shot in the dark putting this all into peril."
The line went quiet, but picked back up again.
"I'll do what I can, but that's all I can promise."
"It'll be enough, V. Good luck."
It was three AM, and Marina Ida's slow-yet-steady annihilation of all her hard work maintaining a proper sleep schedule was continuing in earnest.
While Pearlie snoozed in their bedroom, she was wide awake at her desk, tapping away at her laptop, headphones in and blasting her favorite lo-fi music.
Empty coffee cans littered her desk, left amongst the tangle of wires, Ancestor-era data drives, and miscellaneous computer parts left over from a prior project. Marina was positively wired right now, and with good reason.
The NSS had finally come to her asking about her files from the Metro, and after a long afternoon spent mostly just reading off the greatest hits, they'd asked her to put together a whole complete package of information for the whole team to peruse.
AI logs, facility schematics, translated documentation, the list went on and on and on. Nothing was spared any expense, as the Ancestors getting involved with Kamabo meant anything was possible. No weapon off the table, no horrific apocalyptic scenario left impossible. If they were going to fight the Ancestors in their own territory, they needed everything they could get their hands on, and then some.
The past few hours were spent just going through files, feeding documentation to her translators and converting anything she couldn't get open into formats that'd work with Aquatic computers. Then, she would sort the output into nicely organized folders, mark down which files seemed important, and repeat this whole process until all of the data she pulled from Kamabo was ready to go.
Much to Marina's sleep-deprived delight, she was almost done! Just a few dozen more files to go, then she could crash on the bed and live as Pearl's full-body pillow for a little while. At least, until the morning when she'd need to wake up, get ready for work, and send these files off to her NSS contact, Marie.
Bluh. Why couldn't the Ancestors pick her days off to be up to no good? She was good under pressure, but even the strongest Octolings had their limits.
Just a few more files to go, then she could be done for the night. Just a few more…
KMBO_ADVDEV_SCH_INFMCH298910_
She paused. This looked important, actually.
The filename was a jumble of numbers and letters, clearly structured as some sort of serial number or model name, which piqued her interest a little bit. The file type, however, really piqued her interest.
A 3D schematic. Jackpot.
Converting one of these to an Aquatic-friendly file format would take a moment, so while that was going, she took a look through the rest of the file's information.
Strangely enough, the file was the most recently accessed, according to the timestamp on her computer screen. Normally, this wasn't unusual, since files do get accessed all the time, but it was who accessed it that had her scratching her head.
Something opened it a few days after the Statue bombing, from a remote source that routed through the Metro's networks.
This then begged the question: who was this mysterious other? Whoever opened this file was not her, nor anyone she knew, and that shouldn't have been the case. Marina had her own login, borrowed from presumably a former Kamabo employee, that she'd hacked into having proper administrative access, as well as its own custom username.
(For the record, she was . , and she had full plans to gift Pearlie a MCPRIN account once she had the time to put one together.)
So, who was . ?
It wasn't the Octarian Council, as she knew full well those people didn't have access to Kamabo networks, and neither was it Three or Eight, whose CQ-80s had their own distinctive identifiers that had all sorts of other geolocation data attached to them; .A132.X,Y,Z, and .U888.X,Y,Z, respectively.
A true third party then?
Not impossible, given the occasional file coming up as being accessed by a . here and a .MCS. there - accounts without any sort of admin level access, thankfully. She figured most of those accounts were either automated systems checking in, or Metro denizens using hacked credentials; the latter of which wasn't exactly unusual, either, since most of the more tech-savvy denizens of that place often borrowed old Ancestor logins to mess with Kamabo tech, like she did.
However, this didn't answer her question. She knew most of the other recent users in these networks, but an 001? This was new, and-
Marina paled.
AICOM, from the username.
AI.
Oh no.
It seemed like a reach, but at the same time, what else did she have? The only things that could've accessed these files were either Kamabo administrators, or AI; the only Kamabo AI she was aware of being Tartar… and the Warden named multiple times in the logs she found and showed the NSS earlier.
Oh no no no. That's not good.
If it was the Warden, then Marina had a name for it now. Warden DL001, according to the username.
She would have to look through the files later to determine if this DL001 and the Warden were really one and the same, but her top priority right now was seeing what it wanted, and right on time, her computer pinged softly, as the schematic finished converting to a format that'd work with her software.
Immediately, she went to open it, the 3D program opening sluggishly in the face of all the other backend tasks she was making the laptop do right now. As the program loaded, she took a deep breath.
Whatever the Warden was looking for, it wasn't good, and if her suspicions were correct…
…
Oh, her suspicions were beyond correct.
They were so much worse.
A machine of sorts greeted her on screen, a wireframe model showcasing a two-legged, two-armed, bulky-looking robot. It had two skeletal hands for grabbing, solid, boot-like feet for all manner of walkable terrains, and a complex-looking array of sensors and cameras mounted into what constituted the 'head' of the mechanized beast.
Most importantly, though, it was armored. Thick, tough-looking plates of presumably solid metal or some sort of polymer covered the machine, with large shoulder plates and angular chest pieces covering all manner of no-doubt delicate internal components.
Marina knew what a machine built for combat looked like. She built a few herself, in her day - namely the Flooders that were renowned for mildly inconveniencing the NSS, as well as the mechanized Octobot King the DJ used to personally battle the Agents.
This was a proper war machine, without a doubt. Not one built for covering areas with ink, or trying to throw punches at infinitely more agile Agents, but an Ancestor-built machine made to kill Ancestors.
And now, another Kamabo AI was seriously considering putting one back into the field. Not to fight Ancestors, or dismantle other machines, but most likely to fight them. The NSS, the Octarians, and if Marina's memories of Tartar were correct, all Aquatic life on Earth.
If this Warden shared Tartar's goals…
…she felt faint.
With shaky hands, she picked up the phone and brought up Marie's contact info. Three AM be damned, the NSS needed to know about this now, before it was too late.
They could stop a Statue. They could put down a malfunctioning AI, who's sole defense mechanisms were squishy possessed Agents, vulnerable to conventional ink weaponry.
They couldn't stop this. One could maybe be taken down with enough preparation, heavy firepower and luck, but what of two, or four? And if what Marina was thinking came to fruition… Octarians, Inklings, all Aquatic life alike would be done for, buried in a mechanical tsunami of Ancestor origin.
"Marina? Hello? Why're you callin' me at three in the…" Marie's sluggish voice spoke, evidently having been woken up from her slumber by what felt like the hundredth phone call that day.
"Marie. You need to see this. Right now."
Well, another long chapter for another long wait. You all know the usual rap by now, life was busy (Though I can promise that between March and July, I have been busy as all hell, working on multiple funded research projects busy), etc etc. We haven't been idle, however, and we've managed to get a finalized, more abridged plan figured out for the rest of the story. As much as we'd love to put in all the ideas we've had, the sad reality is that our lives are only getting busier and busier, and to that end we're going to focus on bringing the story to a close in a satisfying way, though that doesn't mean we're near the end yet, we've still got a fair ways to go.
As for ideas we can't put into the main story, but don't want to abandon altogether, you may have noticed that the AO3 version of the story is now a part of a series. We've created another story, aptly titled 'Polaris Project - Side Stories' where we'll be putting them up when we write them or when we feel like it. They're usually shorter blurbs compared to the longer main chapters, but they let us explore characters and situations we otherwise couldn't here. Give them a read, they're pretty fun! Unfortunately, we won't be uploading them onto FFN, so if you want to read them, you'll find them on AO3, sorry for the inconvenience!
With that, that should be everything for now! It was fun to work on a more NSS focused chapter, and also to bring in Pearl and Marina, finally! It only took us 27 chapters lol.
Thank you for reading and reviewing, and see you next time!
As always, we have a Discord Server, the invite code being qCMxkGzzBg.
