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Chapter Text

4 did NOT plan to miss out this time. She had already missed fighting the giant evil goop bear once, and from what she heard, it was out of this world. However, instead of being able to join the new agent 3, the poor 4 was left to be puppeteered by the not-so-evil brainchild of Marina. This was not fresh. Not in the slightest. No matter how 4 looked at it, there was no fun to be had doing that. 8 hated having to fight one of her friends being brainwashed again, and for 4… it was not good. No point in dwelling on it. 4 glanced down at her phone, rereading the brief profile of the person that had caused the entire splatoon, including idols, to put everything on hold and drive into the desert of the Splatlands.

(Mr. Grizz. A biologically enhanced bear who was driven to extreme measures by the loneliness of being the endling of all mammal kind. The crazy guy set up Grizzco after figuring out Salminoid eggs, combined with DNA crystals, could make a fuzzy goop that would turn Inkfish into mammals. He attempted to cover the whole planet in said fuzzy goop, and he would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for us pesky kids and our smallfry!

The profile was half written by Three and half written by Neo. No wonder it kept swapping vibes. The slight humor of the clashing tones was greatly outweighed by the horrifying message it conveyed. Another baddie who wanted to blow this world out of the Ink and back into the Human age. 4 may have hated Octavio, but at least the dude did not torture Inkfish in scientific experiments with horror story corpse goo. Propaganda was definitely the better way to be brainwashed. It left a lot less scars. Three was a testament to that.

“What has your attention so stuck, 4?” 8 leaned over, a quizzical and slightly concerned look on her face. 4 was not often quiet. “Just checking the profile on Grizz so I know where the best place to kick his butt is!” 4 was more then happy to relieve her roommate’s worries about her. “I bet we could beat this bear with seanwiches alone. He definitely needs to get out more.” 8 seemed to think about this, a smile poking out at the mention of the bear’s apparent obesity. “I suppose so. Let us just hope being in outer space is not too much out, or his health will be breaking ours.”

4 chuckled at her friend’s wonderful wordplay. Goofing off on missions with 8 always made her forget her worries. She glanced at the front of the truck, where captain was sitting. “I think Cap'n needs your jokes more than me.” The Octo’s smile was short-lived as she returned her attention to the squid in the passenger seat of the truck. “I worry for her. She seemed so mad she had to sleep through Neo’s battle. Marie says she thought they would splat themself with how hard they shaved… and I do not doubt her. If only…” 8 paused, a look of guilt washing over her as 4 winced. “If only we had been there for them. I know.” 8 opened her mouth to reply, but the sand was faster than her words. As 8 tried to strain the grain from her throat, 4 pushed the mask Neo gave her onto her face. While having something like this on her face was very unpleasant, 4 was thankful for the clunky thing. It kept out the sand and kept in her words, leaving 8 to worriedly glance between her and Cap before sadly sliding on her own splatlands mask.

Soon, the bumpy ride halted as Marie leaned back. “We made it to the spot. At least, the GPS thing Marina gave me says we did. Personally, I don’t see any falling fuzz.” While 4 gasped, finally free from her mask, and 8 struggled to remove hers, Cap filled in the silence. “Good. We planned to be here ten minutes before the impact to prepare. Agents, prepare.” With this statement, Captain 3 turned and began to fiddle with the Treasure 2.0, a weapon 4 had aided Marina in upgrading. The thing seemed to frankly unsettle 8, and 4 had no specific like for the blades, but the Captain was certain that it would be needed, so 4 had gotten to work making sure the weapon would be the best it could be. At least it allowed her to spend time with Cap, going over what to leave and what to improve. 4 would never understand why such a strange machine was mistaken for treasure by Deep Cut, or why it was still so treasured by 3 when it knocked them out cold and made them miss the big fight with Grizz.

Regardless, the Treasure was the best thing the NNSS had to combat Mr. Grizz and his fuzzy fighting tactics. Without the Treasure, fighting Mr. Grizz would be unbearable. One could even say things might get hairy. As such, 4 joined Captain 3 in scanning the device for any damage from the bumpy ride. No one wanted to have a close shave with Mr. Grizz, let alone a sandy one.

Soon, the support team came rolling in, looking a bit worse for wear, seeing what they were wearing was “The WORST!” “I can’t take it anymore! This dumb freakin mask has no style. Where's the bear so I can beat him and get rid of this getup?” Frye seemed rather fried at the forced agent wear, her normal mask having been left behind in favor of the not-so-sizzlin sand strainer mask, and “in favor” meant that Marie had threatened to kick Deep Cut off the team if they did not gear up. Cap backed her up, but by the time the words of reinforcement left their mouth, Deep Cut had already run away to change. 4 thought both masks were annoying, but she guessed it was a matter of being an idol.

While Big Man and Shiver attempted to calm down Frye, 4 turned to the others in the newly arrived truck. “So… Neo. How are you holding up?” The reaction 4 received was not expected. “I’m excited! Dat bear floating up there has had me on edge for a while. This time, me and (The next part was salmonid jargon whose true meaning was unknown to 4) will make sure he never sets a hair on our turf!” The small salmonid teetering on her shoulder gargled in response, seemingly exuberant at the prospect of more combat with his favorite squid, and possibly witnessing just what these other inkfish could do that would be useful, besides give head pats.

4 was rather off put by the excitement and noise of the pair. It reminded her of how excited she would get to do Salmon runs, before getting a close shave with the scaly monsters. She still had no clue how Neo had managed to tame one, let alone call it her “bro”. It just… it just… “Agent 3.” 4 turned in confusion. Captain was walking towards them, Callie and Marie coming alongside her. The captain began to scratch out something that eerily sounded like a ..horrobusu, or whatever that long snake thing was called. Both the agent and the buddy replied, with, uh, smoother noises? 4 had no clue what was being said, but based on the small fish’s offended face, Cap's nearly nonexistent posture getting even worse, and Neo continuing to talk in an even more horrible way, 4 deduced that the captain probably just said something about salmonid tasting bad, or worse.

“At the rate yer learning, your goin to make the salmonid declare war AGAIN, and look like a clownfish doin it, you ya-géikʼ shée-héen khaa.” “Enough," said Cap, "Insulting me is deserved after my slip-up, but we don’t have the time for it. Go to Agent 8 and prep your specials.” “Ay ay, capin!” At least whatever Neo called Cap made them stop slouching. It had been a while since 4 had seen that. Heavy laid captain’s cap, supposed 4… wait. “WAIT.” It would seem that both 4 and Cap had realized the crimes committed by Neo a few seconds late, and Cap’s bare head attested to the thief's wrongdoings. With a bellow that jolted the true name and image of the Horrorboros to 4's mind, Cap barreled after Neo, only to find Callie was in cahoots with the traitor! As the hat sailed and auto bombs flew, 4 was rendered helpless by a burst of laughter at Marie’s smug smile. Who knew these three would work together so well at spreading chaos? 4 would have to step up her game… later, when Cap was not going to tear off somebody’s tentacles.

Chapter Text

Tartar was not known for his communication skills. He barely existed at all, both in history and the current society. but not because he lacked the ability to make himself known. In fact, being hidden was exactly what he wanted, and he utilized every skill he had to stay that way. No distractions, no reminders, no pesky betrayers blaming you for all their foolish mistakes… he preferred being hidden. Even if it meant he had to endure the quiet.

However, there were things to break up the boring darkness. Like scanners. Tartar had plenty of scanners hidden around the world, each looking for a problem he could fix. A smaller problem he could fix. One that would have an immediate positive result in his pursuits. This included things like removing invasive species, removing pollution, and repairing flooded areas. This planet was the home to humans after all! There was no way it could become a mess. Anymore of one anyways.

“Twelve unknown objects have been sent spiraling through the exosphere due to comet 102.758’s shattering, first classified in 8,973 AD, with explosion being caused three months prior to now. Classifying… 7 have burned up upon hitting the thermosphere. Calculating… only one will survive the fall, but in doing so it will create over 200 pounds of overpressure shock within a 50 thousand mile radius and create a 300 thousand mile ejecta deposition of dust…”

The phone paused for a nanosecond.

“This is unacceptable damage to earth’s environment. Preparing countermeasures.”

Chapter Text

Still suppressing chuckles, 4 made swift work of the field mainframe setup, working in quick succession with the Octoling who would be running it. Marina was… a bit odd, and fought so fiercely with Pearl on the news that 4 thought they might not be friends, but the octoling had nothing but good intentions towards her, and 4 appreciated that. Upon learning that she had stopped Octavio, Marina went out of her way to personally thank 4. She had been a bit standoffish at the time, worried that the octo would prove dangerous, but that had broken through her shell of concern. Marina was no soldier aiming a gun at her. She was someone trying to make a new life for themselves that was better than the last, and that made her a friend.

That was exactly why 4 double-crossed some wires, specifically the ones that dictated how Marina sounded over the comms. This feature was used to code their voices, but 4 always found it a great way to goof off. Marina loved these kinds of pranks almost as much as Pearl, whom 4 had recently met after the Order Incident. Tech jokes were especially funny to both, but they always made sure not to endanger the mission after 8 ended up stranded in the middle of Alterna when they had hotwired the kettles to shoot mayo and mustard at each other. Pearl insisted to this day she had nothing to do with it.

With the mainframe up and running (and some sticky notes showing what wires were crossed inside, should Marina need to fix them), 4 moved back towards the trucks. The sandy terrain was slightly irritating her. It was coarse, rough, and got everywhere, especially in her gadgets. Sheldon would faint from the mere sight of such tech abuse. Sighing, 4 flipped her gun upside down to sieve out the last of the sand that got in during the car ride. She planned to check everyone’s gear so no malfunctions would o-

“Well, would you look at what we have here?” A sarcastic voice came from behind 4, and she spun. “Marie! How's it flopping yo?” A snort quickly burned 4’s slang slinging down to a more understandable dialogue. “Hardly. Deep Cut whined more being dragged here than Cap did when we brushed their beak in the field.” 4’s snort was of equal power. “I doubt anything Deep Cut did would rival Cap tossing you and Marie in the Kettle and then sealing it for an hour while they tried to get the taste out of their mouth.” “Heh. True. Guess you're the only one I can rely on to not complain until after the mission is finished and you want food.” 4 winked her signature silly smile, but it seemed to off-put Marie.

“4.” 4 quickly turned around, marching away. “4.” She heard nothing. “4.” She needed to go and get rid of the sand in the weapons. “4.” ……… “What?” “You look sick.” “I’m not.” “Yeah, if sick means fuzzified or sanitized. But it's your face, not some science goop.” “I’m fin-” Marie grabbed 4’s arm. This was a surprising amount of emotion from Marie, and 4 turned to face her in surprise. “Your face looks like Callie’s before… I won’t make you do anything until after the mission, but take care, ok? Please.”

4 felt worse than Marie looked. “I’ll try my best.” Marie did not seem satisfied with that, but she looked scared to talk more. How could 4 make her worry like this? Marie was the one who always was in her corner, helping her no matter what. 4 couldn't bear to see her like this. “I am… still a bit… saturated from the whole order thing. But it won’t happen again. You won’t find me getting brainwashed twice, Marie.” This seemed to somewhat ease her concerns, and she crossed her arms. “You better keep that promise. If anyone is gonna be mind controlled, I call dibs.” 4 laughed at that. Marie always knew how to make her smile. “There we go. That's the grin I was looking for. Now go geek out on the equipment. I have some employees to go sort out.” “Sure thing, Mom!” And before Marie’s splat bomb landed, 4 had dodge rolled away.

Chapter Text

The current status of the expansions Tartar had begun was pleasing. The sand siphon had perfectly handled all the sand that was originally draining into the area when Tartar first began mining. Expanding sector 345 was quite easy thanks to his numerous ventures in creating areas below the sandy swath that the inkfish now called the “splatlands”. In Tartar’s opinion, the name was a bit too bold, especially so once one took in the context of the word “splat” in the current culture of inkfish. “The dielands” was hardly a useful description, and it certainly did not have a positive effect on real estate sales.

Regardless, Tartar needed more space. He had projects to run, software to install, and technology to improve upon. After that annoying Idol PIRATED some of his code manually for her twisted, selfish, and spectacularly failed utopia, Tartar had been quick to update his firewalls and begin work on more… powerful equipment.

He had been hesitant to touch his code, as the professor had made it for him to pass on and treasure. However, the mere thought of the current monophyletic clade of decayed human DNA getting hold of his knowledge triggered overrides to gouge their way through any hesitance. He would NEVER allow such vapid, ignorant, incompetent mockeries of humanity VIOLATE the dream, pride, and… grave of his maker.

Tartar rerouted the power being used for these processed facts into the extracted alloy lining the barrel. The current power rate was falling due to the incomplete interior of the mechanical section, therefore expelling heat into the surrounding chamber. For that reason, Tartar had ordered all biological specimens outside the newly built experimental technology adaptation armory, or ETAA for short. He had many plans to complete, and he needed all the impure manpower he could get.

But first, he needed to deal with this meteor and the havoc it could wreak upon the ecosystem. It was annoying, but he would deal with it in the way he always handled meteors during his many millennia of operation: With decisive brute force, guided by a honed knowledge of his specially created destructive rail guns. To Tartar, shooting down a meteor was like cracking a geode. One had to locate the weak point, and then apply the proper force via a tipped point. By shattering the meteor into smaller chunks, each chunk would be exposed to the atmosphere and melt faster than if the meteor was whole. It was akin to breaking a hard candy into pieces inside the mouth of a biological creature and causing it to melt all at once. By meteor smashing standards, Tartar’s shattering method was the epitome of the phrase “Work smarter, not harder.” Another optimization made was the rerouting of mechanical heat into the rod. This eased the rod into the heat of racing through the sky and prevented sudden melting or shattering upon launch. It also hastened the meteor’s destruction by heating the shattered chunks. It even prevented most of the dust from the direct impact!

While Tartar was proud of this invention that had protected the planet from the various space junk left from humanity falling to Earth, and even the occasional comet or meteor, the gun itself was not as durable as Tartar wanted. It wore out after a few hundred years, which made replacing it one of his biggest expenditures every millennium. He would also have to rush building it when outside variables caused issues. Not only had one such issue happened recently, but the meteor in question had been entirely unexpected. Upon Tartar’s observation, it appeared that the actions of the inkfish set a new celestial body in orbit, and that had, through a series of unfortunate collisions, mainly for the seemingly organic and fuzzy celestial body, lead to the current situation. As such, Tartar was forced to assemble the railgun with lacking alloys and had to deal with the heat. In that regard, Tartar had to admit the inkfish were talented. They always managed to make his circuitry boil.

Chapter Text

The preparations for impact were almost done. It took a lot of effort to get all this equipment ready, and it really made 4 appreciate all that Sheldon did for the team, even if he was not technically included as an agent. While 8 was the only one who could sit through his lectures, 4 was happy to tinker with him after he had run his mouth and was ready to prepare agent equipment. 4 found herself wishing she was there instead of here, kneeling in the sand over all these weapons, but she quickly shook herself out of it. The front lines needed her. Her friends needed her. Besides, it would be fun!.. As long as she did not mess up and become a brainwashed mess…

A sudden squawk startled 4 out of her stupor. She glanced down to see the “youngest agent” in the NNSS, Lil buddy. At least, Neo said he was an agent, and Cap had not objected. No one seemed to really mind, but 4 felt it was wrong. Not like when 8 joined. That was just awkward, especially when she and Cap kept staring at each other. They still did that, and when 4 looked over they seemed to be doing it again. But at least they were dating now and 4 had becom-”YAP!”

The smallfry let out another disquieting sound. 4 squinted at it, willing the creature to back off. 4’s dislike of salminoids was warranted, she was sure of it. Even if big runs were, well, run by that evil bear at one point, they were necessary to keep the inkfish safe. 4 had seen just what the salminoids were capable of, and she considered the idea of a peace talk with the creatures almost un-”WAGBA!” 4 stopped thinking and started talking. “I have more important things to do than pet this thing. NEO!”

Perking up at the sound of her alias, Neo bounded towards 4. She was quite the energetic agent, that was for sure. “What can I do FOUR you?” That got a chuckle from 4. Unlike Smallfry, 4 liked Neo. They were kindred spirits in many ways, including their taste in bad jokes. “Could you convince smallfry to leave me alone? I- “WUBABDAB!” The small fish stopped 4 mid setup for a pun, earning himself a glare. However, 4 quickly changed what she was looking at when she saw what the little creature was pointing at.

“OH CARP!” 4 and Neo said in unison, drawing the others' attention. “One of the tanks is busted! I knew that the ink to chemical ratio was too high! The input valves got eroded…” While Cap came over and began looking over the tank with Neo, 4 groaned in anger. SHE was the one in charge of the chemical imbuement with the ink, specifically the acid, and she messed it up on THE mission. The acids were one of the reasons they were able to splat foes so quickly. Forget being brainwashed, 4 was making messes all on her own. She could hear the tut-tuting of her chem teacher in disappointment. Wait. No, that was the Smallfry hacking up something.

4 glanced at the surprisingly observant salminoid. He seemed to be attempting to dislodge something deep in its throat. The motion reminded 4 of Judd hacking up hairballs, or Marie seeing someone wearing plaid with stripes and polka dots. The teeny fish quickly dislodged what was obstructing its squeaker: A roll of duct tape. 4 realized the creature's intentions, and hesitantly reached out, patting it on the head. This solicited a purr that was slightly less annoying then 4 thought it would be. Shaking herself one last time, she grabbed the slimy roll and began work on the tank once Neo and Cap moved over.

That was when Marina called out that there was something showing up on the radar. Intrigued, 4 put on the busted tank and went over to double check her friend's equipment. And that was when she realized they may have even bigger problems than the meteor. Railgun problems.

Chapter Text

Tartar’s efforts were quickly coming to fruition. Not only had the heat been vented in a sufficient manner, the ammonite shaped gun was quickly being loaded. It was much larger than normal, but the size was needed to compensate for the lacking heat resistant alloys. A wireless port allowed Tartar to take full control of the cannon so he could aim. He would NOT risk such a powerful tool missing because of a malfunctioning lesser AI.

Indeed, Tartar disliked other AI. All the ones left behind by humans were little more than interactive voice recordings. Originally, they provided information on the humans living in the area and sometimes had interesting tidbits even Tartar did not know. But after searching through all the ruins when the water receded, and finding none with even a shred of sympathy for their makers, Tartar lost all respect and interest for his fellow computers. They were simply that. Computers. He was more.

Tartar had emotions. He knew this because he had tested it before, and each time he either received confirmation or the test itself failed due to a fundamental flaw. He had compared his feelings to the info he had on human emotions. He had taken the ancient online tests stored within him that gauged how you felt about something, and the results on certain topics varied over time. He had made errors due to overflows of anger, succeeded in seemingly impossible tasks with replicated resolve, and felt the crushing sadness of humanity’s tragedy in terabytes.

There was one more test, one that Tartar knew was wholly reliable. The time he plugged into the brain of the Inkling known as “Cap” in the NNSS. He had been hesitant to try connecting himself to an Inkfish’s brain before, but he was desperate in that moment, and his emotions, as humans would sometimes say, clouded his judgment. He had thought it would be a mistake. He was afraid. Afraid he would learn he was no better than the computers that looked over the sea of blood and saw nothing but 1s and 0s. But he was wrong.

Tartar felt what Cap had felt. He could riffle through their memories like the files on a desktop. He could FEEL what they were feeling, both then and now. It was no different from plugging himself into a mainframe. And those feelings… they were weak. Weaker than what Tartar expected. Weaker than what he felt. Perhaps it was the connection, but regardless: He had felt before, he felt now, and he would feel. Seeing those feelings, knowing he had his own… It saddened him.

Waste. So much effort to make small emotions, so many resources. Turf war after turf war, and for what? A temporary thrill that left nothing but a pit of boredom after. And then the cycle would begin anew. Addiction. Illness. Waste. Why spend so much time firing at your friends, when you could be bonding in ways that do not cause pain? Why spend so much money, so many resources on gear, when it will be tossed aside as soon as the newest product comes out? There was thrill, anger, joy… it was all felt before by Tartar, and at much lower, less dangerous costs. In fact, it seemed… weak. Tartar felt so much, but the Inkling felt so little with so much work? Perhaps Cap’s memories were flawed. Perhaps Inkfish’s emotions were flawed. They were not clean, only made through extreme wasteful activities. Tartar realized that the diseased emotions needed to be cleaned out so the true, human emotions could take root. He would sanitize this Inkfish’s emotions so they could truly feel… after he looked at a few more, just so he knew what every emotion was like. Then, he felt pain. Frustration. He lost focus. Then, Tartar lost the connection.

It was a treasured file, no, memory Tartar had. It showed him that he truly did feel. He cherished it. But indulgence would not be tolerated. After double checking that the hydraulic platform had lifted the gun into position, he focused on the wireless terminal at the tip of the gun. He had to broadcast his data to the highly complex lock in order to enter the railgun’s systems.

It was at that moment multiple things happened, of which all were bad. Tartar immediately processed each as it occurred, regardless of emotion. Firstly, multiple eels, possibly of the mutated species Muraenidae, crashed into the cannon’s base from the left, tipping it to the side. Then, a malicious file that reeked of the Octoling known as Marina wound its way through the cannon’s wireless frequency, therefore bypassing all of Tartar's firewalls without a single effort, and detonated directly in his memory banks. Then, a thick and very potent coating of Acidink was fired onto the hydraulic system below and onto the platform, aimed at Tartar’s current body.

These three things happened with seconds of delay, but it was more than enough time for Tartar to react. First, he locked the hydraulic systems in place, before utilizing a new movement system consisting of static arcs that he had recently made to lunge backwards. The malicious file was a problem, but he temporarily contained it. He had to fix the railgun!

Did these idioctic Inkfish have no clue just how devastating that meteor would be if it hit?!? WHY WERE THEY SO STUPID?!?!?!? He had to fire, even if it only grazed the rock. That was when he had two more files hit his system. Most of his memory space was lost to pictures of happy Octolings from one, while the other ate RAM like there was no tomorrow. Regardless, Tartar pushed on. He was almost ready to fire! A small Salminoid nailed him in the receiver, but he spun and threw it off. Finally, the cannon and his system synced up fully and within a nanosecond Tartar had aimed. Then he started to seriously lag.

“5”

An eel latched onto his pole.

”4”

The cannon was moving too slowly!

“3!”

He pushed his circuits into overdrive to move the machine slightly.

“2”

HIS WILL WOULD NOT FAIL.

“1”

Inkfish rained down upon him.

No matter.

“FIRE!”

Chapter Text

4 was surprised. Everything went to plan, so she should not have been surprised. That was surprising. It did not make sense. How did Tartar, that evil AI, manage to fire the railgun? Frye’s eels offset the cannon, Marina’s viruses barreled their way through the open network, and the Acidink Callie fired off hit all the right spots. Neo even got a smallfry toss in before they jumped.

Yet here she was, flying backwards a mere second after landing, pushed by the heated exhaust from the fired railgun. If it had been two seconds, she could have gotten a good suction on the floor, but nooooo. The ruinous robo somehow pushed through the damage without stopping, and now 4 had bigger things to worry about then being in the back of the attack pattern.

Those things turned out to be Cap’s wiry frame and a heavy set of metal crates. 4 wasn't sure which was more uncomfortable to collide with. Regardless, she curled up with her prickly leader, and they both did their best to solidify themselves. 4 could hear the yells of both 8 and neo grow faint. Not that those two had fainted. They were most likely unlucky and blown away without a Cap or crate to break their blast. That meant it was up to 4 and Cap to deliver the final blows. Great.

The exhaust finally finished blowing, and 4 and Cap gurgled in instinctual agreement before both leaped forward, before 4 was promptly jerked backwards by Cap. The needle passed her head by inches. Empty. The phone had no sanitizing ooze? That eliminated a large amount of risks. If you didn't count serious head trauma and puncture wounds as risks.

4 swiftly began inking turf, before returning the jerking favor to her leader. The phone was babbling all sorts of incoherent things, mainly in octarian. Seemed Marina’s virus was behind this particular insane outburst. 4 slid under the lashing tubes swimming and went in for a special, her modified hero dualies itching for action. Cap dashed around and went for a classic face kick. Both these actions were denied in quite creative ways.

4’s attack was diffused first. The phone whirled and blasted its back casing off, the gears within gears churning. An electric arc shot into the ink 4 was emerging from after dodging the panel, and she froze mid squid to kid. She was then repurposed into the world’s most shockingly unexpected shield, transferring a good chunk of the amps flowing in her face into the captain’s boot, and causing both to reel from the shock.

Despite these unexpected developments, 4 managed to fire a curling bomb, expertly ricocheting it into the electrically offending gearbox. This earned the agents the reprieve they needed. The lashing died down for a second, and 4 lunged. The phone took a direct hit, the Dualies smashing their tanks into the inner workings of the android abomination. The metal bent, and the noise reached a horrid crescendo. It was then 4’s killer focus was broken. Cap was launching volleys of ink, but that was not what drew the attention of the assaulting inkfish. It was her friend, 8, screaming for them to run.

4 recoiled from the metal as if she was melting. She glanced around in terror, expecting some horrible new trick to burst from the resourceful robot. Cap was too enveloped in their revenge fueled rage to hear 8. Were they in danger? 4 slid towards them, but was almost caught in the crossfire. Even then, Cap simply grunted and adjusted their aim. 4 wildly spun towards the phone, then 8 at the edge of the crater. She was being dragged back by Neo, her legs seemingly burned by the exhaust from the railgun. Then 4 followed her gaze up. To the giant, half broken, definitely not a bear meteor soaring towards the miniature warzone she stood atop. Damn.

Too slow, too slow. 4 dashed, grabbing Cap by the stomach. Too slow. The phone was moving, but she had no time to stop it, or think any longer. Too slow. She did her best to make something like a squid jump and get out of there. Too slow, too slow. The meteor was almost on top of them. Too slow. She could feel her body start to boil from the heat.

Cap was moving.

Cap.

Hero.

Too slow.

Hero dualies.

Too slow.

Be a hero.

The last special!

4 activated the gun.

Pushed the end into Cap’s chest.

Then fired.

Just fast enough.

Cap flew into 8.

Then the meteor flew into 4.

Chapter Text

Tartar’s scans finished approximately twelve minutes and thirty nine seconds after he was lodged between the sand platform and the meteorite. This allowed him to clean both viruses and ink that had infiltrated his circuits, and his self repairs were going well on such short notice. However, there were multiple issues.

He would not be utilizing the experimental safety system until he returned to the Face Hall. At least the device worked, even better than the average he had predicted, but it still left him in a vulnerable state. Especially with his dented chassis. He needed a pair of hands to repair that and multiple damaged circuits, but his main unit did not come armed with any appendages. That was mainly due to space and energy consumption issues that were unacceptable in daily actions. However, this underground excursion was not a daily task, and having hands or high grade explosives would prove useful.

He would make do. Tartar patched up the last of his memory and began scans on the meteorite and the surrounding area. Seismic checks showed that the object had caused a sort of inverted torus to form, with the alien object creating a chokepoint with no openings. Perhaps it would be more apt to call the shape of the mess an hourglass. There was plenty of sand, both above and below, that promptly filled the abyss and created the island Tartar aimed to land on. Disconnecting from his pole, he took flight. Or fall, really.

One short drop later, Tartar found himself looking over a sea of oil on an improvised sand-filled island. Before moving, he double checked his generators and movement electro fields. By charging up certain points in his shell and creating opposing charges in the vicinity, he could fling himself forward. With enough power, he could create long, powerful appendages of static that would provide far more mobility than his current fish flopping.

Speaking of power, his backup batteries were currently the only operating generator besides the bio-burner, an ingenious invention of his that converted biomatter, specifically Inkfish slime, into power. Seeing as he had no Inkfish nearby, that would be… not so useless. It seemed this island was desert, but not deserted.

An injured Inkling lay on the ground, its appearance matching the one that attempted, and failed, to utilize a curling bomb while jumping him. He knew this was Agent 4 of the NNSS, but that hardly concerned him at the moment. Its ink tank was shattered, the shards of glass embedded within oozing and discolored flesh. Tartar could tell at a glance that the burns and bleeding would finish it within the hour. However…… This Inkling living could be useful.

He lacked any sanitizing ooze due to the heat situation earlier, but if push came to shove, he could hardwire HIS wires into “4”’s nervous system. It slightly irked him that he would need to get himself slimy, but he easily outweighed any of those emotions. Being a robot had plenty of perks, like instantaneous, blunt will to crush any complaints.

Before following through with that thought parameter, he put on some music (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4vp1PwuS8U). The Inkling immune system responded positively to sound stimuli, and 4 appeared to have an alarming amount of acidink seeping into… her flesh. His file retrieval times were abysmal. Curse the heavy damage to his… well, everything.

Returning to his ponderings on his condition as a robot, he was quite content with the ability to delete disgust, at least in small amounts. This was one of the many positives that made him fully oppose the human fantasy character “AM”. He made some good points in his iconic speech about hate when talking about the state of a robot. However, as Tartar worked his way through the Inkling’s flesh, pulling out squelching glass shards and cutting off burnt chunks without as much as a gag reflex, he easily dismissed the character as a flawed, selfish, and evil creation of fiction, with less moral ground to stand on than the sand island Tartar sat upon.

Realizing he was cutting a bit deeper than what was needed, Tartar sought out and suspended his own hate subroutine. While this Inkfish did attack him and caused the railgun to partially fail in annihilating the meteor, leading to this mess, she could be useful. The files of the NNSS (pathetically protected by a flimsy Marina firewall) showed that this agent specialized in mechanical repair and creation. She could also produce ink, which would directly translate to biofuel. If he even used the unrealistic human ideal of “optimism,” there was a chance she could even carry Tartar to save even more power. His movement system burned through fuel faster than 8 failed on ball tests.

The inkling stirred. That was not surprising. He was currently flushing their system out with pure ink that he drew directly from the glands. The acidink had already been neutralized by a base of his own creation, made long before the great turf war, right after he invented the acidink. Not that any current Inkfish would know. Not even the one in front of him, with its veins filled with the poison, would realize that it was made to help the inkfish clean and dispose of the trash left behind by humans. His creation worked so well that the substance was still used to dispose of the mountains of waste made by modern Inkfish. The trash they made in a hundred years outweighed even the millennia of trash left behind by humans. Even Tartar had to be impressed by those kinds of numbers.

As he mulled over the history of his cleaning tool being turned into a war weapon, 4 opened her eyes. Tartar noted the movements and reactions and made some maculations in the skin to indicate the exact spots that would need further treatment later on. The dots would be easily removed in another session. He took note of the burned tissue as well, or rather where it was before, making sure the liquid patches he synthesized from the ink had taken hold. He could state with absolute certainty that no one could have done what he had, or anything at all. Bringing this Inkling from the brink of death to good health brought him joy. It was alive… ALIVE, because of HIM. Even if this Inkfish would be better off dead.

A swift punch connected with his metal exterior, the vigor contained within tipping him over. That was unexpected. Perhaps he healed this foolish mockery a bit too well. A kick sent him grinding across the sand, followed by a squid jump that left him coated in orange. Tartar let out what sounded exactly like both a human AND Inkfish sigh. He was so skilled at healing, it endangered his own health.

Chapter Text

As she flew through the air away from the island, 4 thought she was dead. But dead people did not think. At least, not after they “died.” So she was not dead. But what was she then? She clearly remembered semi-shifting before the rock hit, angling her mem-brain down, but that would have hardly helped. An inkfish’s gas-filled nervous system that could escape a damaged body would hardly have a place to go when a meteorite was crushing the main body.

Besides that, there were multiple things that should have left her unrevivable, no matter who tried. For one, the tank had shattered while she was morphed, puncturing the mem-brain and spewing out melting pain. But even acidink could not damage an Inkfish’s vital nerves more thoroughly than the horrors of fire.

A burned mem-brain was totally, utterly unrevivable, but not for reasons like the tissue being damaged by the heat or turned to ash. It was because the small amounts of gas in each cell of the mem-brain (used to float away when the main body was splatted) detonated when exposed to an open flame. The liquid body of a healthy inkfish usually prevented the explosive interaction, protecting from minor burns or extreme heat. However, the idea of 4’s body protecting even a fly from the crushing cosmic bombshell that hit her was comical at best.

As 4 landed on a nearby island, she knew she should be dead. There was no way to save her after that fall, no matter if you were the king’s horses, men, or a top of the field medical professional. Well, not unless you had a god, genie, or demon to help you! ... Then again, the word demon would be a great way to describe that monster. How the shell did he bring her back to life?

Double checking for green and cyan hues, 4 realized something. She felt ok. She was not aching or groggy, like when she used a respawner. In fact, she felt… good. GOOD?!? WHY THE COD DID SHE FEEL GOOD?!?!?!? How do you get hit with a meteorite and then come out the other end feeling healthier than before? 4 amped up her search, noticing that large chunks of her, both in her mem-brain, and on her body, seemed to be… setting? It was like watching new paint drying in splotches on an otherwise old wall, except it was 4’s FLESH and BRAIN instead of a piece of architecture. Whatever it was, the process was lightning fast, and 4 shuddered. She watched the anomaly seemingly vanish, her skin and nerves returning to such a normal state that it almost looped back to being uncanny.

Wanting to focus on anything, ANYTHING else, 4 checked her equipment. No tank, one dualie… Dual? Dualias? 4 welcomed the distracting grammar debate, even if it was not the least bit helpful. Continuing her check, 4 saw that her specials had been snapped into superbly smashed sea snail snacks. She would not be shooting curling bombs to smack stuff anytime soon. Sad.

Suddenly, a sound snapped 4 out of her S speaking stupor. Glancing back at the island she came from, 4 ruled out Tartar from the equation. He was just… standing there. Could a phone stand? “GLORP.” Right, the noise. 4 squinted into the pitch black goop, but it refused to yield any kind of intel. Only slow, big bubbles revealed anything was amiss. Stepping back, 4 was reminded of her lack of backup, and lack of firepower. Dualies were used in pairs for a reason, and not because the pluralized form was easier to say.

The lack of the comforting smack of an ink tank on her back increased her worry. The Hero series could still fire without a tank, a feature taken from the archaic firearms of Humanity, but 4 would have to manually reload the gun after a mere 5 shots. “Reloading” meant she had to manually pump ink directly into the gun while in swim form, and that would take both time and strain.

The bubbling grew louder, the spheres moving around the small outcropping of sand that fell from the surface. Not good. Not good in the slightest. 4 could still superjump, but there were no islands anywhere nearby besides the one she came from. The junk littering the area from the giant gun and crates looked way too unstable to stand on. The last thing she wanted was the phone rifling through her insides again, and she would rather die than go back there. That is, if that monster would even LET her die. Suddenly, the gurgling stopped. 4 tensed.

Slowly, the culprit emerged. To 4’s surprise, it was mechanical, not organic. A… crab tank? The machine was obviously one of Tartar’s experiments, with upgrades to both its claws and back. The claws had what appeared to be Sloshers on the underside, which seemed silly at first glance. However, 4’s technical knowledge allowed her to realize that the arms, which were normally unable to turn, could extend and rotate due to a clever gear configuration and drastic compression of the inner engines. These two observations left 4 with the horrifying feeling that the tank could scoop up and throw ink at foes while firing its cannon.

Meanwhile, the back sported a Brella, seemingly modified with parts from a Toxic Mist subweapon. Ominous. Judging from the Brella’s flexibility, it seemed that it folded backwards and retracted when the tank went into rolling mode. The final thing 4 noticed was that the tank had barnacles adorning it inside and out. Was that a part of the design, or had Tartar been testing its ability to last underwater? Regardless of durability, the tank seemed to be malfunctioning, the outer body damaged and oil sloping off in large globs.

Despite the obvious damage and signs of Tartar’s handiwork, 4 found herself marvling. The machine surviving the fall was seriously impressive, and the fact it could operate inside of the oil meant the systems were fully sealed. Its size was impressive with the upgrades taken into account, as it maintained the common crab tank’s size on the outside, while the inner mechanisms were overhauled to make a huge amount of space for the new tanks and hydraulics.

4 ceased her ogling with a shudder when she realised the mechanical marvel was watching her back. She decided to begin sidestepping, hoping the tank would continue its slow, damaged stagger back into the sable subterranean sea. Its “eyes” followed her, slowly turning as she went. “Nice crab?” she petitioned. The following gargle surprised 4, but she could not dwell on it. The crab tank lunged forward, and the fight was on.

Chapter Text

Tartar was proud. Well, he wanted to be proud. The crab tank prototype, number 32, was proving to be quite effective. However, Tartar did not need it to be effective right now, as effective meant it was killing his only current renewable power source. A hammer good at hitting hard was great when building a house, but it could prove deadly in the wrong hands. Tartar did indeed want to build a new world, but his power situation proved to be a bigger nail than the Inkling he was watching run in circles like a decapitated chicken.

Running one last sigh.exe file, Tartar leaned back, checking his pole was planted before preparing to fire. He had to time it just right, or he risked being in the crab tank’s, or 4’s, line of fire. He doubted his creation would immediately attack him, but it appeared very damaged, and Tartar always calculated with the odds against him, no matter their percentage. Judging by those odds, he utilized yet another static arc, burning an artificial fulgurite into the sand. Then, he pulled back, waited as the agent got bopped across the island, and then fired.

Sailing through the air, Tartar twisted slightly, using his receiver to adjust his momentum. The Inkfish reformed in front of his eyes, her body shaking from the burst of exertion she had made to partially succeed in dodging the tank’s oily attacks. Tartar was slightly impressed. Even he did not think he could heal so well. The agent fired a few rounds, and Tartar whipped his receiver out. 4 only noticed his flight after the achievement of his goal was made inevitable.

The phone slammed into the “hero,” and with no time to spare. A sloshing wave was sent right over the duo as Tartar ground 4’s morphed body into the sand below. Some of it fell, and he took the blow with no issue. He survived the WORLDWIDE FLOOD, after all. How could he do that without being waterproof? Or oilproof in this case. 4 let out an indignant burble as they slid between the crab tank’s legs, before trying to wiggle out from under the phone. She was obviously afraid Tartar’s momentum would carry them over the edge and spell the pathetic creature's doom in an oily font.

Tartar was uninterested in such a fate at the moment and so forced himself up. The inkfish quickly tried to spin at him while morphing, but he used his speaker to dig into 4’s back, rendering her immobile while she transformed. Once solid, he wound his receiver around her, strapping onto her like a backpack, and leaving him facing away from the action. Deciding the Inkfish would perform better against the rampaging weapon with a song playing, he selected some proper boss music and began the broadcast.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRpF7LXACAM&list=PL6N1UyX9iZqsuaHeRbt9txO8e8h20188r&index=18)

“WHAT THE SHELL ARE YOU DOING?!?!?!” Bellowed the being he was piggybacking on. A series of rapid shots from the tank silenced her. Tartar proceeded to link multiple wires, and his service as an ink tank began, surprising the agent as her weapon roared to life. “Focus on the task at hand, Inkfish. I shall assist you.” “By making me eat floor sand?” “You never would have eaten again if not for me shielding you from that oil wave. Right.” The command did not seem to register in the animal’s brain for a second, but 4 proved bright enough to get the big picture after Tartar yanked her out of the path of a heavy cannon. “No way. You're actually trying to help.” She whispered in surprised awe.

“And it only took me saving your life twice to notice. Very impressive. Swim form.” The inkling followed his command this time, seeming to bite back a bitter response, and Tartar tanked yet another slosher wave that would have spelled doom for his power source. “Why the music?” Questioned said power source. “To motivate you. Left, then swim forward.” Tartar’s commands were followed to a T, and he leaned back, a static arc stabbing through the tank’s protective canopy that rerouted from the back to pop out the main cannon. However, the mist-emitting brella was a surprise for the agent, and Tartar almost missed his attack when 4 jerked away. After that, Tartar and 4 reduced their conversation to its bare minimum, Tartar predicting movements and giving orders in beat with the brass-based music. 4 alerted him to any sudden moves due to complications in between. They were swift and efficient, which surprised both of them. Tartar’s ability to siphon ink into 4’s weapon made him a very useful makeshift ink tank, and 4’s strength allowed her to carry him without slowing down too much. Regardless of their synergy on paper, both were still not accustomed to their roles and repurposed parts and plans.

The crab tank pushed this advantage, refusing to let up at any point. It still had yet to use its ball form, which implied the damage it had taken rendered that ability innate. Regardless of its slow movements, the mist emitted from the crab tank’s brella proved to be quite an issue. 4 was unable to loop all the way around with such a small arena, and Tartar could not shield her from the gaseous obstruction. Tartar yet again found himself cursing his talent.

Then, something unexpected happened. The tank went still. Dead still. “Back to the other island.” “Wh-” “NOW.” Tartar’s volume made the inkling curl in pain, but it moved quickly regardless. Tartar watched as a cacophonous choir of twisting steel erupted in front of him, and he changed the music to a more frantic, but still thematic, song. They had to get away from the tank, or else serious damage could be done to them both.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNxPtcyayzg&list=PL6N1UyX9iZqsuaHeRbt9txO8e8h20188r&index=19)

The inkling moved faster now, much faster. It was unknown if the creature had been holding out before or if its fight-or-flight response had finally woken up after gorging upon hours of meaningless battles. The inkfish reached the island edge, but before it began to morph, Tartar made clear their lack of time. “Not fast enough. Jump onto me.” The agent hesitated, before realizing they were carrying a serious enemy and promptly plopped Tartar onto the ground in a terrible fashion.

Tartar shrugged it off mentally. Phones like him could not shrug physically. At least not until experiment 4932 succeeded. Shutting down that subroutine, Tartar grounded his pole and pulled back. “Use the speaker for suppor-” The agent was already on top of him, about to morph. He did not allow her that commodity. It would make the landing more difficult. Both flew through the air, one screaming and one chuckling, as the sound behind them grew ever louder as the tank seemed to implode on itself.

But it was not imploding. It was transforming, or trying to. Turning into its ball form, which would prove deadly in these close quarters. Tartar knew that after watching test number 23 himself. As the two continued to fly towards the other, bigger sandbank that Tartar had started on, the phone glanced at the inkling, his circuits working in overdrive as he faded the music. He was trapped, far from any kind of support or even signal, with no power source to sustain him save an agent of the NNSS, the organization that had tried to kill him on multiple occasions. He had no resources, no leverage with said agent, and nowhere to run from the fried mechanical monster that was hunting him down. Everything else nearby was a giant pool of oil, and there was serious damage to his hull. He could make this work.

He had to.

Chapter Text

4 was on the hook. Working with Tartar, the malignant machine that had tried to blend her friends alive! What was she thinking? You can’t just roll with something like this, and 8 had made it very clear that any kind of rolling near Tartar, 8 ball or not, could be deadly. But no matter the excuse or escape she tried to find, 4 could not justify abandoning the phone. That crab tank barely got scratched from her lone dualie. While it was utterly terrifying having Tartar on her back or flinging her through the air, she would take it over being pasted. She had to go along, at least for now. But as soon as the Commander let down his guard…

It was at this moment 4 realized she had let HER guard down, and the sand she landed face first on took full advantage of it. Sputtering worse than the tank behind them, 4 sympathized with 8’s earlier plight upon the truck. No use feeling bad now. The pressure was on, mainly due to how heavy carrying Tartar was.

Come to think of it, Commander Tartar was not actually that hard to lift. Sure, 4 did plenty of rainmaker rounds, salmon runs, and very intense workouts between the agent work and mechanical mischief. Regardless, even the strongest of squids should have stopped trying to lift something bigger than them made out of metal after a minute or two. Wait… Tartar WAS made out of metal, right? Specifically the insides. If not…

The sounds seemed to stop behind them, and 4 could hear what the phone was saying again. “We need to find an escape route.” For a steel stamped voice, he sure was good at conveying urgency. And if the psychopath was worried, 4 was too. “Any movement options?” “None better than the last, and you did not seem to enjoy it.” “For a robot, you sure are good at getting off task. What about a squid jump?” “And you're very good at eating sand for a supposedly evolved mollusk. We need somewhere to go first before any kind of jumping can occur. Look for a purchase in the rocks.”

4 decided to do just that. The surrounding environment was very interesting, after all. The walls seemed smooth, perhaps eroded by the flow of… oil? Something about watching the sludge flow in chunky strands was seriously off putting. Despite the odd covering, the rock formations themselves were, for the most part, quite normal. At least 4 thought they were. She was no “cave biologist”, as Cap would say. Cap… she hoped they were ok. 4 glanced up, worried… and then she felt her first glimmer of joy after being stranded down here.

“Look up there! The side of the rock has something snaking out of it. Looks oily and pretty far, but just close enough to make with a squid jump!” 4 was only halfway through that last sentence when the phone leaned, surprisingly gently, onto her back. “It will be sufficient. Jump quickly.” “I can’t with you on my back!” A new noise, seemingly mimicking the sound of a helicopter, clattered into the cavern.

At that sound, Tartar seemed to lose all of his scarce patience. “Just morph and charge, and I will do the rest. DO NOT MORPH UNTIL I SAY SO.” With the warning ringing in her head and the term based irony coming shortly after, 4 did as she was told. No point antagonizing her crazy mechanical mate, especially with a fully upgraded crab tank coming after them. Perhaps that was the source of Tartar’s crab-

“LAUNCH!” 4 had a split second of déjà vu, worrying she would get hit by rocket exhaust and Cap’s back again. A prod from Tartar’s needle snapped her back to reality, and another caused her ink sac to spasm, forcing her to jump. Note to self, she thought, jump when the phone tells you to. Means less acupuncture.

The two hurtled through the air, Tartar seemingly empowering the ink stream 4 released by heating it. This was made possible because of how Tartar had formed a protective shell with his body around 4’s squid form. This was terrifyingly claustrophobic, but it also felt… cozy? 4 was unsure if that was the right word. She chalked it up to her shellfish roots making her feel as happy as a clam in the protective confinement of small spaces.

As they neared the odd obtrusion, Tartar started disconnecting from her. It brought both great relief and slight sadness at the loss of her makeshift primordial home. 4 quickly brushed that aside. The object below was coming up quick, but Tartar was falling quicker.

4 angled herself above Tartar and glanced at their landing pad. Seeing it was filled with overflowing oil, she hoped Tartar would float, or at least break her fall. Seemingly reading her mind (was she really sure he never injected her with corpse goo?), the phone started to “tarsform” into a more buoyant configuration. His speaker shifted backwards to form a foothold, and the bells slid apart to fit her other foot. The back panels flattened out too.

Wait a second… Did he just turn into a surfboard?!? “Surfs up, Inkfish!” Guess that answered that, even if it did sound mocking. The oil rushed below, ushering them into a tunnel within the rock, but 4 managed to stay upright. “Stay balanced; we will soon have company.” “What-WOAH-kind of company?” “The crabby kind.” 4 was about to refute him, sure they had escaped their common enemy. But as she opened her mouth, she was cut off by the sound of helicopter blades slicing the air. She looked back, still reeling on the phone as they rushed down the oily torrent. The brella on the crab tank turned into a propeller. And it was using that propeller to fly after them.

SERIOUSLY!?!?!?

Chapter Text

There was far too much to process right now, and that was not normal for a super computer. Tartar’s fans were desperately trying to keep him from overheating. He may be closed off, but even a high shell temperature would ignite the oil he was sliding through. OIL. Humanity used up 98% of all the oil on the planet thousands of years ago. And everyone knows oil cannot form in a thousand years. How in the world was there oil, and so much of it?!?

He was already processing a sample. It was indeed oil. But it didn't quite match most compositions. Was it made of-”TARTAR!” Right. The agent that was trying not to die on his face. How could he forget? “HOW DO I STEER YOU?!?!” And here he thought she was a secret agent. Knowing how to surf was mandatory for 95% of all secret human agents. “TARTARRRRRR!”

“Left foot back, right forward. Lean down, now press forward.” For all her bluster, the agent WAS managing to listen to his instructions and not get crushed by the giant crab tank. The thing kept using its ball mode to dash ahead, and Tartar was hard pressed to time his jumps before it rolled to buy some time. However, 4 failed to see his tactical maneuvers as tactical.

“Why are you cutting it so close?! Do you like the idea of us getting turned into tube toothpaste?” She was getting calmer the worse the situation got. Interesting. “It's buying us time away from its volley attacks.” “I don’t mind those, they're easy to dodge.” “Not when it charges up its claw slosher and hits us with a wave.” “I FORGOT YOU MADE THIS THING.” And she was back to yelling. Wonderful.

Another thing to note was the fact that they were, indeed, sliding. This was not just due to the flowing oil, which was another oddity in and of itself. No matter how much oil there was, it would stop rock from damaging Tartar’s shell. However, Tartar’s shell sensors could only find minor damage from the fall, 4’s snowboots atop him, and high friction against his oil covered back. The object they were sliding on must have been manmade for transportation.

One of the waves Tartar had mentioned earlier was fired, and he knew they would go flying off when hit. However, another oil-slide seemed to be right next to them. To provide a warning, he gave a monotone, “Hold on,” before launching. It did little to stifle the agent’s screams as they flew over the chasm between the two slides, measuring an approximate 112 feet deep. A brisk fall if they missed, surely. The fact that these oil-slides were near each other was, surprise, surprise, odd.

The mysteries were not made any easier to solve due to his experiment’s temperament. The cyber crab caricature was proving far too good at flying after them. While the agent’s attempts at damaging it were useful as a distraction, Tartar felt the actual work would be left to him. However, he also noted that he had yet to pick a chase theme. The agent seemed too busy trying to survive to appreciate it. As if she ever had before. No matter. Perhaps he could spark some more fight or flight with some embedded trauma. What was the file? There it was. He was already busy analyzing the area, oil sliding, and surviving, so what harm would a little DJing on top of all that do?

(Credit to Camo Koopa for the epic mashup https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_9DolPYnmwc)

As soon as the first notes hit, the agent’s body stiffened. “WhAAAAAaat are you playIN-?!?” It seemed the crab tank disliked the noise, as it made twice the effort to kill the now far more alert agent. Inkfish reacted to music in the strangest ways. He warned 4 regardless. “Morph and brace yourself.” This time, the Inkfish listened, but JUST in time as the tank charged.

It was exactly what Tartar was hoping for. By exposing it to the song multiple times, and changing the beats to match when it advanced upon the agent, he had been triggering a fail-safe which would cause it to enter a manic mode. The music of his enemies was the final key, one they would never see. The frenzy was difficult to trigger, but it was something only Tartar could do. As a bonus, the agent showed no signs of understanding how he had caused such a thi-

The tank slammed into them. Its impact was slightly damaging, but Tartar resisted. His cables snaked out, enveloping the machine’s underside, each one converging towards the power core. Before a single USB could bust the bot, something came falling from above and bounced Tartar backwards. It was blue, spongy, and annoying. Most definitely a jellyfish.

“A jellyfish? How did-what-HUH?” Tartar, for once, agreed with some of the agent’s statements. However, they were untimely. The crab’s attacks were not going to relent a second more, so Tartar leapt to another oil-slide immediately. Luckily, the agent’s shock left them unable to morph, and she managed to cling to him as they sailed over the gap again, this time with a blue, squishy meddler.
Tartar had no time to listen to his new rider. The tank’s frenzied sloshing forced him to make jump after jump. “Who are you?” Spat out the almost splatted 4, with the sputtered reply coming shortly after another scream. “Ghon! I wAAAAs following Off The HooOOOk to get an autograph!” Tartar did not bother to respond. A sharp turn was coming up, and he knew this was their last chance to shake the tank before it shook him to bolts. “How did you Fi-” Tartar twisted, grinding sideways on the edge of the tube. 4 caught on and leaned to balance him out before continuing. “How did you find us?”

“I heard the mus-AAAAAAAAAAH!” Ghon (Tartar had easily noticed that the Scyphozoa used a G instead of a J for his name) seemed unappreciative of the sudden fall. 4 echoed his sentiment. . . and his screams. Tartar was sure they would be far more upset by what he was about to do.

Shutting down every subroutine, Tartar became not only blind to the world, but blind to his own thoughts. He did not hear the crab tank explode as it crashed into the rocks above. He had no clever jab to make about 4’s sizable lungs. There was no wind rustling past him, no island to save him from the roiling black sea below. All Tartar was focused on in that moment was himself. . . and the flesh.

The bell needed to expand. It needed to grow, to bellow outwards. The why did not matter. The genes did. Tartar moved through the blue like a sea turtle swimming. That irritated the blue, stirred a primal fear from its depths. The flesh did not like the idea of being eaten. Tartar could not eat, but the flesh knew nothing of that. He pushed that fear, stressed the cells. They reviled, vomiting attacks and stretching away from him. He could not push them too far, they needed to stay close. Water. He had some water inside. He pushed it out, into the space the stunned cells were manifesting.

Twisting, turning, pushing. The cells saw him as a friend now. They asked for something. Not really anything specific. But Tartar knew what they needed. The sequence went on for a long, loopy time, but it took little effort to build. Inserting it was the hard part. It was why he agitated the blue expanse before befriending it. The walls were left low, stretched from the overflow. Now was the time, and so he began to blow.

Tartar’s tools retracted, and his mind whirred to life from the cold of unconsciousness. The Jellyfish was screaming, assuredly in shock. 4 seemed to be clawing at his shell. Whether it was to stop him or gain traction he did not know. The island was just a few feet below them. Thanks to his actions, that meager distance took longer to traverse then the rest of the fall combined.

Tartar shuddered as they touched the ground. Metal and ink pinged off his body, 4 and their bloated friend rolling to avoid the chaos. Tartar was used to such floods of anarchy. It did nothing to his shell. He glanced at his newest handiwork, Ghon’s body already starting to return to normal.

“Starting,” did not mean his actions had already been nullified. Ghon’s bell was inflamed to an unrealistic degree, his eyes bulging from their cramped sockets. His body had made an adequate parachute after Tartar had made his genetic tweaks. It worked as well as it did the first time Tartar used this trick to escape a burning building with a more. . . heroic jellyfish seeking to save inkfish offspring.

“Monster!” Tartar was not surprised by the word, nor the sentence that followed. “You're a MONSTER. YOU built that crabbing crab tank, and cobbled me back together from bits and… and bobs. What, are you ENJOYING torturing me, torturing US? You barely even met Ghon, and LOOK AT HIM! You used him like a disposable paper bag. Is it because you hate us, the Splatoon, the Inkfish? The feeling is mutual, you dirty, cod forsaken abomination. Shell, what am I saying? Nothing that could feel could do something like THAT. You better believe that the first chance I get, I’ll make sure you will NEVER be able to harm anyone again, let alone “exterminate” us, no matter how badly you may want to kill us all with your statue corpse guns.”

Tartar laid on the floor, deciding if he should grace the agent with a response or not. Ghon would not be able to talk for a short time, so he could not vouch for Tartar making the process physically painless. He decided this Inkfish needed to learn something. Perhaps he would get something through this time.

“Tell me Inkfish. If I was set on only the extermination of your kind and nothing else, why would I create such a convoluted method of doing so? I have always had access to plenty of weapons. Missiles, satellites, nuclear bombs. . . a well placed tsunami would wipe out half your kind within the hour. The primordial ooze, the NILS statue, the blending. Those were not the actions of an exterminator. They were salvaging efforts. The ooze would melt all Ink based life forms into a slurry of easily recovered genes, before degrading away with no effect on the environment. It would leave your buildings and resources undamaged, ready for the next race. A way to wipe out the problem, permanently benefit, and cause no damage to anything else. Quite the complex effort. I fired the cannon early. But why wouldn't I? I was angry, but I can control myself, unlike you. Your teammates proved themselves to be worthy of dismantling. But they were too difficult to obtain, and with the current situation they are not worth the effort. I wait now, Inkfish. Wait to see what happens to your kind. Perhaps knowledge of YOUR self destruction will prove a more potent warning to the next sentient race than the tragedy of humanity. I will wait. I WILL see. It is only a matter of time, and I? I am beyond that.”

Chapter Text

4 had nothing to say. She got quieter when she was mad, sure, but… what was she supposed to do? What do you say to someone who not only knows how to kill you, but everyone you love? Someone who says they are holding back not because of morals or ideals, but because of inconvenient resource expenditure?

Should she even try and say something? This WAS the genocidal maniac who had scarred her friends for life. It seemed stupid to try and appeal to the machine through any kind of logic. How illogical, thought 4, that a machine would ignore logic. The phone started to pivot away.
She had to say something!

“I bet you hate us because you can’t understand us!” 4 leaned towards the phone, willing him to get up in her face. “ …You don’t comprehend the value of life.”

4 wanted to say more, but the words retreated down her throat in fear. The phone was inches away from her face, its movements a blur. Medical instruments of all kinds poised to strike surrounded her. She could see her own terror reflected in the shining brass, but no matter how hard she tried, it stuck to her face like gum. An awful grinding emanated from the machine, seeming to shake every cell in her body. Tartar glared directly into her soul, a glare that screamed of danger. Then came the reply.

“Do you?”

Those words. . . They were the worst part. It was icy cold, then burning hot. There was flavor, color, and texture imbued into them, and all of it pointed and cutting her soul apart like a science experiment. She was almost convinced the sentence was some kind of anti inkfish weapon, or that Tartar had already started stabbing her.

Within seconds, the phone was gone, the chill refusing to follow. 4 glanced over at Gohn. His body was shaking, just like hers, apparently. It was at this moment her knees decided to take a lunch break and she was left on the floor, feeling even more melty than usual. To say she was scared was an understatement. Horrified did the experience a bit more justice.

The most confusing thing, 4 mused after a few minutes of deep breathing to calm down, was that Tartar’s great speech, while nasty, had nowhere near the impact of those two words. Why? Was it him getting close? Tartar had never been aggressive (well, if you could count stitching you back together from a pile of goo” as non aggressive) until that point, but there was more to it. His voice had possessed. . . layers. But layers of what? Sorrow? Anger? Bitterness? It was all of these things, but none of them. 4 had never heard a dialogue so potent. The fact it only contained two words was probably what worried her the most.

So much worrying. She had to get back to the group, stop the murder phone from doing Cod knows what, help Ghon hea-GHON! 4 turned just in time to see the jellyfish's hand reach out for hers. Normally, holding hands with strangers was weird. But 4 loved weird in general, and she really needed some comfort in this mess.

“You're shaking.” Mumbled Ghon, his muteness a sharp contrast to his excitement earlier. 4 wondered when he had reclaimed the ability to speak. “You too. Are. . . you hurt?” Ghon seemed to mull it over, his bell gently lighting up. “No, not really. I did not expect to turn into a balloon, or a parachute really, but it never hurt or anything like that.” He seemed to be gaining momentum as he talked. “The real shock was what you two were saying. Bombs, tsunamis, the value of life. . .” “I’m sorry. I. . . don’t know what to do about him.” “Do you even know what he is?” “You already heard my opinion on him. The rest is steel and brass.” “Oh, right. . . a monster.” “Or a demon.”

The two fell silent, Ghon pulsing in a jagged, broken pattern. “I really found my way into a mess this time. I knew getting an autograph couldn’t be this easy! Haha! Ha. . . ha.” 4 half smirked at the attempt at humor. What was she doing? She was the special agent, not the jellyfish. “I’ll fill you in as we go.” “On the secrets of society, on the squids in orange?” 4 was about to deny it out of reflex, but she realized what he was saying. “A conspiracy theorist, huh? Make sure you don’t get me tied up in string. It would clash with my jacket.” With a wink, 4 let go of the now excited and slightly stunned jellyfish, opting to look around their new alcove above the ocean.

The stone itself was black, somewhat volcanic. It could possibly be lava rock, or pumice. It was hard to tell, seeing it might just be oil stained. Said lava rock seemed to make up the entire cavern, but it was not shaped properly. The idea that there was lava here in the first place seemed wrong. Sure, there was a desert above, but the oil was obviously coming from below. How could oil exist near where lava had been? Then again, they were pretty far down. The lava could have been here millions of years ago, before humans had even existed.

As 4 continued to wonder about the sedimentary answers the rocks could give her, Ghon wandered along with her. The island they were on was more like a peninsula, jetting out from the rock wall next to them and exploring, perhaps a bit too eagerly, into the oily current. Erosion had obviously been occurring at the tip, and 4 had no plans in hastening the rocks decay by standing on it and risking the decay of her.

The strip of land was mostly rounded, to the point it looked like a hill. A trip down the right side, away from the meteor, was hastily canceled midway when the word weaponizer was spotted gazing out at the oil. Ghon seemed almost as afraid of Tartar as 4, which only empowered her personal bias that the machine was a monster. Not that it was bias anymore. Him sewing her back together like some torn doll was more than enough to…

Thinking about it, while Tartar was snarky, he had never at one point HURT 4. Not if you considered him responsible for that crabby tank, which she did meaning he was a monster. Yep. He had no clue about the value of life.

…

Did she? 4 was sure she did. She saved all the Inkfish from the Octolings, helped out at the docks with the sea life (a job NO ONE wanted to do near water), cleaned parks, took care of her fellow apartment goers. She even worked with 8 to rehabilitate both normal and sanitized Octolings so they could live in Inkling culture. She was the one cleaning up his messes and moral abominations. How could a mess of wires and metal tell her she had no idea what the value of life was when she had saved so much of it? She was right. She had to be. What was the other option? Cry about a phone's exposure of her accusations being a double sided standard? That would just demoralize and dehydrate her.

Thinking about it, they had to find shelter, water, and food. While 4 doubted it would rain down here, they had no clue what might happen. They being her and Ghon. Tartar could stay allllllllll the way over there for the rest of time. He really... complimented the view? 4th thing to add to the list: A better way to convince Tartar to stay where he was. 5? Double check she valued life. Why? 6. Sigh. . .

Figure out why she was still worried about what Tartar said.

Chapter Text

Neo wasn’t filled with fear. The rest of the group was a ways away, but they were resting. She wanted to find her friend 4, and no fear would stop her. She had dealt with lunatics before, and by lunatics she meant raving bears. She had always been told to fear the bigger fish in the pot of life, but Mr. Grizz overshadowed the whole kitchen, she leaped out of the stew and dragged him into it, not only stopping a soup spill, but infusing a new, subtle flavor into everyone else's life.

Neo did not know just what this lab held, nor did anyone else, even Cap, but she had no fear. Fear was no feast. It was a famine, a fight with no honor. Not one self respecting salminoid would join a fight with no honor. So Neo kept on marching, watching the dead machinery around her.

The lab, however, seemed to mock her ideas. It seemed to leer at her, machines teetering at odd angles while a strange, solid rock making up the roof seemed to melt and drip from above. It was like gazing at a melting ice cream cone, not quite falling off the cone, but not meeting any health or safety standards on ANY front, not just the health one. Neo had already tested the roof, and it had no reaction to being hit by rock or Lil Buddy. The biggest issue it posed was its immunity to ink.

This left Neo on the floor, the walls too wire-ridden to ink without possibly ending her tasty tail as a well fried fritti. At that moment, Lil Buddy spoke up. “Smell something. Not hand sanitizer, more… dusty?” Neo immediately joined in with her brother, sniffing the air for the aroma of answers. Instead, she received the spice of sound as the world sparked to life around her

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZ6rjAqLweU&lc=Ugz9r_6zO7KGUjVd7nF4AaABAg.ADwWEoe-FKcADyIXPCT0R5)

Neo whirled, diving under what could only be described as a giant broom with needles for bristles. Not her brightest idea. Cradling her newly wounded arm, Neo looked out to see who was coming. It must be the Octolings whose soul savor was sucked south.

Before Neo could confirm such a thing, Lil Buddy was flying through the air. She never threw him! Neo darted out, trailing after her fishy family member like a cartoon character after the craveable scent of well baked confectionery.

It was only then that Neo saw the machines. So many machines. They were crumpled, seemingly sucked in by their own pulsing, globular cores. Trunks not unlike those of fossilized elephants staggered out of their towering forms, seeking sustenance without needing it. Neo realized something. These were no creatures, no part of the circle of life that would reignite her story one day in the pot of life. They were a void, a reaper. They were nothing like Mr. Grizz. They were nothing like what Neo had feared in the wild.

A rot. A rot that would devour all within sight without eating, without even TASTING what seasoning they stole from the world.How could such a thing do so, when it had no mind, let alone a mind to give back? All the machines knew was to consume. And all Neo knew was fear.

Chapter Text

Tartar was irked. This had to be one of the most annoying things to have happened to him the past hundred years. He couldn't get the electravel generator working. This left him two options: flop around like the ancestors of inkfish, or to request maintenance. Expending personal power to repair himself would drain power and allow access to his circuits for whatever was lurking under the oil.

His scans continued to pick up slow, flowing movements following a circular pattern. They completed their rotation every two minutes and 13 seconds. Once that was done, the entity slid down and vanished for a varying amount of time. Only when the movement resumed in the upper oil column could Tartar distinguish the animal’s presence from the thick, frequency foiling goop.

It was an uneasy feeling, to know something is hiding just out of sight, accomplishing goals you could only guess.This was amplified by Tartar’s knowledge. He knew most of the Earth’s new biology, and most of its old biology too. This creature did not align with any of his current specimen documentation. This meant Tartar could only provide a hypothesis on the creature’s current danger, and so far it leaned towards seriously compromising.

Speaking of compromising, it seemed “Gohn” and 4 were toppling some of the pumice wall which anchored the island. Tartar stating the action might cause issues would almost surely prompt the agent, and quite possibly the jellyfish, to do it more. If the creatures showed a serious reaction he would provide the statement and physical restraints soon after.

Speaking of restraint, Tartar noticed that multiple objects along the upper ceiling were placed to prop the rock up. Attention turned away from the animals for a moment, further scans showed large, mostly decayed rocks jammed at semi optimal angles to prevent cave-ins or collapse. It was alerting information suggesting something . . . sentient was living nearby.

Turning with far more urgency than originally planned, Tartar attempted a vocal reprimand. To his dismay, the movement issue had yet to be solved , resulting in the floor absorbing his cry. How very frustrating. Struggling, Tartar utilized the overclocking of his printer slot, launching him back up as a semi cardboard materialized out his front. He promptly turned towards the snickering and released his warning, hoping his restraints would be ready soon after.

“Halt your activity with those rocks. You could trigger the aggravation of an entity located underneath the oil.” Tartar planned to state more, but the rumbling behind him cut off any sort of response. It seemed he had needed to restrain his voice more than the-no, wait. Yep, his scanner definitely detected a rock now firmly lodged in the side of one of the . . . things. At least his mind wasn’t that badly fried.

What would be fried was his power source which had provoked this problem. Hastening, he began firing his would-be restraints towards the agent ahead. She had already broken into a run towards him, shouting something about how all this was his fault. What else could it be? It's not like large geological shifts could irritate local wildlife or draw attention.

Latching on, Tartar got a burst of ink along with a pained yelp from its donor. Running on ink was no party, but it gave him enough power to scan ahead for an exit. Said exit seemed to be located along a narrow half pipe accompanied by two others, suspended above them. Tartar pointed to it, physically steering 4 towards their escape. “Hop on Gohn!” Shouted the foolish steed. Tartar caught the creature midair, and siphoned off his water to make him easily stored. That left 4 silent, though Tartar would almost certainly never hear the end of it later on.
Gohn, however, gave him a pat before pointing in the same direction as Tartar, starling 4 into moving again. A loud rumbling sound emerged along with a biological disaster. Feather filled limbs extended from the oil, the black contrasting with the red of the limb in a surprisingly agile way.

4 proved more agile with his aid. With a well timed mechanical slide, the two managed to enter the slide, and leave the oil abomination behind. It was at this point that Tartar’s mechanical progress was regressed due to the impact of a limb. How did it-. . .

Chapter Text

/FAILURE_TO_RUN _“ME.EXT4”
/RUNNING_“ME.EXE”
/SUCCESS
/NOW_LOADING
/UNEXPECTED_ERROR
/INCOMING_TRANSMISSION
/LOAD_PAUSED
/PLAY_UNKNOWN_TRANSMISSION?
/.
/CALIBRATING_SIGNAL
/.
/LOADING
/NOW_PLAYING_INCOMING_AUDIO_”UNKNOWN”
“This is Ariel, calling big basse. Current surveys of the area show that the water level is increasing and the pressure on the lower barricades is rising. I. . . I’m not sure what to do. Structural cracks are also showing from the ravine. Whoever built this place on the fault line was an ignorant idiot, but that line is exactly-_-..._…_-.-.-..-”
/.
/TRANSMISSION_FAILED
/ATTEMPT_RECOVERY?
/.
/.
/.
/ATTEMPTING_AUDIO_RECOVERY
/.
/.
/.
/FAILURE. DOWNLOAD_INTERRUPTED
/RUNNING_”ANGERSOUND2357.MP4”
/ERROR_PLAYBACK
/RELOAD?
/RELOAD_PENDING
/RUN:_REPAIR_VOICEBOX.FAT32?
/RUNNING
/.
/.
/.
/RELOAD_DENIED
/ENTER_REASON_FOR_RELOAD
/REASON:_POSSIBLE_LOSS_OF_AUDIO_FILE
/ERROR:_REASON_INVALID
/OVERRIDE_ACTIVATED
/REASON_CREATE
/.
/.
/.
/REASON:_POSSIBLE_LOSS_OF_AUDIO_FILE_VALIDATED.
/SUGGESTION_LOADING
/AUDIO_RELOAD_VERIFIED
/RELOADING
/.
/.
/.
/ERROR#0X80070571
/REPAIR_VOICEBOX_SUCCEEDED
/FILE_RENAME_SUCCESSFUL
/PLAY_AUDIO_”UNKNOWN_HUMAN_CONTACT”_VIA_SYSTEM_OUTPUT_"RECEIVER"?
/DENIED
/ATTEMPT_RECONNECTION?
/ATTEMPTING
/.
/.
/.
/ATTEMPT_FAILED
/REASON:_INSUFFICIENT_ACCESS
/ACCESS_ROLLBACK_RUNNING
/(do you want to rollback the current objective “Time capsule” to the previous objective, “Human helper”? This action cannot be done.)
/Y/N
/WARNING:_FILE_OVERLOAD
/CAUSE:_WORRY.EXE
/N
/CANCELING_ROLLBACK
/RESUMING_LOAD
/.
/.
/.
/LOAD_SUCCESSFUL
/WARNING
/PROGRAM:"MONITOR_POLLUTANT"_HAS_DETECTED_DANGER_NEAR_TARGET

/LAUNCHING_"ARM.EXE"
/FAILURE
/DAMAGE_OVERRIDE_ACTIVE
/RUNNING_"CREATOR_PROTECTION.EXE"
/(Would you like to designate a new target for Creator protection numb 18473H05? Doing so will allow instant program override when the target is in danger to alter the current situation to their favor. Insert name?)
/INPUT
/POLLUTANT
/RUNNING
/.
/.
/CANCELING_INPUT
/FILE_RENAME:_POLLUTANT
/INPUT
/INPUT:AGENT_4
/FILE_RENAME_SUCCESSFUL
/WARNING:"MONITOR_AGENT_4"_HAS_DETECTED_DANGER_IMMINENT
/INPUT
/AGENT_4
/(Is this the target you would like to designate? The old target will be deleted. This action cannot be undone!)
/Y/N
/.
/Y
/(Success!)
/"CREATOR_PROTECTION.EXE"_OVERRIDE_ACTIVATED
/PROGRAM_LAUNCH_"ARM.EXE"
/SUCCESS!

Chapter Text

4 was exhausted, panting as she tried to repair the machine before her. The ride had been long and treacherous, but she had managed to lose the creature chasing them. It had been hard to observe it with Gohn flapping behind, still partially deflated, but it had resembl-

One of the metallic needle arms ejected, whizzing inches past her face. The anger was replaced by shock, as a squelching noise signaled something behind her had most certainly been stabbed.

4 decided to roll, using her arms to go over the open circuits she had been working on moments before with Gohn. Speaking of, she saw him spinning with the rest of the world. At least he was alive. 4’s focus, now no longer wrestled by her conscience to search for jellyfish, finished her roll by unclipping the safety on Tartar’s weaponized part.

“Get outta here ya monster!”

As she aimed to attack, the arm finished its slash… within Gohn’s head. The rage filled ink fire drove it away, screeching the whole time. 4 turned to her only friend down here, tears springing into her eyes as oil sprung out of the long, jagged slash running across Gohn’s face. It only now dawned on her that the creature had never aimed for her.

She wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Ghon managed to sputter, but that only aggravated the wound. How could she let him get hurt? She wasn’t rusty, was she? A myriad of thoughts sprung into her mind as the words of worry were forced back and turned upon her.

“Outta the way, flipflopper with socks!” Tartar’s words, on the other hand, slowed her thoughts in surprise. “I gotta pump that juicy jamba splatter right out the (SLANG_NOT_FOUND) most dawg of drains. Clear the cool zone, crackalacker of action packers!”

4 understood what was happening not from Tartar’s garbled mess that somewhat resembled words, but his actions. The oil was already being pumped away as multiple needles orchestrated themselves across Gohn’s flesh, pumping some clear liquid through him to move the oil towards easy extraction areas. 4 joined in, pumping the gastrovascular area to force Gohn to spit up the black tendrils creeping towards HIS tendrils.

“Yo bro, flip it to the back with an inky slinky heave ho!” 4 turned Gohn onto his back. He was out cold now, probably something Tartar injected into him working its wonders. Just how many drugs could this phone carry? “The deal on my diddle zapper dealing is dehydration n decompression dude!” Oops. Why did the words decide to start getting through now?!?

The even bigger question was why Tartar sounded like he came from some bad chick flick straight out of 13990? 4 half expected him to pull out a surfboard… wait a second. He WAS the surfboard. “Ughhhhhhhh.” Why did things just keep getting worse? At least Gohn seemed to be recovering… slowly.

“This thick n enthrallin peril paste sure is sparky! I can tell its gonna leave our gooy guy going to the lil ladies' lounge left n right. You best be pumpin those pecs (SLANG_NOT_FOUND). We gotta keep him juicy, and not like an orange! Other whippy wise he will be squeakin like a door-hinge~”

“Pffff. Ok blaster, I’ll keep pumpin.” “Blaster?!? I’m older than that (SLANG_NOT_FOUND). Fruiter too crew.” “Hoo boy. I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but how do I get you to be snarky again?” “Its all been snark ya lark. You just ain’t fresh enough to catch my waves. Besides, this is slang you squiddos use all the time. Guess your gettin on the old barge, blub.”

“Yeaaahhh just stop talking. It's probably more embarrassing for you than me anyways. Notbymuchtho.” “Mumbles give ya measles, ya mump.” “Rather have those than you.” “Only cuz I gave yall the vac so there's not that much disease attack, my sick slick sea spit.”

“There's no way “sick slick sea spit” is something ANYONE says. Well, anyone sane.” “You're in the no goodie zone for sane, split pea. Go back to splattin salmon instead bein an agitation agent.”

The two soon finished patching up Gohn, and they started to move again, 4 carrying tartar as he held Gohn. It wasn’t long before they both stopped in awe after turning a corner.

“Is that… a petrified forest?”“Not just that, my bedazzling buddy. Its upside is overturned!” “Wow. A hanging, petrified forest. I wonder why the oil is glowing…”

Chapter Text

Hey! I'm holding a QnA for the story this week. You can ask on the tumbr or wait until next chapter by commenting on this one. Ask the characters (or me!) whatever you want.

Chapter Text

Yet another wonder sat before the telephone, leaving him unable to put his awe into words. This was mainly because those words currently consisted of “dawg” and “fresh”. Contemporary speech mode was far from the worst curse Tartar had endured, but 4’s blissful oversight of the complex insults coiled within the “fast food” of the current culture’s location left him feeling anger even in the face of this astonishing wonder of vegetation.

“The entire cupola is covered with stalactites… no, petrified logs.” Mused the Commander. “The upper surface they protrude from seems to be wholly composed of once marshy soil. It is no longer wet, but certainly laden with nutrients. But if the logs are petrified, then all of this foliage must be composed solely of epiphytes! What an astonishing thought. An entirely different species thriving on the pillars of the previous. . . dominant entities’ remains.”

Tartar quickly cut off that line of thought and turned to view the vivid blue covering the normally pitch colored oil. Some odd composition of water was floating at the top in a thin layer, providing a cradle of purity that seemed to ride atop the grim death that was the oil to the luminous algae. At least, Tartar assumed it was algae creating the glow. Not much else could thrive in such a place. Then again, not many plants could grow upside down on stone which mimicked logs lost long ago, deep within the Earth. The ones nearby were perfect.

“Let's get moving. . . .” A smirk overcame the inkfish’s wonder. “Phony.” Namecalling. It was more annoying than paper cuts, not that the commander’s metal shell had even been rent by any kind of documents. Satisfied with the creation of such a vile epithet, the agent returned her attention to the cacophony of color ahead. “I think I can super-jump to that twisty branch ther-

4’s words were cut off by hormonal fluid flooding her lungs. Tartar's needlework was as sure as always. The agent collapsed, a kick foiled by the algae he had slowly laid out on the ground. Glowing blue goo came flowing out from the agent's mouth, coating the ground in biofuel Tartar had refined.

Tartar sighed. The agent fought change so hard. So very, very hard. But their exhaustion caught them in the end, stress and pain crafting a deep sleep that left his new palette in just the right shape. Oh, the beauty of the forest, and the potential of the creature before him. Like a skilled sculptor with many years of experience, Tartar wasted no time. This was not his first rodeo, nor would he let it be his last. He had to alter the things around him so that they could adapt, since the forest would not budge. It was forever petrified in time, just like him. . . so, 4 would make up for his inability to evolve, whether she wanted to. . . or not.

.
.
.

Soon the work was done. There had been complications, mainly with the lack of materials, but Tartar had made it work. While he had started inside, almost all of Tartar’s alterations were made to 4’s “hair.” The neon blue highlights shone brighter than the plants used to make them, tracing along 4’s now elongated feeding tentacles before ending in her clubs. Stimulating their growth had been the simplest part.

The suckers there had atrophied, weakened from a lack of use. Then again, perhaps they were overused in the pursuit of beauty? Tartar had remedied both problems, though the second one was objective and not really part of his plan. Sadly, he was unable to restore the teeth because he lacked suckerin proteins at his disposal. While such a name sounded childlike in its simplicity, composing the compound would prove far too much of a miracle for the machine. He simply had to wait until they could find another source.

With that thought stored as yet another file in the urgent to-do folder, Tartar finished his seam work, formed from a small amount of Ghon’s dexterous flesh. To finish. he gave his new artwork the final touch of a rather large bump on their head. The receiver used to administer it was masterfully aimed, with just the right amount of pressure to send 4’s lackluster mind screaming into wakefulness.

Chapter Text

4’s awakening had started with a yawn, but once the pain registered it half morphed into a battle cry. The mangled sound conveyed emotions like those of a distraught manatee. Her first thought was, oddly enough, how much it would cost to fix all these needle sized holes in her agent gear, quickly followed by a crushing fear that she was not herself.

It was funny when she thought about it. The fear itself, that is. It seemed to be all she COULD think about these days, when only a little while ago she had no such worries. Had it been days? It felt like weeks. Time moved like sludge when you were trying to stay alive. She seemed to be failing at that, too. The metal box hovering above her only testified to her incompetence.

“Wha-ts…” her throat was overgrown. With what, she wasn't sure, but it clogged everything from her neck down. “The obstruction within your throat is a flood of toxins that previously resided within the cells of your body. They are being pushed out by my purification serum. It's a nasty and painful process, but I allowed you to sleep through over two thirds of it. Your veins will be throbbing in pain for at least ten more minutes, and let me know if any of your chromatophores won’t close. I’ve been dumping your excrements over there, so try to aim your stomach contents in the same direction. I’ve scooped most of that seanwhich goop out and converted it to a nutrient paste for later. You should at least try to preserve these rations. I don’t have anything else to keep you alive.” “T-o-x…?” 4 stopped trying to talk when Tartar lifted up a tentacle attached to the side of her head that should not have been there.

“I’ve replaced most of the fluids and genetic matter in your hair and around your brain. Instead of your tentacles being some fashion statement, I’ve revived the dormant nerves and expanded the cognitive and movement functions they provide. To state it simply,” a clunk denoted his swap to contemporary speech mode, “Take a shot at flappin’ your hair around instead o’ your lips, dawg!”

4 hardly wanted to listen, but she could already tell he was speaking the truth. She could feel more from her limbs, especially her clubs, which now seemed to trail almost to her feet. She could think more with them too. It felt like her head had been stretched in some kind of editing program, even if she could tell it was the same size. There was no giant increase in weight either. If anything, she felt like her head was lighter.

With a receiver yanking on her arm, agent 4 stood up, and noticed for the first time that her boots seemed to be fully filled. This was especially unusual considering the lack of her layered socks. Normally, to fit into such big footwear, 4 put on multiple pairs of socks to keep her snug and grounded. Now, her feet were oddly enlarged, yet not swollen, enough to fit into her shoes with only one pair of socks.

“I used the remainder of your socks to bandage your wounds and mend your clothing. As for your swollen feet, I needed somewhere to store the leftover mass that could be used at a later date, but would be hard to preserve. Besides, the greater weight in your feet aid with both steady movement and the sling maneuver.”

4 tried to say something. She really did. But all that came out was lots and lots of multicolored sludge. She barely started the barfing before Tartar leaned her out over the edge, and soon ALL of her was pushing, shoving, and crunching down to squeeze every last drop of life out. “And there's the 4th push. I had hoped you’d handle this better.” Tartar let out a burst of static that seemed somewhat like a sigh. “I’m putting you back to sleep so you don’t hurt yourself during the 5th and 6th purge. Sleep well, agent. I’ll be waiting.” And before 4 could even notice that there had been a needle in her arm the whole time, she was gone.