Chapter Text

Chapter 1 — Saved on the Surface

[Image Description: Acht floating in the Order Sector along with MAR1N-8. Acht is wearing light blue scrubs, cream-colored shoes that appear like crocs, and a cream-colored lab coat. Their tentacles are also a darker cream color with pink tips, while their skin is green with a punk tint at the claws. They are wearing reflective glasses that shine in an orange to blue gradient. They are wearing their usual hat with the squiggle on it. In their hands is a modified Squiffer that is less detailed, cream-colored and has its ink stored in an IV bag. MAR1N-8 is a drone similar in appearance to the Pearl drone, except light teal-colored, wearing headphones, and with slightly different coloration on the tips of its “tentacles.” Its screen projects eyes that have an outline of stars and inside contain a shape akin to a filled-in infinity symbol. Behind them is a rough sketch of the Order Sector, with an orange sky and a vague skyline. Art by me.]

It has been so long since Acht’s body stopped being their own. How long exactly? Time seems fathomless; simultaneously both weeks and years seem accurate. But no, it can’t have been mere weeks. So many songs have been created into the silence, still blaring into their ears via those accursed headphones, that it must have been a good while.

How many songs exactly? It’s impossible to tell; the digits of the track numbers blur into one another, into entirely illegible characters, and by the time it feels like Acht’s mind has come close to deciphering one of them, their body is already beginning work on the next one.

It must have been years. Years with no outside contact, their mind forced to endure the constant noise of their body’s ever continuing work. They’ve long thought that not being quite fully sanitized is much worse than if the job had been completed. At least if their mind was fully gone too, they wouldn’t be around for this agony.

But alas, they’re stuck in this room. Stuck within their mind while their body goes through the motions, siphoning their thoughts for any leftover emotions to package into music.

Their songs have long been nothing but droning noise, scratching at Acht’s mind with their dissonance. They long wished they could give in to it, yet to no avail.

Acht opens their eyes (when did they close?) and for a moment perceives nothing but an endless expanse of orange, not too saturated and easy on their eyes. It takes longer than they’d like to admit before they realize that their body is lying on its back, with their face looking up, presently very much not engaged in the act of making music.

It’s a start.

For just a moment, their mind races with the realization that they’re looking up at the sky. Orange… the surface sky is said to be orange during mornings and evenings, is it not? With tentative motions, they try tapping their fingers, and they indeed feel the movements and gentle collisions. Whatever happened to them, it seems to have returned control of their body.

For now, at least. The last thing they want to do is count their smallfry before they’ve hatched.

Back to the whole body thing. The next step is going to be sitting up, maybe getting a grasp on the surroundings. With calculated movements, Acht moves their hands flat onto the ground, then pushes, slowly feeling their upper body rise and their viewpoint rotate.

Acht isn’t sure what they expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. The entire skyline is just… white. White buildings everywhere. Even the floor is nothing but white. Surely this isn’t what the surface actually looks like, right? This is just… too bizarre.

Their eyes gaze down at their fingers, and Acht lets out an involuntary shriek upon seeing them. Through the… years, or octades maybe, who even knows anymore, that they have been working on music, the one familiar sight in frame have been their fingers. Green and with red tips.

Now, however… Well, they’re still green with red tips, but they seem to exude less of that sickly color than before. The red in particular looks almost pink-ish. While Acht’s very much not sure of what to make of this, they suppose it’s better than before, at least.

“Hello! You appear to be lost. May I perhaps assist you?”

Acht lets out yet another shriek at the unexpected voice, and for the briefest of moments their tentacles go limp with fear and they feel venom building up in their beak—if it’s even venom anymore, and not sanitized goo or something. The voice has the appearance of cheerfulness, but there’s an artificial taint to it. It wasn’t produced by a living organism, that’s for sure.

Upon turning around to look at the intruder, Acht half expects to see that telephone staring back at them. But no, this… thing looks almost entirely different. Hovering before them is a pastel green construct shaped like a slightly flattened sphere, with LEDs lighting up a black screen in an approximation of eyes with distinctly octoesque pupils. It’s hovering in place using propellers on its bottom, and has two limb-like extremities extruding from its core, almost shaped like short tentacles.

Acht stays silent. Even if this one’s appearance is nothing like that telephone, they’re not gonna go trusting a robot just like that.

The drone tilts slightly to the side while its screen displays a facsimile of a worried expression. “Hmm. You appear to have trouble speaking?” Its voice has a more convincing inflection to it than the constant pitch the telephone had, yet it’s still undoubtedly artificial. With a shudder, Acht asks themself when they last heard a real voice. A depressing thought.

“Well, in that case…” The screen goes blank for just a moment before returning. “How about this?” A floating keyboard appears right before where Acht is sitting, and it makes them flinch back.

“By the darkness,” they mutter under their breath, more out of instinct than anything. While they didn’t think it was audible, the floating machine seems to pick up on it nonetheless.

“Ah! So you can speak? You are probably quite confused, but please do not worry.” The eyes mimic a happy expression—at least it’s more effort than that telephone ever put in.

Even so, Acht can’t help but roll their eyes. “Yeah, yeah, sure. What, are you gonna tell me how to escape from… from…” Their eyes drift over the featureless expanse with really just one landmark in sight: a tower that seems to be scraping the ceiling of this location. “From wherever we are right now? It’s gonna involve doing some tasks for you, and then I’ll be ready to waltz out of here?”

The drone falls silent for a few seconds. When it speaks up again, its tone is replicating shock. “Wow. You… you do not happen to have been here before, right? No, that is impossible…” The machine briefly rotates back and forth along the vertical axis before continuing. “In any case! I should introduce myself. My designation is MAR1N-8, and I am the caretaker of this program.”

Acht is thoroughly unimpressed by this facade and winds up barely hiding a scoff. “Alright, whatever. So where do I go to work on ‘getting out of here?’ Any conveniently stashed-away treasures that I need to collect?”

While they’re still talking, they begin steadily heading towards the one noticeable landmark. Best to just get into whatever this is and try to find a real exit along the way. They’re not gonna get conned again, that’s for sure.

They come to a halt as the drone practically flies right into their face. “Wait! Are you not interested in hearing about your mission?”

Acht rolling their eyes is thankfully hidden from view by the visor they’re wearing. “Sure, I guess. You can get me informed while we walk.”

Truthfully, they’d appreciate some silence after everything, but they also very much do not want to antagonize the ruler of this realm. So far this AI seems to be acting nice enough, and all things considered Acht prefers that over most other possibilities.

That seems to make the drone light up. Or, well, no, it acts like it’s lighting up. Important distinction. Even calling it acting is probably giving it too much credit.

After looping around in the air, it comes to a stop and hovers next to Acht. “So, this program was initially envisioned as a sort of perfect world by my creator. She finished the blueprints, but when it came to uploading her own memories to populate it… something went horribly wrong. My perspective makes it all a bit unclear, but based on the last data points before the critical failure I believe that her entire existence wound up scattered in here. With that, my directive as caretaker of this world means that I have to restore it.”

Acht nods along. They initially planned to zone out for this, but unfortunately there’s nothing else here to pay attention to, so undivided listening is all they can do. And, well, it’s somewhat pleasant in its own way. At least this artificial voice is less grating on the ears than the last one. Maybe the next voice they hear will be real for once.

The drone continues, appearing rather content with the situation. “And this is where you come in! Only people with a connection to my creator can unlock the memories, but unfortunately the program seems to have been pulling in a lot of fans and similarly disconnected subjects before you.” A synthesized sigh sounds through the void. “You are the first one who at least looks remotely like Marina, even if your skin is… different.”

“Marina? Like, Marina Ida? From the Wasabi Supply Unit?” There’s no way. She’s alive?

The drone zooms in circles around Acht in response, then comes to rest right in front of their face. “I do not know what this means, but it does sound like you knew her! Even your headphones seem sort of familiar!”

Out of pure instinct, Acht’s hands lock right onto their headphones, grasping them with their claws out. They didn’t realize it before, but now that it’s brought to their attention, it feels like all they can think about. The way the foam is pressing against their ears, the slightly muffled quality of the sound around them… It even feels like those abyssal noises are sounding through them once more.

But at least they’re finally in a spot to do something about it. Without giving it further thought, they rip the headphones off their hat and then (a little more gently) place them on the drone.

Its screen indicates confusion, but Acht tries their best to brush it off. “I-it’s… I thought maybe it’d help you remember Marina, I guess. Yeah.” A hastily conjured lie, yet one that lets Acht keep their guard up against this puzzle box of an AI.

“I-in any case,” they mutter almost more to themself than to the drone, “let’s just get back to business.” Any distraction would be worthwhile now, anything to keep their brain from thinking about their situation in too much detail.

They might be doomed, but they can at least enjoy the ride while it lasts. There’s worse companions than this overeager orb. Or, well, orb pretending to be overeager. Something like that.

“So… what’s the deal with this outfit?” Acht asks as they’re finally getting a good look at themself. The lobby of the tower is lined with arrays of lockers, though according to the drone Acht can only access the locker assigned to them. What’s the point of having so many then?

Their mind flashes back to when the drone was explaining the history of this place. Acht can’t quite remember every detail, but… this world was meant to house more people at one point, wasn’t it? Whether they were AI recreations or the real deal, somehow. For just a moment, Acht can imagine this bleak lobby filled with people, Octolings and Inklings of all sorts of colors mingling among each other, and one of their hearts skips a beat out of sympathy with Marina. They never got all that close back in the domes, but Acht wonders if this whole project of Marina’s was more of a lifelong desire or a new idea, formed after she escaped. As for Acht themself, they certainly can’t imagine wanting to preserve any of their memories.

So clearly she got lucky, and you didn’t, they think to themself.

Whatever. Acht refocuses their attention on their outfit. All things considered, it’s not too dissimilar to what they wore when they got sanitized (and as such what they had been forced to wear ever since). The hat seems about the same, if a bit more muted, and from what Acht can tell from the drone, the headphones match too. Instead of their all-red shades, their eyes are hidden by something more like a visor, being see-through from the inside but reflecting in a sort of blue-to-orange pattern from the outside.

But most of all, instead of the familiar curves and weight of the black dress that has clung to their body for these past however long it’s been, now they’re wearing light blue scrubs and a cream-colored labcoat that’s sagging over their left shoulder. On their feet are a pair of… crocs? Maybe? But they also have some fabric on them, so who’s to say.

Not exactly Acht’s style, but any diversion from their old outfit feels welcome after all that’s happened.

Still, a bit of curiosity is persistently nagging at them. “So why this outfit, of all things?” they ask without quite turning their full attention to the drone.

The drone makes a noise almost like chirping before once again infringing on Acht’s personal space and getting just a bit too close to their face. “You see, your consciousness is embedded into a shell that the simulation created to bring the colors of your personality just a bit more in line with the rest of this world! Even if this body gets splatted, your consciousness will safely return as long as the anchor is in order!”

Just as Acht’s about to ask for clarification, the drone swoops around them, coming to an idle state near their right arm. “The anchor is safely wrapped around your left arm! If it ever gets damaged, we urge you to contact the administrator and remove yourself from any danger as quickly as possible. Respawning without an anchor is not guaranteed.” A brief pause, then the drone seems back to its usual self. “Anyway! Just try and keep the anchor safe from rupturing or the like.”

Acht can feel their face scrunch up at the lengthy, far more sterile than usual explanation. Really, it almost makes them appreciate the drone’s usual mannerisms.

Well, maybe a bit more than almost. It’s all fake, but if Acht just closes their eyes for a bit, they can almost imagine what it’d be like to truly stand up on the surface, in a building just like this one, surrounded by others and just one person among hundreds.

It’s nice.

Anyway.

Acht peels their eyes away from their reflection and starts pacing towards the expanse of lockers. “So, which one’s mine, then?” they ask, though their mind has not yet fully come back down to reality. Simulated reality.

A noise similar to a chuckle sounds from the drone. “Oh, this is an easy answer! Whichever one you open will always have been yours, as far as the program is concerned.”

Well then. Acht opens the first locker that their fingers brush against and takes a look at the contents. The singular content, actually. It’s reminiscent of a Squiffer—a weapon that Acht has used once or twice in the metro—though colored cream just like their lab coat. Instead of the multiple threads of plastic that make up the design, this one has a far more solid design to it, feeling more like an elongated chunk of plastic with a tube stuck through it. The ammunition for said tube comes from the back of the weapon, where ink seems to be stored in something resembling an IV bag, looking crumpled like one might expect yet being completely solid. It certainly fits with whatever hospital aesthetic this program has seemingly assigned them, and there’s worse weapons to be using.

As Acht picks up the Squiffer, they’re surprised at just how light it feels in their hands. While the feeling of actually holding one of these is nothing more than a speck in their memory, they certainly would have expected this solid design to feel heavier.

But then again, maybe expecting realism from an artificial world is where they’ve gone wrong.

No matter the details, feeling the distinct shapes of this Squiffer in their hands makes Acht feel real in a way that they haven’t in quite a while. Feeling something on their fingers that isn’t related to making music to order is an immensely grounding feeling, even ignoring the fact that none of this is truly real and is instead nothing more than a distraction.

Acht’s brain needs more distracting, clearly. “So, what do I do with this?” they ask the drone so they can keep their thoughts floating along.

“Let me explain! Just step into that elevator here and I can get you acquainted with how you can recover memory chips.”

As Acht learned during the quite short elevator trip and a few minutes of standing there afterwards, Marina’s memories are apparently scattered all throughout this tower now. Each unwilling visitor to this world can only access the memories that they’re linked to, so in the case of a fan of Marina’s band wandering in here, it only led to the reveal of a few surface-level ones of her concerts. Which… well, Acht knew Marina was skilled, but entire concerts up on the surface? It almost sounds like a bad joke.

Acht has more involved memories with her—they’re well aware of that—yet they’re also not exactly looking forward to unearthing that whole thing again.

Anyway. They focus their gaze ahead of them, looking out at the rocky structures in front of them, being kept floating in mid-air by good old octo tech. Except in the case of this simulation, it’s probably easier to have them floating in place instead of simulating gravity, actually. It certainly makes Acht feel a bit at home, in all the complicated ways that entails, though the stark white colors make it clear that this is still all part of the simulation.

Trying to make out the extent of this floating obstacle course, Acht squints their eyes and looks ahead, trying to gauge anything behind the arrangement of rocks. “So… this memory chip is in there somewhere?”

“Indeed! You can think of this as the memory leaking out into the surrounding simulation. If you keep going in, you should be able to locate the memory chip before long.”

Acht takes a ready stance with their Squiffer and attempts to formulate a route. It certainly had the appearance of one of the standard obstacle courses, except the pieces are rearranged in a seemingly nonsensical pattern, making the traversal between platforms almost more important than whatever is going on on the platforms themselves.

After charging up a shot aimed at the vertical edge of the closest platform, Acht releases it and sees the ink trail a path upwards. It’s got the same cream color that their own tentacles have now, with specks of red glittering throughout it. With once-practiced movements, Acht shifts to ascend to the top of this platform, then scouts out more before inking the way forward.

It’s all pretty odd, but it certainly is a welcome distraction.

Unfortunately (or technically fortunately), it doesn’t take all that long for Acht to cross the assortment of platforms and reach the end. One last platform, and right on it, floating in place while rotating, is what must be a memory chip. Square-shaped and small enough to easily fit into the palm of their hand, a slightly translucent yellow part along with solid plastic below it, and thin lines streaking patterns through its inside. Before they could even think of grabbing it, they quickly find themself mesmerized with the near-imperceptible motions of these strings.

Without averting their eyes for even one moment, they reach out a hand, ready to grab it, but as soon as they can feel the material against their claws, their world goes blank.