Chapter Text
Things were quiet back at the safe room.
While they had managed to set up contact with the Octarian military, they were met with extreme scrutiny. The news of their truce clearly hadn't reached them yet, due to the DJ being stranded shortly after it was declared, so they were on very thin ice. Currently, they were on hold while the trooper moves their plea up the lines. Hopefully, this "Commander Kai" will be willing to have an audience with them despite the impossibility of the situation…
They wait an agonizing ten minutes, until…
"Squidbeak Splatoon. Come in. Do you copy?"
Eight scrambles for the receiver. "Yes. We copy."
"This is Wasabi 03 - Cassidy, speaking. All correspondences for the Commander will be gone through me until further notice. Additionally, all communications will be monitored. Proceed with your inquiry."
Interestingly, they were speaking Inklish.
"Alright, so– This is going to be a bit long, so bear with me," Eight starts, "One month ago, there was an incident in the Splatlands involving the theft of their Great Zapfish, which our former captain tracked to a crater in the Splatlandian desert. Upon recruiting a new Agent, the two of them discovered Octarian soldiers to be patrolling the kettles down there, along with a strange substance they dubbed "Fuzzy Ooze". While he did note that the soldiers were also strangely fuzzy, he assumed the theft was the work of DJ Octavio, which was quickly proven incorrect by the man himself."
"After their fight, all three of them fell into a dome beneath the crater dubbed "Alterna", and got separated. Agent Three proceeded to explore the dome in search of Cap'n Cuttlefish while clearing out the ooze under the guidance of Agents One, Two, and the Captain of the Splatoon. During the climax of these events, they discovered the source of the ooze and zapfish theft to be Mr. Grizz of Grizzco, a literal bear. His plan was to load up all of the fuzzy ooze he created into a rocket, to then spread it across the planet, mutating all of marinekind into mammals to bring them back from extinction. This is what happened to those troops from before. They managed to stop his plan with help from the DJ, and then went their separate ways."
"However, two weeks later we discovered Agent Three to be missing, and went searching for her. Our search turned up fruitless, but two days ago we received a transmission from DJ Octavio. I am unsure if I can send you the recording at this time, but the short of it is that he knew where Agent Three was. They were both in the depths of Alterna, and they were stuck and injured. We then embarked on a rescue mission."
"During our descent, we came across more infected troops, but things were worse. In the beginning, the ooze merely covers them in fur, but in the final stages, it completely warps the body into an animal form, rendering the person nearly unrecognizable. They cannot speak or think clearly, and they tried to attack us as we were progressing. Ink does not seem to hurt them, but it can be used as a deterrent to get them to back off. When we finally managed to get to the signal of the transmission, we found our agent, but no DJ."
"She was infected as well, but in the earliest stage. The two of them had set up shop in a room with a working computer, and the DJ had prepared a video for us to explain what was going on. He had apparently come down here shortly after the defeat of Grizz to try and find a way to bring the troops home, but he got infected. He discovered that power eggs injected into the inkstream could mitigate the effects and slow the infection, but it could not cure it completely. He could not use this knowledge on himself, however, due to what we assume to be a phobia of needles. He surmised that golden eggs could be the key to a cure, but he couldn't find any and his time was quickly running out. He attempted to contact Octaria, but did not have nearly enough signal strength. This is when he decided to contact us, as we were stationed much closer."
"I know it is difficult to believe, but we have multiple pieces of video evidence, which we will send you the entirety of as soon as we are able. Currently, Agents One, Three, Four, and the Captain are establishing a safe route in and out of the building, while myself and Agent Two are looking over the research and requesting your help. We need much more manpower, supplies, and technical knowledge in order to find, contain, and cure everyone who's been infected. Can we count on your assistance?"
"…This is a rather tall tale, Squidbeak. How do we know you're not lying?"
"I could try to relay the audio of the DJ's distress signal by holding the radio up to the speakers, but I'm not sure how well that will work. We have very few resources down here and I fear that if I mess with this communicator he cobbled together, I'm going to break something and we'll loose connection."
"You do understand that I need more proof in order to ensure the validity of your clai–"
"MARIE! MARIE COME IN WE FOUND HIM!"
Said inkling jumps nearly a foot into the air, scrambling for her radio.
"Callie what the shell! There's no need to scream into the receiver like that," Marie grumbles, ears flicking from the harsh noise.
In the background, from the other radio, comes the small sound of "…Callie?"
"But there is, there is!" the idol pants, sounding frantic, "The DJ he– We were at the elevators and–"
"Callie. Slow down. What. Happened."
Callie audibly sniffles, like she was on the verge of tears, "We– We got to the elevators no problem, but when we were trying to clear the rubble from the staircase, Mr. Grizz came out of the shadows and attacked us–"
"He survived the crash?"
"Apparently? He seemed really injured though. Like, no talking, just attacking kinda injured. Our ink only annoyed him, and he was trying to kill us when the DJ came out of nowhere and started mauling him. It gave us enough time to regroup, but Grizz won the fight and it sounded like he injured the DJ pretty badly. The two of them were inside the compromised elevator when it finally broke and plummeted to the bottom of the building, and now we don't know if they're alive or dead. There was nothing we could do, it all happened so fast…"
The room was awfully quiet.
"…Marie?"
"…Get that audio prepared and stay on the line," comes from Eight's radio, "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you," he sighs, the smallest hint of relief in his voice.
Marie steps outside to comfort her cousin, leaving Eight to droop with worry. They needed that backup, and they needed it now.
Things progress in rapid succession once Cass gets through to his boss.
First, a recon squad arrives within a few hours to make copies of those recordings and sends them back to Kai and her scientists. Second, a supplies drop and many willing hands are provided to shore up that stairwell and elevator shaft for the heavy use they're going to need to endure, plus any other repairs that are deemed necessary later on. Third, more soldiers are provided to keep the routes and personnel safe. And fourth, those scientists finally arrive with the Commander herself leading them, setting up shop in adjacent rooms for their cure research to get underway.
Their territory stretched down the entire hallway, soon to be the whole quarter wing once Four and the Captain come back with their scouting party. A few rooms were being cleared of rubble and disinfected so they could act as holding cells for any infected octolings they take into custody; an unfortunate necessity due to how aggressive the ooze makes them. Eight was helping direct troops with Kai, and Three was under observation to see just how much the power egg injections have been slowing her infection thus far. They still needed to locate a source of golden eggs for them to experiment with, but that was being put on hold until the most important task was completed.
Finding the missing Shogun.
Pebbles clatter ominously down cracked stairs, accompanied by clouds of dust kicked up by the steady tromp of steel toed boots. The bright beam of headlamps illuminate their descent down to that fateful bottom floor, with the two idols leading the charge. The closer and closer their destination gets, the stronger and stronger the reek of blood becomes.
It was not a reassuring scent.
As soon as they step out into the basement, they're hit with a wall of abject devastation. It was almost as if an explosion had gone off. Gnarled bits of metal and crumbled concrete lay scattered about in a wide sweep, with massive cracks running through what was left of the walls and into the ceiling. All of it emanating from the point of impact. Cautiously stepping around the rubble, they encroach upon the compromised elevator shaft, weapons drawn.
It was… difficult to tell what was inside of it. The thing lay crumpled like an abandoned accordion, doors jammed and slanted from just how hard it hit the ground. There was still a gap you could pass through to get inside it, but you would have to crawl…
Slowly, Marie kneels down, trying to peer further inside. Tufts of brown fur and scraps of fabric lay caught in multiple places, sticky with dried blood. Even more of it coated the floor, a sickly oil-like sheen on the pool of red. To the left was a large, fluffy shape, impaled in multiple places, including the head. It's jaw was slack, eyes glassy as it stared back at her.
Callie leans over, unable to get a good look, "Marie? What's in there?"
The green idol stands up, dusting off her gloves with an uncomfortable look on her face, "…Grizz. Deader than a doornail."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"And no DJ?" Callie presses.
"No DJ."
One of the soldiers then speaks up from further down the hall, voice slightly echoing, " Ma'am's. We've got paw prints leaving the area."
"…A trail?" Callie perks up.
"Yes Ma'am," they nod, "Blood splatters coming from the left side, with an odd lilted gait in the prints. Most likely limping."
"If he's injured, he'll be hostile," Marie warns, adjusting the strap of her tranq launcher "Stay on your guard."
"You could stand to have a little bit of faith in him, Marie," Callie grumbles, giving her the stink eye.
"I'll have faith when he proves he's not a threat," said cousin shoots back.
Onward they would go, following that scant, glistening trail further into the darkness. It drips and splatters, shining pearls of neon green staining the already grime covered floors. At one point, they come across a much larger smear of blood, like his strength had failed and he had to scrabble back to his feet… But eventually, they come upon the end. It turns into an empty room just as dark and desecrated as the rest of this cod forsaken place. The beams of their lights swirl around, searching… and there he was.
He'd hidden himself under a table in the far corner, laid out on an old, moth bitten rug. Despite the fur coating his body, it still couldn't cover up the multitude of scars marring his form. A few of them were torn open, most notably the large cross shaped one on his left forearm, still bleeding profusely despite the time that had elapsed since the fall. There were even more on his shoulders and flank, jagged scrapes from clawing his way out of that crash, with fur ripped out in large patches. He stirs when the light hits his face, tired eyes slowly cracking open with a confused flick of the ear.
Marie holds out an arm to prevent anyone from getting any closer. "Tranqs at the ready–"
"Marie, wait."
Callie shoves past her, kneeling down with open palms, "Hey… It's okay, we won't hurt you."
"Callie, what are you doing–"
"Everything's gonna be alright… I know you're scared, but it's okay. You can trust us."
The DJ shifts, raising his head and pushing up on his forepaws. He stares her down with a warning rumble, eyes narrowed.
She doesn't flinch, keeping her tone soft and calming, "You remember me, right? It's Callie. Your faaaaaavourite pink pest."
His tail twitches as he leans forwards, cautiously sniffing her hand.
"Callie get away from him."
"We're gonna get you outta here and patch you right up. You've just gotta hold on, okay? We're here to help."
He steps closer with a slight, pained rumble, almost touching…
"CALLIE!"
…And he's met with a tranq dart to the shoulder for the effort.
He rears back with a yelp as Callie is swiftly dragged away from him, back behind a line of raised weapons. She barely has any time to process what happened before another barrage launches at him, further punishing the already injured and terrified man. His warning growls turn into whimpers of fear as the sedatives quickly take effect, causing him to sway, stumble, and fall, all in a matter of seconds. All Callie could do was stare in horror as his consciousness fades.
"Marie, what the fuck!" she barks, whipping her head up to glare at her cousin.
"He was going to attack you!"
"No he wasn't! He was completely calm up until you shot him!"
"He's a wild animal right now, Callie! Your blasé naiveté is going to get you killed!" Marie insists stubbornly.
"At least I have some fucking compassion, unlike you," Callie growls.
Marie glowers at her, expression cold and angry, "I prioritize protecting my family."
"Acting like a control freak over every little thing I do is not protecting," Callie snaps, finally ripping herself out of her cousin's grasp, "I'm a cod damn adult and I can make my own decisions. You want to be in charge and boss everyone around because you believe everything you do is correct 100% of the time? Go ahead. Be my guest. Just leave me out of it and go tell the Commander how you "peacefully" subdued her boss. I'm sure she'll just be thrilled."
Marie's ears flatten, and she opens her mouth for yet another retort… but nothing comes out. She just whirls around and stomps out into the hall, slamming the door behind her. The troops flinch at her quiet anger, but Callie doesn't react in the slightest. She just sits there as he cousin's footsteps fade away, sighing.
"…Can we get that stretcher assembled, please?"
Quietly, the troops nod and set about to do just that, using the task to try and ignore the tension in the room. Callie, meanwhile, carefully approaches the unconscious lion, gently kneeling down at his side. Even while resting, he looked pained.
"…I'm so sorry," she whispers, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. A hand coasts through his mane, shaggy fur all gunked and matted, "…Please. Forgive us."
Everything hurt.
His paws, his teeth, his tail.
Octavio's head felt fuzzy, limbs lying heavy and sluggish. Unresponsive.
Slowly, very slowly, he opens his eyes to a stark white-grey room, the brightness hurting his head even more. He winces and growls, a low rumble in his chest that only serves to bring attention to the pain within. Fear drives him to move, pushing up on his aching paws despite the agony, and he pads forwards, the soft blanket beneath his feet making way for cold tile.
A sniff of the air revealed no new smells, simply an absence, cold and clinical. It scared him, but his brain couldn't recall why. Couldn't make the connections it once could. He circles the room, searching for something, anything, but there was nothing. Just the blanket. Just him. Just the odd object around his neck and the strange bindings on his forearm, itchy and uncomfortable. He bats at the neck thing, rubs it against the walls and corner, but no matter what he does, the thing won't come off. With a pained huff, he lies back down on that small blanket, curling up what he can with a small, scared yet saddened whimper.
What was happening…?
Two octolings stand in an observation room, peering through the one way glass.
"…His status?"
"Stable, though he doesn't like the cone."
"Unsurprising. I wouldn't either."
Some papers rustle, the only other sound aside from a ventilation fan.
"We've been able to stop the bleeding, but he's sustained some broken ribs and other minor fractures. Unfortunately, we can't really do much about them aside from slipping painkillers into his food. Progress on a cure is commencing, but we still need more time and that source of golden eggs. Even once it's complete, though, I hesitate to administer it immediately due to his injuries. It would be safer to wait until he's healed more before trying. The risk of a bad reaction or even death is far too high otherwise."
"I see…" Kai hums, taking it all in. "You are dismissed, Doctor."
The woman bows and leaves the room, door shutting with a solid *click* behind her.
The Commander is quiet for a long moment, staring at her superior through the glass. He hadn't moved a muscle since their arrival, still sleeping off the sedatives from his checkup.
"…We'll get you back to normal, sir. Swear on my life."
The DJ does not hear her.
The next few days are hard on everyone.
The DJ didn't tolerate anyone coming near him, and for good reason. He stayed near the edges of the room, camped out in the corner with his eyes on the door at all times. There wasn't anything else he could do, not in that barren room they locked him in. His sentinel made re-dressing his wounds difficult. Sleeping pills slipped into his food didn't work, as he wouldn't eat, and neither did lacing his water, as he hardly drank. The only way they could knock him out so they could tend to him without injury was with tranquilizer darts. His yelps and whines of fear tugged at the heartstrings of everyone tasked to subdue him, and especially so the lone watcher behind the one way glass.
Callie stews in discomfort as the nurses strap him down to a stretcher and wheel him out of the room. She felt awful, both with how they were treating him and with her complicity in the whole situation. She didn't know what else to do, though. It's not like she could smuggle him out of there. Her mind writhes, trying to think of something, anything, she could do for him…
Her eyes land on the lone item in that cell, a sad grey blanket.
…Well, if she can't smuggle him out, maybe she could smuggle something in.
The creak of a door sounds out, and then a voice, confused and a tad bit concerned, "Yo, Pinkie. You're still in here?"
The idol turns, and standing there in the doorway was Cassidy, 03 of the Wasabi Unit, and a dear, yet long parted friend.
She leans her head back over her chair, "Want to commit some light treason with me."
"…Girl, I've got a body cam."
"It's just shopping," Callie huffs, waving it off, "On my card even."
"Then how is it treason."
"Cuz Kai can't find out until it's done. We're gonna need a bunch more hands and a good distraction to get it all set up though," she clarifies, that scheming glint in her eye, "I can't in good conscience let the DJ languish in a room like that."
Cass looks through the window. "…Let me get the others and I'll see what we can do. No glitter, though."
"Fine."
"Everything's ready?"
"Yeah. Troops are in position. Just waiting on your cue for go time."
"Alright. They're getting him strapped down now, should only be a few more minutes…"
Callie watches from that observation room as the nurses once again wheel the DJ away for another checkup. He hadn't really been getting any better, since he wasn't eating, so they've had to extend his medical sessions by quite a bit so they could give him fluids and nutrients. Not great for the DJ's mental state, but it did mean they had more time to get things ready.
The nurses exit the room, go down the hall… and once they've turned the corner she flicks her comm back on.
"Now."
A door opens, and more troops come out, though these ones were on her side. They roll with them carts and dollies stacked with boxes, quickly ferrying them into the vacated cell. Callie joins them a moment later, and together they start unpacking and assembling their ill-gotten, (yet legally purchased), goods.
A sturdy mattress gets shoved into the DJ's corner, topped with a fluffy blanket and a plethora of pillows to make it that much more comfortable. Tethered above it goes a triangle shaped canopy, blocking out the harsh lights and creating a bit of a cave like feeling to the spot. Next comes a large rubber mat on which a shallow pool is set up with fresh, untampered water. A few troops pull out the ladders to switch the bulbs from that clinical white to a more natural orange, while others start drilling holes into certain parts of the floor for their biggest hurdle: a tall and tiered metal structure that they'll be wrapping wooden planks and bark slats around to act as a climb. Some carpets go down, mixing up the texture of the floor, and various other decor and enrichment are scattered about, turning the once barren room into a lush and cozy space. Well, as lush as you can get miles below the surface.
With their time coming to a close, the packaging is squirreled away and everyone vacates the premises. All except for Callie, that is. She adds one more thing, dumping it out on a clear patch of floor right beside the climb. Toys of various shapes and sizes flop into a heap. Some were stuffed, some were squeaky, some had interesting textures, and some made sounds. Job done, Callie retreats back to the observation room, and waits.
She didn't have to wait very long.
Not even ten minutes later, the door opens and the medics come in. They pause upon seeing the state of the room, no doubt wildly confused, but they press on and finish up their jobs by carefully depositing the DJ onto his new bedding. The door shuts and locks once more, and then it was just the two of them.
The clock strikes three. And then three thirty. And then four. All the while the lion sleeps. Callie almost dozes off herself, but at about a quarter to five she catches a brief glimpse of movement, which sends her bolting upright.
The DJ was stirring. Tail twitching, paws grasping. He sniffs the air, muzzle scrunching as his eyes slowly open, groggy and confused. She watches him knead the soft mattress below him, bump a pillow with his snout. Carefully, he stands up and cautiously slinks out of his little den, keeping low to the ground in clear apprehension. He stays close to the walls as he investigates these new changes to his surroundings, giving the water dish a skeptical sniff. He stays at it for a lot longer than Callie would have thought, even giving it a tiny taste. And that's where the first dividend pays off. He actually seems to like it, deeming it untainted and eagerly lapping it up. The poor dear hadn't had a lick of water in days, so to see him guzzling it down? It was huge weight off her mind.
Once his thirst had been quenched, (and the rubber mat below the dish thoroughly soaked), he moves on toward the inner parts of the room, cautiously stalking up to that structure they had made. He sniffs it, bats at it, scrapes his claws down the wood. When it simply sits there, (as objects were want to do), he rears up on his hind legs and climbs the first tier, gradually getting more bold. He dips into the dark spots, scratches some more, and then does a biiiiiiiiig stretch, finishing it off with a wide, toothy yawn. The descent was not as easy as the ascent, because the moment he drops down and bears all his weight on his front paws, he yelps and holds his left one up. An attempt to lick it better is made… but the cone blocks him from getting it anywhere near his mouth. His tail flicks, a sad, pained whine following, and after a moment to recuperate, he reluctantly continues his exploration.
Slowly, he limps toward that pile of toys Callie had dropped what seemed like years ago, snuffling around in them with a growing excitement. The ones that jingle scare him at first, and so do the squeaky ones… but after a moment of batting them around he grows to like them, repeatedly pressing down on a squeaker with a happy rumble. A bell one gets picked up, which he shakes vigorously, a pleasing little *jinglejinglejingle* ringing out through the cell. Sneakily, Callie pulls out her phone as he flops into the pile, rolling around and outright playing with the offerings. He slows down after a few minutes, though, attention getting caught on one in particular. It was a zapfish plush, one her grandfather had made ages ago, with that patchwork quality and visible seams. He captures it in his paws, staring at it… and then he shoves it into the cone and rubs his chin all over it, practically nuzzling into it. Staggering to his feet once more, he picks it up and carefully carries it in his jaws back to his den. He makes circles in the mattress, kneading at it, and then settles down, resting his head against the plushie with a soft chuff.
Cod, that was adorable.
Callie saves the video and sits back in her chair, satisfied with a job well done… that is, until the door opens and in comes her cousin and Kai, the former still speaking, "…so if we could just get to that restricted sector–" –she stops abruptly, taking in the myriad of changes through the window– "…What. The fuck. …Callie!"
"No need to yell. I'm right here."
"What did you do! Why is there a bunch of– of– stuff in there!" Marie waves her hand at the glass, incensed.
"A better question would be, why wasn't there any stuff in there?"
"He's a wild animal–"
"No! Don't give me that bullshit, Marie!" Callie snaps, jumping to her feet, "I get that he has an altered state of mind, but that's exactly why he needs this! How would you feel if you were locked in a stark white room for hours on end, and the only changes in your environment were when people came in to fucking shoot you with a boatload of sedatives! Not fucking great I imagine!"
She slams her hand against the glass, making her cousin jump, "He needs enrichment, and a soft place to lay his head, and a cod damn modicum of kindness while he's stuck in this state. Get pissy at me all you want, but I'm not about to just let him languish in captivity by inkling hands yet again."
Marie is quiet, staring at her in a cold shock mixed with lingering fury. The Commander on the other hand…
"…He told you, didn't he?"
Callie turns to her, rage smoldering, "…Bits and pieces. He doesn't like to talk about himself."
"That, is an understatement." –Kai steps up to the window, much more calm than one would have thought– "Has he woken up yet?"
"Yeah, about twenty minutes ago I think. He was pretty spooked at first, but he calmed down after exploring for a bit. I saw him drink some water, scratch and stretch on the climb, and play with some of the toys I offered him, but he still seems pretty woozy. He also irritated his left front leg when he dropped down from the platform, so the nurses might want to check it a bit closer next time they take him in for a checkup. All in all though he's much happier than he was before," the idol recounts with crossed arms, watching as the lion dozes, "…Next task on the to-do list is to get him to eat something…"
"…And how do you plan on doing that," Marie huffs.
"…You'll see."
"This is a bad idea."
"Oh hush, Marie. Kai okayed this, so you don't get a say anymore."
The two of them were standing outside the door to the cell, Callie holding one of those puzzle treat balls for pets, while Marie grumbles and gripes off to the side. They were joined by Cass and Stella of the Wasabi Unit, both of them wearing tactical body armor and wielding tranquilizer rifles.
"I'm allowed to have an opinion," Marie growls, standing to the side as the two octolings undo the many latches holding the door shut.
"And I'm allowed to ignore it," Callie shoots back.
The door unlocks with one final sounding *KLUNK*, Cass leveling his hand on the doorknob while another raises to his comm, "…Visuals?"
"Still on his cot."
"Alright." –to Callie– "Ready, popstar?"
"More than ready."
"Opening in three, two–"
One.
The idol dips inside swiftly, and the door clicks shut behind her, leaving her alone and seemingly defenseless in that cell. The DJ immediately turns to her, but he does not move, darting eyes full of distrust and apprehension. He simply sits there. Staring. Watching. Warily waiting for her to strike. Posture stiff as a board and ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
Slowly, Callie approaches, setting the ball down a few feet from the door and lightly pushing it in his direction. It jingles cheerfully, and he backs up… but nothing else happens. The toy simply rolls to a gentle stop, a small chunk of cooked fish and diced wasabi falling out of a hole in its side. His nose twitches as he sniffs, that tantalizing scent beckoning him closer… but he refuses to move, dutifully remaining stock still as he stares holes into the inkling.
"Come on... It's got wasabi... You know you want it..." she mumbles under her breath, making sure not to move in case she scares him.
He did indeed want it, as evidenced by his twitching tail and slowly shifting demeanor. Those large paws knead into the bedding, antsy with indecision and hunger. To an outside observer, it looked like a poor attempt at restraint, but could you blame him? He hasn't had anything to eat in a week, bare minimum, and if what Three says is correct, he hardly ate anything during their entrapment either...
Callie watches with bated breath as he slowly creeps closer, inch by inch, hungrily sniffing the air. His gaze was locked onto her… but his nose was locked onto the snack awaiting him mere feet away. It was kind of funny watching him slink so low to the ground, but that humor was a moot point to the anticipation she felt as he hovers over the morsel, still skeptical to trust it or not. He sniffs, gets reaaaaaal close, prods it with his nose… and still staring her down, licks it up in one fell swoop.
She just knew that beyond the observation glass, the Wasabi Unit was cheering.
Despite his misgivings, he ends up searching around for more, that powerful scent of wasabi bringing him right back to the treat dispenser. He nudges it with his muzzle, scooting the thing without really rolling it, and when nothing comes out he gets a bit frustrated and bats at it with his paw, sending it careening to the other side of the room and rewarding him with quite a few piles of treats. His ears immediately stand to attention, and he bounds after it, scooping up each morsel with delight. Outwardly, Callie sits back and watches, but inwardly, she was thrilled. He's eating! And playing! And not cowering in the corner due to her presence! This was a big, big win!!!
On and on he bats it, dining on the treats held inside… but one wrong swipe and it comes trundling over to her. He screeches to a dead stop, eyes darting between her and the object, playful mood visibly plummeting. Carefully, as to not make any sudden movements, she rolls it back to him with a light push… and it drops off another treat right between his forepaws. He looks between it and her, slowly leaning down to lick it up, and that's where she thought it would end. She assumed he would back off and slink over to his corner again, but he doesn't. He just stands there, staring… and then taps the ball with his snout, sending it back to her. She replies with another careful roll back to him, yet another treat falling out, and he sends it back to her after snatching up the goodies.
Back and forth it rolls, with each treat being gobbled up just as soon as they fall. But alas, all good things must come to an end. The toy runs out of treats, and the DJ lets out a sad chuff, still nudging it along in the hopes that just one more morsel will fall out of it.
"Sorry DJ... It's empty now."
He whines, pawing at it.
"We'll get you some more."
Callie smiles to herself, feeling vindicated. "...I knew you would eat if wasabi was on the line."
Behind the one way glass, Marie huffs and walks out of the observation room.
Days pass, and slowly, the DJ's condition starts to get better.
He was eating, though only when Callie was the one bringing him food. He was drinking, but only from that dish she set out. He trusted no one but her, and despite Marie's protests, Callie reinforces that trust by spending more and more time with him. Sometimes she brings treats, other times she tempts him into play with the toys. Most of the time, though, she just sat and kept him company, chattering on and on about this and that despite the fact that he couldn't understand a word she was saying.
"…so once the jackhammers and circular saws arrive, they should be able to cut their way into the cold storage and finally get at those golden eggs we need."
…
"Then they've gotta make the cure, which could take a while, and then we need to catch some other infected octolings to see how it'll work on getting them back to normal. Three is still in the early stages thanks to the power eggs, so she'll probably be really easy to cure, but a fully turned person? Not so much."
The DJ's tail thumps against the ground.
"Either way, you're gonna have to wait longer. You're too hurt to really risk a blind run…"
He rumbles, leaning into the hand scratching below the cone around his neck.
Callie sighs and digs in a bit deeper, trying to get all those hard to reach spots for him. "…Yeesh. Your fur is getting really gunky. I'm still finding rubble from the fall in here, and that was ages ago. You're going to need a bath as soon as those bandages come off."
He simply closes his eyes and purrs.
"…Just hang on a few more days, DJ. Things will get better soon."
Things do not get better.
The lights dim, settling down into a simulated nighttime, and Octavio curls up in his corner, tucking in for another long and lonely night. He nuzzles into his zapfish plush, that faint scent of oranges calming him into rest, even though the shadows conspired to jump out at him. He didn't like when the lights went away. There were monsters in the dark, whispered taunts of incomprehensible noise lurking just out of sight. The fear coils around his neck as he drifts off, tightening like a noose or a leash.
Suffocating.
~~~~~
Hands along his chest and arms. The smell of disinfectant. Sharp pains and lingering burns.
It hurt. Why did it hurt? Where was this coming from?
"...Dangerous animal..."
"...Bargaining chip..."
"...Useless boy..."
His head ached trying to make out what was being said. He raises his hands– paws? to his ears, trying to block out the sound, but no matter what he does, it persists, growing louder and louder and more incomprehensible.
"Disgrace."
"Monster."
"Irredeemable."
Why was this happening? What did he do?
Something sharp presses against his arm... or, no. His throat? Both? Neither?
"...Should have surrendered when you had the chance! (–died instead of your father)!"
They cut, and he retaliates.
~~~~~
The DJ's eyes fly open when he suddenly meets with cold hard ground. Luckily, he'd fallen onto his right side rather than his left, but it was still jarring. Pillows were strewn about in a chaotic mess, and there were long gouges cut into the top of the mattress, blanket coiled around his hind legs. Worst of all, though, his beloved zapfish lay torn to shreds, head entirely ripped off of its mangled body with stuffing pooling like blood.
He whines, distraught, and pokes it with his nose, hoping that it would magically become fixed... but of course, that doesn't happen. It just sits there, dead eyes staring at him with disdain. Devastated, he struggles out of the blanket and slinks over to the opposite corner of the room, riddled with guilt.
He does not sleep any more that night.
"...And you still can't get him to move?"
"No! He just sits there, refusing to eat or drink or even sleep! I don't know what to do, Cassie"
"And you've already tried grated wasabi?"
"Yeah."
Cass puts a hand to his chin, thinking. "Do we have any idea why he's so upset?"
"I think it's because he ripped up his zapfish the other day," Callie sighs, glancing through the window at him, "He really liked that toy..."
"Can we fix it?"
"I dunno... It was pretty thoroughly shredded. Maybe Gramps could fix it? Or at least make a new one…I haven't seen him down here at all, though. I think he's still up top at Camp Cuttle because Marie won't let him help out."
"Why? He and the Boss kinda made up, right? They're not going to tear each other's throats out anymore, I think."
"She probably doesn't want him to wander off and get himself into trouble. Or worse."
"…Probably? Are you still not talking to her?"
"I'll talk to her when she apologizes."
"...Man, you guys hold hella grudges." –Cass pushes off from the wall, groaning as he stretches– "Alright then. Let's go smuggle your grandpa past the cops."
A certain Craig Cuttlefish sits by himself at a small camp in Splatlands Crater, making a nice cup of tea. He was trying not to let it get to him, but ever since the Octarians arrived and took over communications, he'd been feeling rather adrift of purpose. Especially since no one had really told him what was going on. All he knew was that it was something to do with the fuzzy ooze, Agent Three, and Octavio. Other than that… he was clueless.
The sharp whistle of the kettle rings out, and he carefully pours the boiling water into his chipped teacup. Down in the crater, various troops were ferrying crates of supplies in and out of Alterna using those small hovercraft of theirs. It made him a bit anxious to see such activity in a neutral zone… but they did have a truce right now… Still, he felt the need to keep an eye on them, if only to have something to do while he waited for someone to clue him in on what was going on.
For anyone to remember him.
.
.
.
He takes a sip of his tea, only to find that he'd over steeped it again. Blegh. Nothing to do but dump it out and try again, he supposed…
And that's when a booming, yet cheerful voice interrupts his brooding, "Gramps!"
"Cripes!" he yelps, spilling the tea all over himself. It had cooled down significantly, but his poor aloha shirt was now thoroughly soaked.
"Oh, shoot. Sorry Gramps! I didn't mean to scare you!"
Coming around the bend was Callie, trailed closely by an Octarian soldier. Probably some kind of escort, if he could hazard a guess. She was carrying a small box with her, but she quickly sets it down on the table and grabs a spare towel, handing it to him to dry off. "Are you alright!? That wasn't boiling, was it??"
"No, it wasn't. I'm fine, dear," Craig sighs, trying a bit unsuccessfully to blot up the mess, "What's got ya in such a rush? Thought you'd still be down there, workin' on… whatever it is yer doin'."
She immediately halts in her tracks, a mixture of concern and disbelief crossing her face, "…You don't know?"
"Nope. Ain't no one decided to clue me in yet," he shrugs, trying not to sound hurt, "I know y'all found Three, an' that Octavio was there with her, but then somethin' happened an' he up an' vanished on her. No idea what's been goin' on since then."
"Oh boy…" –her shoulders droop– "Well… For starters, she and the DJ both got infected by the fuzzy ooze, but only he turned fully. Three is still in the beginning stages. He left before it took him over so he wouldn't hurt her… but later he came back to save her from Mr. Grizz, who tried to kill her."
"There was a fight, and they both fell down an elevator shaft… which killed Grizz, but not the DJ," she explains, scuffing her shoe against the ground, "He got pretty badly injured though. We were able to take him in and treat most of the wounds, but there's not much we can do about the broken ribs. He's not really cognizant anymore, and he's pretty scared of everyone… but I was able to gain his trust enough to get him to start eating and drinking. A cure is on the way, but for now… all we can really do is try to keep him occupied while we wait."
Craig could scarcely believe what she was saying. He hadn't understood a lot of what Grizz told him while he was captured, but one thing he did get was that Fully Fuzzied = Mammal, and that Mammal = Bad. To think that Octavio had succumbed to it… it sent a cold chill through his cuttlebones.
Callie goes back to grab that box, and opens it, revealing a desiccated zapfish plush, "A few days ago, he had a bad dream and tore up this plushie. Ever since then, he's been sulking in the corner and refusing to eat or drink. Nothing I do can get him to budge… but maybe fixing it might cheer him up again? It was his favorite, after all…"
Gingerly, Craig takes the box into his hands, trying to hide the shake in them. He silently sifts through the supplied fabrics… only to find that the damage was pretty final. He was no stranger to patch jobs, (take his– Er… The Captain's cloak for example), but this was pushing it. If the pieces were a bit bigger, he might have been able to manage it, but like this… "I'm not sure that I can, squiddo. This is pretty bad, even fer my standards."
"Oh pleeeeeeeease, Gramps! You're his only hope!" she pleads, going so far as to put on the guppy eyes, "You've got no idea how depressed he's been since it tore. It's breaking my hearts to see him like this!"
Distantly, a memory pops into the old sailor's head, one from a time long passed. There, a young prince leans over his shoulder, teetering on the brink of tears as he watches the then cadet mend a small tear in a beloved object of his. It wasn't as good as his current work, but the man loved it all the same. Seems like he hasn't changed all that much over the years…
Outwardly, Craig shrugs, ears drooping, "Sorry dear… This one's jus' too far gone fer me to fix…"
Her once hopeful expression plummets, settling into an all out despair, "Nooooo… This was our last shot… Now whaddo we do…?"
"Have ya tried wasabi?" he prompts, closing the lid on the box.
"Yeah… He didn't even look at it."
"What 'bout music?"
"No reaction. Not even to his own songs."
"Hmmm…"
Craig stares at the box, thinking long and hard, "…Think he'd accept a replacement?"
"I– Maybe?" Callie shrugs, scratching the back of her head, "It's worth a shot at least… Do you have a spare lying around up here?"
"No, but if I get a hold of some materials I can whip one up real quick. Hard part will be findin' the supplies."
"I can help with that," the soldier pipes up, raising his hand, "Me and the rest of the Wasabi Unit can get you anything you need."
That catches Craig's attention, and he turns to the soldier, "Yer part o' the Unit, eh? That mean yer Octavio's right hand Octo?"
"That would be Commander Kai, sir. But we are next in line of that chain of command," he salutes, "Cassidy, at your service."
"Right then…" –Craig slowly rises from his seat, cuttlebones cracking– "I s'ppose you best lead the way. No sense dilly dallyin'."
"Anything you need from camp first?" Callie chirps, offering him a helping hand.
"Jus' my mini sewin' kit… an' maybe a new shirt," he comments, looking down at the sizable stain on his shirt.
As soon as he's upright and stable, Callie tosses him a mock salute, "Aye aye, Cap'n!"
One wardrobe change later and they're down in the depths once more, kind-of-but-not-really sneaking past the guards. They were allowed to be there, of course, but maybe letting an old old man into a rather dangerous area wasn't the best of ideas. Still, with two pairs of eyes watching him, he shouldn't be able to get into any mischief.
At least, that's what they hoped.
The observation room was thankfully empty once they arrive, so it was a simple matter to get him set up at a table along with some spare fabric and the leftovers from the previous zapfish plushie for stuffing. A snip here, a thread there… Let his hands do the work while his mind wanders. He could probably make a zapfish plush in his sleep with how many of them he's made over the years. The girls loved them as kids, and they make great training props, but of course, that's not where the story really started, was it? The first time he made one was a gift, one for a certain prince's twenty-first birthday. It was a bit lopsided and sloppy, but he was so damn happy about it…
Craig glances up from his work and looks through the glass, staring at that mangy lump of fur curled up tight in the corner. He wonders if the man kept it after all these years… Well. Probably not. But a man could hope.
…It felt… Odd, to see Octavio like this. Reduced to this animalistic state. He was always so… Proud. So meticulous and aware of his appearance. He was loud and brash and commanded respect. Not quiet and… defeated. Especially with that cone around his neck? It reminded him of that time back during the war, when Octavio was held prisoner and forced to surrender. Locked in chains despite the fact that he could barely move… All because of a slip of the finger on a trigger. He hadn't meant to, but…
Octavio shifts slightly, moving the large paws away from his face. It was so hard to recognize him like this, bent out of shape and mangled into this new form. The green of his eyes were gone, replaced with that sickly rainbow of the fuzzy ooze, and the sheer fluff around his neck made his tentacles almost impossible to make out. If it wasn't for the markings beneath his eyes or the scars on his body, he'd be completely unrecognizable.
"…It's pretty sad, isn't it?" Callie mumbles, slumped over as she also stares through the glass, "The great DJ Octavio… trapped in this little cell. And he can't even understand why…"
"I'm… sure thin's'll work out, dear," Craig sighs, tearing his eyes away to focus on finishing up the last few stitches, "They've got the best minds workin' on that cure, yeah?"
"Yeah… But still. I feel awful about letting him languish in there," she whines, cheek pressed into the tabletop.
"…You an' me both…" he mutters under his breath, too quiet for her to hear.
With one final knot and a snip, the plushie is done, complete with its tiny cap. "Let's go give him his new toy an' see if it'll cheer him up, ey?"
"Right." –she pushes away from the table with a dramatic roll of her office chair, and bounds to her feet– "Operation: "Fix the DJ's depression" is a go."
"I think he needs a therapist for that," Cass snarks.
"Oh, you know what I mean!"
Craig has to stifle a fond snicker as they leave room, trailing behind the two a little bit. Cass immediately sets to work unlocking the various latches barricading the holding cell's door shut as soon as they reach it, with the two inklings waiting patiently on the sidelines for him to finish. It felt a little bit like overkill with how many of them were there… But then again, even with his injuries, the DJ was about 300 pounds of raw muscle. It would not be difficult for him to break a door down.
Just before the last latch unlocks, Cass turns to the two of them, "…Will you both be going in, or…?"
"I'd quite like to be there when givin' him the plush," Craig nods.
"He'll either accept it and be distracted, or ignore both it and us," Callie shrugs, "It'll be fine, Cassie."
"If you say so…"
And with that, he finally opens the door, letting the two of them in.
They're not exactly quiet in their entry, and yet the DJ does not move. Not a twitch of the ear, nor the flex of his tail. He's eerily still, eyes glassy as he stares into nothingness. The two slowly approach, and it's only when Callie kneels down in front of him does he react in the slightest. That being just the smallest huff of air and closing of his eyes.
"Hey there big guy… We have something for you," she mumbles softly, carding a few fingers through his mane.
He doesn't open his eyes, but he does rumble softly.
"Tha's right. Fixed up yer zapfish plush, good as new," Craig hums, getting a bit closer.
The DJ's nose twitches, but he still doesn't move.
"Gramps, how 'bout you put the plush right here so he can feel it? Inside his cone. He always slept with it in there."
"Will do."
Craig creeps forward and carefully leans down to drop off the plushie… and that's when the DJ's eyes snap open, staring right at him. He staggers to his feet, eyes never once leaving the inkling's face, and then pounces.
The old man never stood a chance.