Agent 38: I Never Forgot You

Chapter 4: Try To Remember

*Slight time rewind here.*
     The Octoling was, as she had been for the past 3 years, running through the fields. Her eyes had lost focus, her body gone numb and colder than ice. She didn't really know where she was going, nor did she really care. As long as she was away from other people, she'd be ok.
     She still didn't know her name. She still didn't completely know her past. To keep her mind off those things, she took up poetry. It felt familiar, as if she already knew and practiced how to do this before. The Octoling glanced up at the setting sun as words drifted into her head, forming sentences in her mind.
     When the sun is climbing
     Window sills
     And it's silver lining rides
     The hills
     I will be safe
     For one whole day
     Until the sun makes the hills its grave.
     She thought on it for a moment, then decided it was good. It was fun to think on these sorts of things, just to test her limits and see where her verbal imagination took her. Her eyes focused onto the yellow grass wafting in the breeze.
     Stems of yellow twitch in the air
     Which gives me a state of relaxation
     Beyond compare
     However, I feel I am unaware
     Of the demons that lurk
     In my despair.
     The Octoling smiled, satisfied with her work.
     If I ever find a way out of this valley, I should write these down. Who knows, maybe I was a good poet before... this happened.
     She shook her head and kept walking. Her body felt as though it'd been pushed to its very limits, fatigue and exhaustion setting in. Ever since she began to remember her past life, she'd started feeling more. More emotion, more hunger, more pain and confusion, as if it was all stronger. (Author's note: This quirk is not canon, I just like to think that the more the subject remembers, the weaker the sanitization becomes, almost as if it was blocking the subjects' emotions and stuff.)
     The reason why she didn't bother trying to remember it all was because she was afraid she'd die if she did. If the sanitization was the only thing keeping her alive, keeping her from feeling things, keeping her body away from realizing it was starving and thirsty and overheated, then she couldn't remember. She wouldn't remember, or she'd die.
     ...
     But... I want to remember.
     I want to know my past life.
     I want to.
     The Octoling glanced up at the sun, barely a fiery orange sliver atop the mountains. In a moment, it was gone, and the sky seemed to blanket itself with a massive blue cloth dotted with white. The sounds of the night slowly developed, from the tiniest symphony of a group of crickets, to toads croaking their hearts out, all the way to the sharp, piercing howls of a group of wolves.
     She whipped her head up. Wolves. Danger...
     Her eyes moved to the direction to howl came from. She grinned.
     Or food.
     Her stomach growled for the first time in a while. She turned her direction towards the noise and sprinted forward, taking long strides. She pulled two daggers out from the band on her waist and gripped them in her pale green hands. The five straps on her body each held a few knives; The band of daggers on each of her arms held 5, the ones on her thighs held 10 each, and the one around her waist held 15.
     The cold night air slammed against her body as she ran, chilling her all the way to her veins. The sounds of the pack gradually got louder and louder until she was sure she was only a few feet away. The Octoling parted away the towering corn stocks and stepped out into a small, circular clearing. The stocks were beaten down and shredded under her feet, as though the pack of wolves before her had stamped them down themselves.
     The wolves instantly turned to glare at her. She glared right back, squinting to see what they were fighting.
     A dead vulture lay on the ground, torn to bits. A few of the wolves snatched the vulture and ran, while 6 others stayed and encircled her. She threw a dagger at one, impaling and killing it, but it only angered the pack.
     Snarling, they prowled towards her. Their claws seemed to glimmer in the moonlight, their teeth stained with blood. The Octoling gripped her daggers, ready to throw-
     Rustle, rustle.
     Every pair of eyes whipped to the noise.
     Someone stumbled out of the corn stocks, into the clearing. She gasped.
     That silhouette...
     It looks... familiar.
     The figure stared at her for a long moment, bathed in moonlight, weapon in hand.
     Toned, slightly muscular frame. Male.
     He stabbed his weapon straight through one of the wolves. Her eyes flared wide.
     The pack scurried away at his brutality, whimpering and barking like puppies.
     She stared at him. He stared right back, curiosity and hope in his fiery orange eyes.
     The Octoling slid the daggers back into their holders and cautiously stepped towards him. He dropped the wolf and did the same. There was an odd look in his face; a longing, a desperate, hungry longing for something. However, as he gazed into her eyes... it looked like that thirst was quenched.
     She stepped out of the shadows, barely inches away from him, and inhaled sharply.
     She knew this Inkling.
     She knew him like the waves knew the shore.
     The Octoling stumbled back, gasping, as she realized who it was.
     "What? What's wrong!?" He cried, reaching for her.
     "You're dead!" She screamed, panic and fear consuming her body. Her hearts started to pound and her head started to hurt. "I-I killed you! You're dead!"
     Her eyes locked with his. Something in her brain was stuck; it was tugging and tugging away, as if it was the plug that kept her from remembering. He was so familar, so familiar, but she just couldn't put her finger on it. It was wiggling and flapping, trying to break free, but couldn't.
     "Eight, slow down," He said gently. There it was again! Why did these people keep calling her "Eight"? "You're not in any danger. You're safe."
     She tried to slow her breathing, tried to calm down, but her body didn't seem to want to listen. She knew she knew him, she knew him from somewhere, but it just wouldn't budge! It felt so, so close, right at her fingertips, practically touching it, but not holding on with a hard enough grip to understand.
     "Stay here," The boy said, holding out his hands. "I'll be right back. You're hurt and in no condition to be walking around this place on your own."
     He picked up the wolf and slung it over his shoulder, then took a step back. He seemed to hesitate for a second, but walked away, leaving her alone in the dark.
     She thought for a long moment.
     And then, surprisingly, did what she was told.
     The Octoling sat down and leaned against a rock, sighing.
     What is going on? Who am I? Better yet, who was HE? It looked like he knew me so well... but...
     He's coming back. And if you knew him from before, you might as well try to remember now, because I'm 100% sure he's going to try and find refuge somewhere, and take me with him. Plus, what if it turns out he's a bad guy who's acting like your friend, but actually wants to kill you?
     She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and relaxed. She imagined grabbing onto that wedge and pulling as hard as possible until it popped out. She imagined her memories flooding back, her past life reconnected with her current life. She imagined the pieces of her past clicking back together, the puzzle complete once again.
     The Octoling maintained her grip on the wedge, pulling harder, harder, until she was sure she could hold on no longer.
     All of a sudden, pop!
     There was a brief moment of disbelief, of awe, of terror, until her memories swelled back like an indignant tidal wave and slammed into her with the force of 20 mountains behind them.
     The Octoling let out a yell, clutching her head. It felt like knives were plunging into her head from behind her eyes; it felt like thousands upon millions of swords stabbing into her body all at once. It felt like getting run over by a stampede, it felt like drowning at sea as water rushed up your nose and your lungs filled with water and you couldn't breathe.
     The more recent memories came first; getting sanitized by Ryu, the Metro exploding, placing the bombs in the tests, arriving at the Metro, and so on. Then came Three waking from his coma, her suicidal attempt, Aaron stopping her, her depressive thoughts, et cetera, et cetera. The kiss, Miku's torture, the patrol, and everything before that. She realized that her memories as an Octarian solider didn't stretch back that much, only far enough to remember her 6 and 7 year old self.
     Far enough to remember the first Inkling she'd ever murdered.
     Far enough to remember that there weren't any respawn points in any Octarian camp, where she'd killed that Inkling.
     Far enough to remember that the man she'd killed was not Agent 3.
     It was Agent 3's father.
     Her hearts stopped, and she shuddered.
     She felt warm tears rolling down her cheeks.
     I've hurt him more times than I can count. How would he react to this?
     The girl he loved and went to the end of the world to find... killed his father. His defenseless father who didn't even have something to fight with.
     How could I?
     I promised to myself, once upon a time I can barely remember, that I would never hurt him. Even if I had to distance myself.
     It's time I stick to that promise.
     She stood up, dizzy and fatigued. Her stomach now grumbled violently, her head ached with a dying passion, and the wounds decorating her body now leaked ink. But she still kept walking.
      Just before she could leave the clearing, Agent 3 stepped into it, a yellow Inkling at his side.
      Aaron, She remembered. Agent 4.
     "Eight?" Aaron said, tears brimming in his eyes. "Is it- is it really you?"
     She hesitated, remembering her name. Sarai. I'm Agent 8, Test Subject 10,008, but the Splatoon calls me Eight.
     "Yeah," She said quietly, softly. "Yeah. It is."
     He put his hands over his mouth, his voice barely a hiccup.
     "Hey, Eight?" Three said. "I know this is going to sound weird, but I need you to come with us. You're in bad shape and need medical attention."
     Eight knew she needed it, knew she needed to get rid of her pale green skin, knew she needed to eat and drink and sleep if she was to live. She desperately wanted to run towards them. She wanted to throw her arms around Three and tell him how sorry she was for getting caught, how sorry she was for being gone for so long.
     But she couldn't.
     Eight shook her head. "I can't go with you guys."
     Their eyes filled with heartbreaking despair.
     "What? Why not?" Three asked, reaching for her.
     She forced herself to step back. "Because-" Eight swallowed. If she told him the truth, he could kill her right here, right now. But if she lied, she would live. But... wasn't telling him the right thing to do? "Because I'm a danger to you. Both of you."
     "No, you're not!" Aaron protested. "You're our best friend! We love you! We missed you!"
     Tears streamed down her face as she slid two daggers out of their holders. She quickly wiped her tears off, sucking in a breath, and hardened her eyes.
     "I appreciate your concern, but I'm leaving." She said, voice wavering. "Please don't try to stop me."
     The sun slowly rose over the mountains, bathing the three in dim, eerie sunlight. Tension spun out into a thin, vulnerable thread, pulling just... beyond... extension, about to snap...
     Eight drove the blades back into their holders, pulled the hooded cape over her head, and nodded.
     "Good day." She hissed, turning to leave.
     "Wait," Three's voice said. "Please, please don't go."
     She felt a hand rest on her shoulder and instantly tensed.
     She more than felt his hand reaching for her shoulder as he dove towards her from one of the high pillars.
     She didn't know why, but her body decided to replicate the move she'd used during her fight with Three in the warehouse.
     Eight's hands flew over her head, gripped his arms, and slammed him down into the ground ahead of her like a hammer.
     His eyes went wide as he went down, a look of recognition in his face.
     There was a long, thick moment of silence as she stared down at her hands, shaking, and Three gasped for breath.
     "I-I... I'm sorry..." She whimpered. "I... I should go now-"
     "No, no, it's ok," He wheezed, staggering to his feet. He dusted his shirt off. "I'm fine. But... please, please don't go. You don't know how much I've missed you. How much we've missed you."
     Eight shook her head, speechless. "I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have."
     "If you don't want to hurt me, then stay." Three said, sincerity and desperation in his voice. "Please. Please don't go. Don't leave me again."
     Eight turned to leave, trying to ignore his words. "Good bye, Three."
     "No! No, please, wait!"
     "I'm leaving."
     "Eight, please! I can't go through that again!"
     She hardened her tone, her eyes welling with tears. "Well, you're gonna have to."
     There was a brief moment of silence.
     "Please." Three whispered. "Don't go. Please. You're my other half; you're the part of me that makes me, me. I need you."
     "So, please. Don't leave me again."
     Eight turned, biting back her sobs.
     "I'm sorry. But I have to."
     She walked away.
     Eight closed her eyes and let the tears fall. She let them since she knew her anger and rage and sadness wouldn't go away.
     "I don't care if you want to come back here again," Three's voice called. "But at the very least, let us take you somewhere that can heal you."
     She opened her eyes and turned to face him. His eyes were pleading, desperate, longing for her to give in. She wanted to. Eight really wanted to succumb to the pain and hunger and thirst and exhaustion that overwhelmed her body to the point where she could barely walk. But she had to say no.
     The sun, now fully risen, beat down on them as Three and Four waited for her response. Her mind was so unclear that she couldn't make a decision.
     "Please, just... stay away from me." She managed, her words coming out slurred as she struggled to stay awake through the exhaustion.
     "You're literally going delirious," Aaron's concerned voice said from somewhere. The corn stocks folded and wiggled around her, the sunlight fading in and out as she stumbled away. "You need help."
     Eight heard their voices, just couldn't make out what they were saying. Her hearing dulled as if someone had put cotton balls in her ears.
     Eight desperately grabbed the the hilts of two daggers and held them up, backing away, until her legs buckled and everything went dark.

Yummy plot twist or yucky plot twist?
Word count: 2610