J03-D08

One long train ride later, she jolted awake at a hand on her shoulder. This was her stop, wasn't it?
A soft chuffing noise left her almost reflexively in thanks for being woken up by her elderly companion, and without a word, the Octoling rolled to her feet, looking around.

"Intersection of Metro Line J and Metro Line D! We have arrived, welcome to J03-D08!" bubbled the intercom, the soft voice of the sea cucumber audible to all passengers. Yes, this was definitely her stop: she'd picked it out specifically before she'd gone and dozed off. Nothing on exactly what this was all about, but like every other station before it, she'd just have to find out.


Stepping outside as the train's doors swooshed open, Eight looked back briefly before starting up to the platform. The atmosphere was light, softly green and gray with hints of distant wiring while massive electronic shapes drifted by. First she addressed a recommendation or two--

"Please defend the orb. If it's destroyed, you will fail."

Her ears pinned back in annoyance almost immediately: really? Another one of these tasks? At least she had gotten good at operating a cannon, so it hopefully wouldn't be too much trouble; she turned to the gates, flashed her card, made her selection.

No weapons, Splat Bombs recommended, 3,000 credits if you succeed.


That was a pretty lofty reward, but it was just a good reason to try hard and get moving.. especially when failure meant the detonation of her backpack and all that entailed. It stopped hurting after the first fifteen times, really.

Purple light rose from the platform ahead of her-- wait, were these all weapons? Could she choose one? The tiny radio-video camera on her collar only confirmed this, and with gusto she grabbed the Splat Roller. Surely this was an interesting challenge if you got to pick your weapon! She started ahead, fell to the ground in cephalopod form, and with a warble, made a great launch and fall to the large test chamber below.

Boxes and platforms and pre-canned specials. Was this some sort of defense task?
Maybe there were going to be a whole lot of funky Octarians coming her way, and she had to fight them all off despite their variety and her limitations. That sounded kind of interesting, a bit constructive, different than before--


Eight froze, her tentacles immediately paling, as the eerie calls of two other Octolings rang out. She fought the instinct to run, looking around quickly to find the blue orb she was to defend, and immediately started laying down reddish-pink ink.

Oh cod, this was a defense task against a bunch of other Octolings, wasn't it?


They didn't seem to pay her any mind, homing in on their target with little concern.
There was always that jolt of anxiety that came with attacking others so much like her-- at least she could disassociate from the Octarians a bit, but not these. Not these stiffly-animated, sharp-voiced Octolings, their skin a soft green and their tentacles a peculiar fade. They were different, but cod, they were too similar, and her hearts were in her throat the whole time as she leapt, swung, took one down. Wooden crates broke as the other got closer to the orb, but Eight prevailed.


Two more. Three more.


She had never felt so rushed, not even in timed tests: at least once she stopped to ambush one of the Octolings before they even landed, a loud growl of frustration in her throat as she sprung and splatted them.


And then came the Elites, with their iridescent shimmer and banners of kelp--
One, two-- four? Four at once?! A sharp note of dismay escaped Eight as she chased one.

The Octoling turned back to look at her, void of expression: they had done their job.


Meters away, the signature sound of entirely too many Splat Bombs being deployed at once could be heard, their glass frames bouncing as they hit the floor.


"The orb broke-- test failed."


Eight didn't even have time to scream before her backpack exploded in a mess of sticky green slime.