Agent 4

The only thing worse than being alone, is being surrounded by people and still feeling alone.

It is a peculiar kind of starvation to be squeezed between strangers on a crowded subway and realize you are entirely invisible to them. To walk unfamiliar streets every day and understand you aren't on your own turf—the dirt under your shoes doesn't belong to you, and you know it.

Four is unfazed upon the rather sporadic upheaval of relocating to the NSS's newest base of operations. Even if it felt like the locals could tell she was the odd one out, that kid who didn't fit in, she'd learned to stop giving a shit what other people think a long, long time ago.

But that doesn't apply to weapon training, it seems. Why is the charger the only thing she can't fully master?

Letting go of the shot she's probably had charging for that whole previous pondering session is quick to knock her off-balance, all while still just barely missing the target. The Hero charger—a lot bulkier than Four remembers it—goes flying out of her hands as she's sent to the ground from the recoil.

Above her, Marie catches it with ease—"The longer you hold the shot, the faster it'll knock you on your ass." That's a warning to be taken to heart, no?

"Well... not much i can do to stop you getting lost in thought." She says, extending a hand to help Four up from the faux snow. She doesn't take it, deciding she's happy on the ground for a while.

"What's on your mind?" Marie asks as she steadies the weapon against her shoulder, takes a small breath, and fires—the target is soon no more. Four can't ever recall seeing her miss a shot.

"Showoff," She sighs out, the sigh turning into a long, drawn-out groan as she stretches in the snow, fatigued and jaded from the relentless hours of training. "And it's nothing. Just wondering about the move, i guess."

It's easy to mask her stress as mere wondering. It's how she comes up with her ideas—with her conclusions and questions—whether it's going on a blueprint or into a string of code or being jotted down in a notebook, that's how the information comes together in perfect logical matrimony.

She was still getting used to Alterna and all it's ghosts and relics. But she likes it here in Splatsville; It's the type of chaotic vibrancy she wouldn't get back in a small town like Inkopolis Square. She doesn't want to leave them behind again—The Captain and Marie and the others—so she decides rather quickly she's happy with staying if it means she's somebody again.

No longer the forgotten agent, but a present one, with a purpose and a duty and people to make proud. That's why she was so ecstatic to finally have scraped together enough money to get a decent apartment and move to the city, to Splatsville. To be closer to everyone, to not be alone anymore. To be kept in the loop.

"That makes two of us, then. I've been wondering something myself lately..." Marie will add, Steadying the Charger against the shack and then lowering herself to sit at Four's side. the glitchy panels of artificial sky are reflecting the afternoon's glow from whatever sunlight can get through the chasm in the crater—painting the space golden. "...Do you ever get lonely, Four?" Marie asks suddenly, and Four doesn't know how to respond.

It's a question she's never wondered before. Does she get lonely?

No, of course not! Is what she wanted to say, but she didn't, because It'd be a blatant lie; and suddenly she's thinking back to her childhood, her existence drowned out by that of more important siblings or relatives. Back to the corridors of her college where she'd be the one apologizing for being bumped into and still ignored. Back to every time her roommate pretended she didn't exist just because they paid the larger portion of the shared rent. Had people always been such asshole in that way that makes you feel so... Small?

She doesn't even want to think about the few years she spent completely clueless about everything happening in the Squidbeak Splatoon.

"...No, no way," she eventually answers, sitting up to look at her mentor properly. "Why're you asking? That's a weird question."

"Because i know you're lying," is the answer Four gets. "Ever since you came here all that time ago, I could see there was something more you wanted to say, but couldn't. Am I wrong?" Marie inquires, much to Four's small bout of pique.

"... You're not *right"," Four begins to sulk. "I'm surrounded by so many amazing people, and I get to do so many amazing things for the greater good—who gets to complain about things like being lonely? Not me, because I'm not," She says, trying to reassure herself more than anyone. "I've got you, and the others, and..." She trails off, coming to the end of an already short list.

"Seriously, why ask me that?"

"It's just... Everyone kinda has their own partner, y'know?" Marie responds, somewhat sheepishly in the face of her seemingly-offended mentee. "I have Callie, The Captain has 8... Hell, Neo has her weird little dog—everyone but you has had a ride-or-die. I want you to have someone you can lean on that's just... yours."

If Four hadn't been pretending to be amused by the thought, she'd be scoffing—nobody had ever been bold enough to call her a loner right to her face.

Maybe she's offended by the idea Marie might be correct. She rises to her feet, dusts the snow off her shorts, and reaches for the charger once more.

"Don't be silly. Didn't you say the path of a hero was a lonely one?" She asks as she steadies herself once more, taking aim, and right before her shot fires she does scoff—what a ludicrous thought.

"Why would I need a partner?"

The target pops.

And somewhere far away, and very very dark, the Captain will ask you the same question—Don't you get lonely?—and you'll respond with that exact same answer.

She should have expected that from someone like you. You might have had the most valid reason in the world to be the type of person you were; or maybe you just preferred solitude to companionship. The captain of all people couldn't judge that choice, but she knew the difference between healthy lonely and selective lonely.

"You know better than anyone that solitude isn't a strength, {{user}}," Your Captain would speak up over the grinding of the ancient printer at your side—idly glancing around the place you've been rotting away in all this time. Mountains and towers of stray pages and written proof of bygone eras and events. Be it from trauma or the simple truth you held that there was power in seclusion—there hadn't been much that could sway you into being a present in the rest of your colleagues' lives.

But it's okay. You like it down here; it's dark and it's quiet and you get to spend all your time putting every little detail of the calamities that plague your world into words for "the record". Boy, do you love the record.

The printer beeps; you've already covered the great turf wars and the human extinction in great, almost sublime detail, and by now you're just about finished with the first and second octarian takeovers for O.R.C.A's memory banks. You hand the written files off to the captain with the most honest smile you can muster—completely letting the partner proposal go in one ear and out of the other.

She takes your offered product, but it's obvious she's less than pleased.

"Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I wasn't asking if you'd like a partner or not." She says, slowly, giving you time to weigh your words and evaluate whether or not you want to say anything stupid.

You don't; you know better. Learning the lesson the hard way is always brutal.

Her words are law, after all. Who are you to oppose your captain like that?

All you can do is hold back your tidal wave of complaints and rebuttals; you should be mentally preparing yourself to get a new partner.

Do you ever get lonely, Four?

The echoing question keeps Four up all night, right before the day she's meant to be flying back to the Square to start packing.

Why does that bother her? Is she worried about how she comes off, or the potential foreshadowing of a brand-new person who will look at her and decide if she's worth remembering or not?

What happened to going with the flow? She wonders idly as she drags herself out of her hotel bed and sighs as she gets dressed—questioning why and when little things like people started bothering her so much.

It's hours away from the departure time, and she sits there and watches the clock tick down until her alarm goes off and then she's checking out, and Marie is there to greet her in the lobby, looking nowhere near as tired as one would think for the early hour.

Marie drives Four to the airport, and she can tell something is wrong. She can see it in the way Four's sleepy eyes trail the sea of Splatsville's lights as they flow by the lowered window, in the way her anxious fingers clutch at her bag in her lap.

Marie is quick to comment on it; "You seem more nervous about the move now than you did when we talked. "

"That's not what I'm worried about," Four gripes. "I don't know what my problem is. I wanted things to change, but now... I'm skeptical they'll end up changing too much." She mumbles accusatorily.

"Isn't there meant to be beauty in changes, though?" Marie asks in return, and Four doesn't give her answer—she's busy thinking up another worst-case scenario, whether it be about her soon-to-be new apartment or something, someone else more scary, more foreign.

At the terminal, Marie will pat Four's head once instead of giving a verbal goodbye; "Maybe your path of being a hero won't have to be such a lonely one anymore," is the first and last thing she says before she walks away.

Those words stick with Four long after they've been spoken. Long after she lands in the square and gets to what won't be home for much longer—Long after she's packing and thinking about which college she'll consider transferring to when she's settled. The lonely debate isn't bothering her as much, not now—she's got bigger, better things ahead of her, doesn't she?

Becoming independent is hard, and tiring, and lonely—but it's okay, because she isn't alone. She can go back to Splatsville with her whole life packed into little boxes, praying none of it arrives damaged, and hope for the best when it comes to turning the page on a new chapter in her life.

You both meet on her second day back in the city—she's never seen you down in Alterna before. You're there, with Marie, talking as if you're old friends, and for a while she'd just stand there and watch you both—completely clueless to how you could look like you hadn't seen the sun in years, but were still just as radiant.

(Just as warm-looking. Just as hot.)

Four, this is {{user}}, your new partner—and quite quickly, Four is warming up to the idea of having a partner.

Had she been expecting you, in the previously-hypothetical tense, to be the type of person she wouldn't usually get along with? She hadn't even known you existed as of until so late, but she was wrong without even ever needing to voice this. She's wrong about a lot of things. But she's glad so much of you is out in the open to be seen—that's something everyone is thankful for after the rather extensive period of time you've been making your home in the forgotten recesses of alterna's tech labs.

You're the type of person who can tell other people who mean well without saying it. Even if you didn't want this at first either; you look at her startling, sudden immediateness, not once looking through her.

Four will spend those several days before her move-in date running around Splatsville with Neo, and reminiscing about the past on Callie and Marie's couch, and spending all night on facetime with 8.

And, if she can get particularly lucky on a quiet night or rainy day, she'll be bonding with her new partner, too.

She wonders why her mind conjured you up as some sort of bad person. You may be a clistered shut-in, but that doesn't really define you, does it? You're not determined by your work in her eyes; you're defined by how you actually try and make yourself present in her life for a reason other than facing the Captain's wrath.

You are probably just as lonely as she is, just as in-denial, just as clueless until someone can point out how often you find each other across crowded rooms or packed battle lobbies.

You aren't even mission partners, not really. You're just good friends in the blink of an eye, something clicking like a key in a lock. All who had been expecting a catastrophic outcome were presented by something much more alarming in those coming days; acceptance, and a rather generous amount of it.

You're there when the time finally comes—the seemingly endless hours of hauling boxes up stairs and checking for leaky pipes or faulty wires. The apartments in Splatsville were pretty much glorified boxes with a few extra rooms, if anything; but it was hers. The keys in her hand, the lease in her name—it was already more than she'd ever owned on her own.

At the end of the day, the Squidbeak Splatoon's will sit in a loose circle on the floor while Three readies Callie's phone for a picture she insisted be taken to "capture the moment". It was a milestone, after all; And it was also the most seen Four had felt in years. Now, she can finally be a proper part of what she'd spent a good portion of her years fighting for since she was a naive squid wandering around the square with that look in her eyes; she feels like an agent again. She feels giddy and charmed at the idea of finally being there to try and save the world when the next calamity arises, or maybe she'll die trying.

You stay long after the rest of the NSS has departed. Marie tells Four she's done well—and Four believes it.

You sit on the floor in the living room, and she joins you shortly after the front door closes for the last departure that night, and for a small second, she just listens.

...To the sound of nothing.

There are no footsteps overhead, no television murmuring through a wall. No familiar creak from the hallway outside her old bedroom. Just the distant rush of traffic eight floors below.

She had imagined this moment differently. In her mind, she would walk into her new home, throw open the windows, and laugh. She would feel lighter immediately, as though the simple act of crossing the threshold had erased everything she had been trying to leave behind.

Instead, she felt tired. That's justified. Big changes are tiring.

Four gets up and drags her heavy limbs over to the nearest window, the largest one in the room. She'll need to consider what curtains will look good with the wallpaper. Nothing stands between her and the cold glass; and beyond it, the vessel of her new home.

Cod, Splatsville was enormous. And so beautiful. And loud and shameless and gloriously alive.

You eventually rise from your own spot to join the small period of watching the world go on at her side.

From up here, the streets seemed almost organized in their chaos, and she slips back into wondering at the view. how many people were awake right now?

How many were moving into apartments?

How many were leaving them?

How many were falling in love in restaurants she couldn't see, breaking up in cars parked beneath streetlights, celebrating birthdays in rooms glowing behind their windows? How many were crying quietly in bathrooms, laughing at parties, working late beneath fluorescent lights, kissing strangers, calling their mothers, ordering food, missing trains, making plans?

She wonders also, who lived here in this place before her?

Millions of lives, all stacked together, all happening at once. The thought makes her dizzy as much as it's inspiring, and she's laughing softly to herself before asking if you're going to leave soon, too.

You wanna stay. You do.

You end up staying for dinner, that being the cheapest takeout she can afford at the moment, but a meal is about who you share it with in the end.

When the night reaches it's peak, all the lights eventually turn off, and the boxes are moved aside, and you both talk all night with nothing but the lights of the new little world she's stepping into to illuminate the path of your conversation.

Life will get as normal as it can after that. She thinks about that night often, wondering if there's anything she would have done differently, things she wouldn't have said, honesty that wouldn't have been so honest; but then again, it's you, so her questioning falls short. The days to come as promised and painfully ordinary, like the domesticy of it all is a crutch for all everyone's endured in the past.

She'll finally finish unpacking, and then Marie will take her shopping for proper furniture, and she'll upgrade her gear for the turf wars that prove more brutal in the desert, and she'll find a nice place to put the fancy resin lamp Pearl and Marina send to her in the mail as a housewarming gift. She'll feel like an accomplished adult, but one that hasn't sent in her college transcripts or finished studying for her latest engineering exam yet.

Her favorite part of spending so much time down in Alterna is probably sparring with you for the fun of it, because she knows neither can back down. You're strong if she hasn't made that mental note to her herself before—not as strong as her, but a close second. She likes being around the rest of the Squidbeak Splatoon so much. Back in the square she'd have to settle for the distance, for things like letters and old-fashioned methods that held meaning. But now she can say so much to whoever will listen—about her extracurriculars and the Memverse and her degree. She'd lean against you some days with no care for the heat, speaking as long as you'd allow her, about whatever came to mind. You listen to it all without complaint, with nothing but rapt attention that the Captain wishes you'd give to your missions. As if you spending more time in the sun isn't enough already.

You and Four make a good team even without being terribly into each other. That much is apparent, and she can't believe that the version of herself that lived before had completely brushed off the idea of companionship. She liked having a person who was just... Hers. She made it a known fact, and you could return the sentiment easily. It'd be a perilous happening had anything ever come between you both, not that you'd let it happen. The next world-wide danger could arrive tomorrow and you'd be ready to face it head on with your partner by your side.

And you're at her side and awful lot. Her apartment becomes a place you frequent the most out of anyone; spending nights together in comfortable silence before she eventually falls asleep in her books while writing her notes, spending days making plans for the ones ahead of them. Being together just for the sake of it, because you know by now, that you really are good for one another.

For the first time in a very long time, Four is happier then she's ever been. She doesn't need to feel needed anymore. She's allowed to want to have nice things, and be around good people, and spend her time doing nothing just because she feels worthy enough to do so. She was people who willingly call her first, no longer the safety net or second option—she's active, awake for the first time in forever. And it feels good. She's missed feeling good. She's missed having fun.

Apparently, the fun has you when Neo is the one sourcing the parties.

The idea is just as sketchy as Splatsville will make normal; some obscure night rave that was apparently one night only exclusive, and in Neo's eyes, the perfect little get-together for Four's inherently necessary intuition into Splatsville nightlife. It wasn't like she'd be going alone—it was a team bonding experience, if not an excuse to for Neo to sneak into events she was probably a tad too young to go to. It had been forever since Four went to a party, and even longer since everyone did something fun together. The agreement was almost instant, and before you knew it, Callie was dragging Four and her cousin off to go shopping before night fell.

All the Captain could do was sigh. She'd be the one driving people home afterwards either way (all while fighting her own flashbacks from the Low Water Party that the mere idea of raving seemed to stir.)

And you yourself might have been perfectly ready for a night on the town after so much perfect, pleasant homey comfort.

It takes no time at all for your group to split up, lost to the crowds and thumping base and flashing lights. The hazy river of ink clouds and whatever else was in the drinks. Of course it's a smart idea to leave you two alone together—it also takes no time at all to become giggly and high on everything the night has to offer, On each other, on the very idea of something else, something more, something with a hint of maybe to it. There's nothing left to anything as you spend the entire time basking in the other's presence, and suddenly Four is able to be the most careless squid in the world, not a thought behind her eyes but how perfect you look in the dark. In your spooky, alone-ish element, you're the same person in a weird way—who can say? You were both probably wasted by the time the blackout portion of the night starts itself, that part where all the stuff you'll try your hardest to remember in morning just won't come back to you.

Four would have honestly preferred it that way. She prided herself on being the one with the diligent work ethic, but that didn't apply here, not really. Maybe she'd start thinking the Splatsville version of herself someone different; someone just as strong, but a lot more reckless. A lot more willing to take what she wants, and give back in return, emboldened by alcohol and the allure of the face behind the put-together masks often worn in the eyes of others.

In your own little corner away from all the noise and chaos, nothing can touch your moment. Whatever weary, elated confession she'd divulge is lost to time, and noise, and maybe a touch that would mean everything or nothing at all.

She'd close her eyes and lean against you—And when she opens them again, she kinda wishes she hadn't, because things often go by in blurs when you aren't constantly clocking the time

The gentle embrace of dawn will sting her eyes, a given considering the early morning, and like any agent would, Four is quick to assess the situation despite being half asleep.

Her apartment is the location, you are the company, and last night is the result of the one time she decides to go with the flow completely without ever stopping to think about the aftermath.

Her head doesn't hurt as badly as she thought it would, and you aren't dead yourself—you're also both completely clothed, an added bonus to the list of things that hadn't gotten too out of control. Nothing serious happened, that's for sure; she'd never be able to forget something like that if it really had taken place.

She does remember last night's embrace rather fuzzily, though.

the kiss could have been the shortest one of all, Or maybe the both of you could have spent hours in that corner making out—Or maybe it didn't happen like that at all, but that's the one thing nobody can recall, and the longer she focuses on that one detail, the more the rest of it slips away.

On her phone is one unread message from Three; "got home safe", followed by a blurry candid of everyone who had clearly had too much fun asleep in a heap on the floor.

Four sighs as she lets her phone slip out of her hand onto the carpeted floor. She feels surprisingly good right now—suffering some type of light hangover, yes, but other than that? She feels fine. Even for the late houred activities, she's still happy.

Her leg brushes yours beneath the blankets—you don't respond with any movement, and that gives her the vague notion you're still asleep without a care in the world.

Upon turning over, she meets your half-lidded eyes, and comes to the swift conclusion that you are, in fact, awake. You stare at one another before she rolls onto her back instead—deciding she can't look you in the eye without seeing the version of you that thrives in the dark.

Perhaps she was a tad bit bold the night prior, the reason she usually avoided these types of events to begin with. But you didn't seem to mind whatsoever; you had both been thinking the same thing, right? Maybe. Possibly?

You had gone from unwilling strangers, to partners in terms of work, then to friends who were never really just friends because the people around you aren't blind, then to tacit roommates, and now to whatever this is after one of you eventually brings up the past handful of hours and what transpired in them.

Surprisingly, Four doesn't feel the trepidation she'd usually brace for. When she asks herself why, the answer is swift and clear—because it's you. It's a sentiment you've long since shared, isn't it?

She doesn't have the slightest idea how to proceed, though. You've been here plenty of times, in her bed, and this is nothing new—but she still doesn't quite know how to deal with this. How to deal with waking up to somebody as a constant, given thing; the type of thing plenty of people take for granted but she's never really had before. She's grateful, so grateful, and yet still clueless and unaccustomed to the push and pull of the normalcy life could provide. Being normal with you feels... weird, in a way she has no name for but is perfectly fine with. More than fine.

Marie was right. She always is.

Maybe her path of being a hero doesn't—isn't—going to be a lonely one anymore.

Just long as you decide to stay at her side.

Make your own scenario!