Agent 38: In The Making

Chapter 25: Fever Dreams

Around 3 months later...
     During the late fall and early winter months, the Inklings usually caught fevers and colds, common sicknesses that everyone typically dreaded. That was why most people stayed indoors when September rolled around, for fear of the illnesses that could be distributed.
     Three had caught one of these fevers. And a bad one, at that.
     Sweat slid down his face almost constantly, chills and trembles flooded through his limbs, he had what seemed to be a neverending headache, fever dreams haunted his sleep, and he felt generally weak overall. Did he tell any of this to his girlfriend? No. Did she see right through his tough guy facade? Yes. Did she immediately order him to go to bed? Yes. Did he refuse? Yes. Did she get the entire Squidbeak Splatoon to get him to take a few days off? Yes. Was he still dealing with the sanitization side effects and a relationship and a fever? SHELL YES.
     See, that was the bad thing about Eight. She was way too caring for the dirty world. Then again, that was what he loved about her.
     Three sat on the couch, shivering yet sweating, a jacket slung around his shoulders. He was sporting a thin undershirt, thick sweatpants, knee-high socks, and trembles all around. Eight sat next to him, watching the TV with delighted interest. Almost three months of being on the surface and she was still fascinated by everything. He edged a bit off the couch, mouth as dry as a desert. Three had left his bottle of ink on the kitchen counter and wanted to go get it, but it would never happen on Eight's watch.
     He edged a bit towards the bottle again, and Eight sighed. "Three, just tell me what you want and I'll get it for you."
     "Eight," He said, voice nasily and clogged. "I'm not helpless. I can get my own bottle of ink, for Cod's sake."
     She smiled. "I know you're not. But I think helping is much better if you're sick." She stood up and grabbed his ink bottle, handing it to him. Eight bent down and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "You're burning up. You need sleep."
     He rolled his eyes, then let out a sneeze. "I'll be fine."
     Eight gave him a nasty death glare.
     "Fine, fine." Three shakily stood up, letting out another sneeze. Eight guided him to the bedroom, made sure he layed down, and gently put the blanket over him. He curled up under the sheets and shivered. Eight left the room and came back a minute later with a damp towel. She gently draped it around his forehead, cold colliding with hot.
     "Let me know if you need anything." She said as his eyelids drifted shut. "Sweet dreams."
     Three desperately tried to keep his eyes open, to prove to her that he indeed was fine, but found himself drifting into another fever dream as he slipped away into the darkness. He felt lips press against his cheek before hearing the door close, and he was asleep for real.

    
     Three woke up in a pool of wet, slimy teal green ink. He was completely submerged in it, but still in his Inkling form. Since he had no gills, he couldn't breathe at all. Three thrashed around for a second before surging out of the sanitized ink, gasping for air. He rubbed it off his face, out of his hair, eyes quickly darting around, trying to figure out where he was. The tub of ink was completely full to the brim, overflowing at the very edges. He stood up and jumped out of it, swaying slightly on his feet as he regained his balance. Three seemed to be in an outrageously familiar lab, sanitized Octarians bustling around, each scrambling in different drawers, apparently trying to find something. Three took one step before something cold and firm wrapped around his ankle. He swiveled his head to look down, only to see a small, teal green hand on his foot. It had, very obviously, come from beneath the floor, which was slightly freaky. He took another step. One more hand around his ankle. Three wrestled away from these two hands, running across the lab that had now turned to pitch black darkness. He didn't know where he was going, or where he'd end up, but it didn't matter.
     Three stopped for a second to catch his breath before two hands wrapped around his ankles again, pulling him down into the ground that had now turned to teal green beneath him. With a horrid lurching sound, millions of hands, ranging from tiny to gigantic, surged out of the ground, grabbing at him. They wrapped around his body, arms, legs, waist, and dragged him under the ink. He screamed in terror. Three took one last gasp of air before they pulled him under. He wrestled a hand away and dug it out of the ink, scrabbling around for something, anything that would save him.
     But his hand gripped on thin air.
     The hands and arms yanked him under the ink, away from the surface. Turning to a squid was no use, the ink wasn't his color.
     Suddenly, the hands let him go and he dropped painfully into a room full of mirrors. Some cracked, some shattered, others perfectly intact. Whichever state they were in, they were all over the place. The walls, the ceiling, even the ground. He glared into these mirros until he noticed something horrifying and screamed.
     The Inkling that glared back at him in the mirror had pale green skin that faded to deep blue at the fingertips, and his eyes glowed that same teal green he'd been seeing for a while now.
     Three clutched his head, hearts racing.
     "Not again, not again, not again, please, NOT AGAIN!" He screamed.
     "I've planted my seed!" Yelled Tartar's voice, echoing in his ears. "Stop resisting! I control you now! YOU ARE MINE!"