Agent 38: In The Making

Chapter 40: Outcast

"Get away from her!" Gabriel yelled angrily. He pointed his Brella at Three's face and he scrambled away. Three was used to seeing this face full of hope or determination, but now it was full of anger and betrayal.
     "Gabriel, i-it's ok," Eight gasped. "H-he didn't do anything w-wrong, it wasn't h-his fault."
     "No, no, he's right," Three mumbled. "I'll go." He glanced once more at Eight- at what he'd done to her, at what Tartar had made him do to her- and left. As soon as he was out of sight, Three started sprinting back to the manhole that led to Inkopolis Square. Guilt flooded through him like a malevolent waterfall, pounding over and over like a knife repeatedly plunging into his hearts. His mind flashed back to driving the dagger into Eight's leg, and he shuddered a little.
     Three dove into the manhole, swam through the ink, and leapt back out into the Square. A few Inklings cast confused glances at him, along with a surprising amount of new Octolings. He ignored them and slowed down just a tiny bit, but still kept up his pace.
     He didn't have a destination, no goal, no nothing. Three simply felt as though he'd committed a thousand crimes all at the same time; the guilt and sadness and anger that hung over his shoulders and seeped into every skin cell was almost unbearable. Three tried to hold them back, subduing the feelings that threatened to make him vulnerable. He felt like an outsider; an outcast, forbidden into his own home. The look on Gabriel's face... the concern on Aaron's face, the lack of trust in the eyes of Callie and Marie, it all flashed back into his mind, forcing bands of steel over his hearts and binding them with ice.
     Three remembered the cold prescence of Tartar in his head; the pounding of his hearts and brain; the evil teal green that declared him insane. And, in the middle of it all, that one little pulse of love and hope and affection towards Sarai.
     He already missed her.
     Three turned into the alleyways where he'd saved Eight from the bullies about a month ago. He remembered as he walked past the same dark alley, the rage that had consumed him and the drive to harm those who dared hurt the people he loved. Three shook the memories away as if they were nothing but sticky dark webs that couldn't help clinging to him.
     He finally stopped at one of the intersections that was part of the shadows, making sure he couldn't be seen. Three leaned on the wall, edging closer into the darkness, and let his emotions run wild since he knew he couldn't keep them at bay. A flaming mess of overpowering guilt and overwhelming rage directed towards himself suddenly flooded through his veins like a furious tornado. It was far, far too much for any Inkling to bear.
     And, for as strong as Alexander thought he was by putting others needs and priorities and problems before his... he realized with a wrenching twist in his stomach that he really wasn't that strong, after all.
     He turned, slid down deep into the shadows of despair that called his forth, and cried. Three sunk down to his knees, covering his eyes as though trying to keep the tears in.
     Three threw his head back and yelled a long, slow yell of pure agony and despair. How could he, the one who'd vowed to protect those he loved, be the one to injure and try to kill said loved ones? How could he, after everything he'd been through, not think this entire mess was his fault?
     Clink.
     Three whirled towards the noise, quickly wiping the tears off his cheeks and printing a scowl on his face. A small Toxic Mist bottle slowly rolled towards him.
     "I thought you'd learned the first time," Said a familiar voice in the shadows. "Not to come back here again."
     He steadied his voice and stood up. "I don't run from anyone. If I know you, show yourself, and we'll see if you have the guts to face me again."
     Four figures folded out of the shadows like menacing sharks. As they came into the dim light of the moon, he recognized who they were and growled lightly.
     They were the four bullies that had nearly beaten Eight to death.
     "You here for a rematch? I'll be happy to kick all your butts again." Three snarled.
     "Don't pretend to be strong," Said Chokeholder. "Your weak little cries could be heard a mile away."
     "Weak is an understatement," Crowed the scrawny one he'd splatted last time. "This fella 'ere sounded like a wounded kitten!"
     The other three snickered and he felt an uncontrollable flare of temper.
     "Look who's talking!" Three said. "If I sounded like a wounded kitten, imagine what you must sound like, you worthless bag of bones!"
     Their expressions suddenly all went hostile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of them lunge for him, and quickly slid out of the way. Just then, the one who had had a Blaster the last time shoved his against the wall and elbowed his stomach fiercely. Three coughed out all his air and went still.
     Three realized that they had names embriodered on the red jackets that they wore. The one who had him pinned to the wall was Noah, the scrawny one was Ethan, the one who had had Dualies was Bear, and Chokeholder was Scott.
     Noah released him and Scott instantly grabbed Three's neck. He shoved him upward against the wall, and Three struggled for breath. He clawed and punched and bit at Scott's fist, but it was no use.
     "Let me go!" Three screamed.
     "Don't pretend you got somethin' to live for," Scott snarled. "I heard those cries before. Your gang has left you, and I bet a million coins they don't want you back."
     This realization hit him like a brick in the face.
     He's right. Three thought, gasping for air. They don't want me back.
     They don't want me back.
     They wouldn't miss me.
     If I died... would it be such a great loss to the world? To Marie, or Callie, or Aaron, or Gabriel or Cuttlefish or Eight?
     After every terrible thing I've done?
     Three stopped struggling.
     He went limp under Scott's grip.
     The Inkling smiled maliciously. "That's better." He waved, beckoning his friends. "Let's teach this squid a lesson. Come on boys, let's rough him up a bit."
     Scott dropped Three, and kicked him straight in the face a nanosecond later. He crumpled to the floor, feeling completely resigned to being beaten to death. Three closed his eyes and let the pain begin. Someone grabbed the collar of his shirt and hurled him into a wall. He felt a rough pain on his nose as another one punched him.
     Another elbow to the stomach, three more kicks in the face, one punch in the eye, several knees to the stomach.
     Three knew his nose was inking, and he probably had a black eye, and his tooth might have been chipped, and honestly why was he even paying attention to this anymore?
     Someone pulled the hairtie from his head and pulled his hair back, then slammed his face into the wall. Three was thrown into a wall again, kicked around like a ragdoll, and gripped by the throat for a few seconds.
     The minutes turned to hours, everything swimming and muddling into each other.
     Three opened his eyes slightly with a wince of agony. He cocked his head downward to look at the damage. Several bruises and cuts on his stomach and chest, a few tears in his shirt, scrapes on his legs and arms, and his color ink smeared on it all. The pain rushed out and swept back in again, and this time he felt a haze of darkness settling over his eyes. Three flopped over onto his side and slackened against the wall.
     "I think that's enough for one day," Said one of them. He couldn't tell which one it was as his vision blurred and the walls folded and squiggled and the stars overhead turned into white-ish glowing blobs. "Let's go, boys." He heard their footsteps as they left, and caught himself wondering if he would be missed.
     Three shuffled onto his back and thought about his life. Had it all been worth it? He counted all the good and bad things he'd done as the darkness ate up the corners of his vision. He thought about every good feeling, every hug, every kiss from Eight and every moment he'd valued.
     As Three's heartsbeat slowed a tiny bit and his ears began to ring and his eyes began to close for the last time, he thought he heard someone call out to him.
     "Three? Three! Where are you!"
     He let out a breath. "I love you, Sarai. Always."
     I never got to propose.
     And then... blackness rushed up towards him, enfolding him in its vast wings, and he was gone.

No, no, Three isn't dead. I'm not that heartless.
Word count: 1532