Inked Over Secrets: a Splatoon 2 Fanfiction

8: Tell Me You Didn't

Arty trudged along, muttering as she walked. Avia and Seven were behind her, joking and laughing.
Can't they help me? Our friend is gone.
How can you joke around? Went through her head, but she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to potentially risk her friendship in Seven and help in Avia.
But they were really getting on her tentacles. (Just to clarify, it's like nerves. Don't be dirty-minded.)
With a growl, she turned on them.
"Have you found any trace yet?" Arty questioned, her voice deadly calm.
Seven shrugged. "Sure."
"What have you found than?"
Avia finished the answer, pointing behind Arty. "That trail of green gooey stuff."
Arty spun around and saw there was indeed a trail of turquoise on the ground.
"Oh." She felt kind of hurt that they had found one more thing in a second than she had in over an hour. "Let's follow," she said, pushing away her feelings.
Duty first, feelings later. That was the Octarian Army's motto. When an offending Inkling, or Agent, invaded, the Army's job was to give them a tough time, and exterminate them if possible. Arty remembered all the times she had woken up in the Octarian Hospital Wing, with memories of pain.
Stop it. Those days are over, I'm never going back to the Army. She shook herself together. There was no time for memories. All that mattered was finding her friend.
Was he just a friend though? The thought went through her mind before she could stop it. She saw him sometimes looking at her, and when she looked back, expecting a piece of advice or something, he would look away. Did that mean... No, she couldn't let thoughts stop her. She followed the trail, her allies close behind.
Hours later, they found the end of the trail. It led up to a tree, which had a trail of the same goo leading up it. Arty signaled for the group to stay quiet. She pressed her E-Liter to the base of the tree and let loose short bursts of ink, allowing her to climb up to the next branch. After that, the trail continued up.
After a brutal climb, Arty reached the top of the tree. There were no other signs, no sounds except the hiss of the wind. Arty almost felt like she could live up here forever, with no pressures or burdens.
Almost.
"Lovely view, isn't it?" The familiar yet foreign voice came from behind her. She spun around, expecting the worst, and the worst it was.
Stinger was there, wearing a twisted smile on his face that didn't look like it belonged. His eyes were glowing turquoise, and his hair was dark green. Worst of all, pulsing green goo was stuck to his right eye.
"You," Arty addressed him.
"Yes, me." That familiar and foreign voice spoke again. (By now unfamiliar voices behind characters is cliche for me.) "I believe I need no introduction."
"Now," he continued talking, "I would let you go if you weren't so persistent. I know Stinger. Therefore, I know you. If I let you live, you will simply confront me again. Which is why I can't let you."
Arty was shaking her fists balled, as she muttered something. "Tell me... didn't..."
"What was that?"
Arty looked up, and there were tears in her eyes. "TELL ME YOU DIDN'T! TELL ME YOU DIDN'T MISGUIDE STINGER FROM THE INSIDE SINCE DAY ONE! TELL ME YOU DIDN'T MANIPULATE HIM, MANIPULATE ME! TELL ME YOU DIDN'T!"
Tartar shrugged, unaffected by Arty's heartbroken screaming. "I can't tell you that. I'm sorry it had to come to this. But in the end, everything has a breaking point. Even Octolings."
And with that, he kicked Arty of the top of the tree.
Time seemed to slow down around Arty as she fell, hot raindrops rising from her eyes. She knew it was over. If she turned into her smaller Octopus form, she could easily be carried by the strong winds into the river, where she would drown with no coming back.
She closed her eyes, regretting her life, as she hit the ground.

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Stinger was starting to get bored in this dark, nothing-ish room that was his subconscious.
A slight splash told him that Tartar had arrived.
Remembering something from Greek mythology, he asked his captor, "Can you give me something to do? It's like the Fields of Asphodel in here; supremely boring."
Tartar chuckled. "That's the point. I want you to sit here with no purpose as I drain your free will. However, this news will transfer you from Asphodel to Tartarus (Basically the Greek Gods' garbage cans for anything evil), which, ironically is also what I'm named after."
Stinger mentally braced himself for bad news.
But there was no way he could protect himself against this news.
"Your friend Arty is dead."
Stinger stifled a scream and kept his cool. "You're lying."
Tartar chuckled. "I'm not." He waved his hand, and a memory played, like a horror movie, in front of Stinger. It showed from his perspective, as he kicked Arty off the top of the tree, as he watched her plummet until she was too far down to see.
And then he broke. He started sobbing, straining against his bounds, trying to get away from the monster that was Tartar.
The monster that, in some twisted way, was also him.

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I'm sorry, okay? Please don't kill me. Things will get better next week.
Also, dang. I have, what, 170 reads and 7 votes now? More? I can't believe how much support this story has gotten. So I thank you, all of you, for sticking with me. Bye!