A shelter-in-place order following a massive wave of salmonid ink onto Splatsville sends everyone running for cover. These three are no exception.
The weather today called for dark, ominous skies, served with a side of salmonids racing across every corner of Splatsville.
Everyone not interested in fighting the beasts off took shelter in their homes–those who ended up caught off guard fled to whatever building seemed sturdy enough to ward off hordes of clattering fish looking for easier targets. The fish spilled into Wahoo World earlier the day before, and as far as any non-fighters knew, they’d be warded off there.
So everyone believed. Alas, a large portion of the Grizzco Industries freelance workers had organized a mass sit-out on jobs due to delayed payments, which just so happened to overlap with the recent mass attack.
At that point, Salmonids spilling into the town became less of a doomsday prepper’s dream and more of a horrible nightmare for everyone else involved. And off all the places to serve as shelter, only one seemed to be a decent option.
“Not that I don’t mind all the fresh new customers,” Sheldon piped up, now a speck among the crowded audience filling every nook and cranny of his store, “but why did everyone choose here to hide?”
“...There’s weapons,” Harmony said, crouched in the corner.
“Ah, good point. Very good point. But considering the circumstances, maybe a half payment might be in order before you take any of these against the Salmonids. Luckily, I can help all of you find exactly what you–”
Sheldon’s desperate attempt at a sales pitch died amidst the chaos of the room, centered around one group in particular.
“If I pick it up and strum it like this,” Baker said as he picked up an ink brush and tapped his fingers against it, holding it like a bass, “then it’s almost like the real thing.”
“Except for…the sound,” Kiki said.
“That’s supposed to be part of your imagination!”
“Oh.”
“Be careful about touchin’ it if you’re not sure you even want it,” Walter said, taking the weapon out of Baker’s hands and putting it back on the display.
Baker huffed. “Hey, I was still looking.” Despite his annoyance, he gave up on the brush and started to pace around the store, picking up and putting down all kinds of weapons. “Huh, it's been a long time since I handled one of these.”
Kiki frowned, looking about the store as if to guess which one Baker had a preference for before they paused and turned to him. “Which one…”
“Oh, you’re wondering about my old main? I mean, I never touched the–”
They pointed towards a roller. Baker rubbed his eyes, then gaped. “Yeah, that one! Dynamo Roller users make it look so easy. How do you even pull off the timing on those flicks?”
“Well!”
Between the two, Sheldon materialized at the mere mention of his products, finger pointed in the air before he cleared his throat. “While experience is the greatest teacher, in reality, utilizing a Dynamo Roller to the height of its potential relies on the use of your secondary weapon along with a keen sense of distance, on the spot angle calculation, and–”
As Sheldon rambled on, the three moved to the other side of the store. Somewhere where a certain shopkeeper wouldn’t try to sell them on random weapons they only mentioned in passing.
Something wet and heavy slapped against the door, followed by several loud bangs. The salmonids flailed, coated every inch of land in a thick ooze of orange ink.
“Fish…pretty.” Harmony pressed a hand to the glass, as a tiny salmonid flailed its little fin against the door. A tiny crack formed–the bandmates went to another side of the store, if only to ignore their impending doom as much as possible.
“So, important question,” Baker said, offering a reprieve from the occasional sound of flapping and cracks from outside. A tiny puddle of orange ink formed around the story and began to leak in from tiny holes, throwing Sheldon into a panic to clean it up, “if you turned into a Salmonid, which one would’ya wanna be?”
Kiki raised their head, pondering the question with a small tilt of the head before saying, “The small ones? Or any?”
“Whatever your heart desires. Pick based on vibes, power, whatever. I just wanna know.”
“Hm…”
A minute passed before they answered, lighting up as if Kiki wanted to transform then and there, “Flipper-Flooper. Or…Flyfish? They both get to go wherever they want…”
“Huh. You know, that’s a really ‘you’ answer, I dunno why I asked.” Baker turned his attention to Walter, who focused on the front door until addressed. “So, what about you?”
“Megalodontia.”
“Uh…” Baker coughed. “Just that? No explanation? Nothing?”
“...”
“Okay, I’m not surprised. At all. I get the choice, I just thought you’d have more of a thought process here. It’s like we’re playing pretend, and you picked the invincible shield that deflects anything I use. What am I even supposed to do with this?”
No matter how hard he tried, though, Walter provided no other answer. Baker slumped over in exasperation. “Okay, fine, keep messing with me. I bet you don’t even know what I’d pick, huh? It’d have to be something real special to compare to someone like–”
“Goldie,” Walter said, smiling at how Baker fumed at their (correct) guess.
“Hey! I wasn’t done yet! Besides, I had something way better in mind. I was gonna say, uh…hm…I was gonna say–”
“Goldie?” Kiki repeated. Baker collapsed against the floor at the repeated assault on his self-esteem, laying there even as the leaking ink started to stick to his skin in uncomfortable ways. Finally he got fed up with it and jumped back to his feet, flicking the gunk off with a grimace.
Walter moved around the room, trying and failing to kick the substance away as it formed a small puddle underneath everyone. The other shopkeepers present mumbled and whispered among themselves until Sheldon emerged from the back of the store with buckets, putting everyone to work catching the ink with a force of will rivaling the Big Run itself.
To say their efforts changed anything, though, would be an understatement. A massive, fatal one. The ink level rose and drove everyone further in no matter how much they sloshed it out. Baker stumbled forward, trying to look cool and failing as the ink lapped at his heels.
Just one step more–he’d fall in.
Until someone grabbed him, pulled him back, and ran. Water snatched Kiki and Baker by the wrists before dragging them away from the frantic battle against the rising ink, one the rest of the room’s occupants slowly lost.
Before being dragged out the emergency exit, Baker flashed a thumbs-up towards Jel La Fleur, the first to be carried out the door by the ink wave as the poor, poor jellyfish cried out for mercy.
But this was Big Run. And they were all out of mercy.
The three scrambled up the side of the building and onto the roof before the ink got to them, but despite their evasive efforts, the level continued to rise until it covered up the windows to the store, obscuring the fates of those inside.
The sky bled red–the rest of Splatsville looked no better, the trio thankful for the upwards sprawl protecting most of the people from the flood. Still, it did nothing to change those who fell under the initial ground level waves.
Sicky, burning orange. And what would come after? Relief? How long would it take? They could be stuck up there for days, no sustenance.
“...Hey, guys?” Baker reached over and pulled Kiki and Walter close, before Kiki slipped out of his grip and moved themselves to the edge of the roof. Utterly unaffected, he prattled on.
“Just so you guys know, you’re all the best bandmates a guy could ask for. You know, in case we die here.”
“We’re not gonna die,” Walter said. “Quit being stupid.”
Unfortunately, it did nothing to stop his profuse sobbing. And as the ink tides stopped, a couple feet above ground, Walter and Kiki shared a look–one of deep, mutual understanding.
Frustration. Entrapment. To take their chances with the ink below seemed all too reckless, yet compared to the circumstances now, it almost seemed like beautiful relief compared to hearing Baker’s sobbing for the next two days.
Kiki sighed and buried their head in their knees. “Tell me when it’s over.”
Walter nodded. Embracing the occasional moments of silence within Baker’s abject, over the top misery, they looked off into the distance and counted each agonizing second away. The sun dipped below the horizon, red extinguished for a quiet, sleepy, ink-deep black sky.
A few days later, C-Side walked past the still-closed weapons store. Kiki pointed at the roof of the building, and Baker winced.
“Please stop reminding me.”
“Never.”