Where Giants Have Lease (W/ Manticore, Open)

[attr="class","landfill-scroll"]

Clank.

Clank-clank-clank-rattle-clank.


The sound of footsteps somewhere echoed in the silence, a sudden burst of activity in this world so far beneath the surface.

But as far from the light as it was, there were some that could comfortably navigate the labyrinths in the recesses of Octo Valley. Law-skirting researchers, the remnants of past weaponry, even the particularly unfortunate, they all called the eerie darkness home.


She was none of those things, and didn't even fancy herself a thief. Merely picking up scraps of what was so easily left to rot.. it was a waste, honestly. There was profits down here that were ripe for the picking, distributed into hands that could use them. For what purpose, the octoling wasn't sure exactly, but she always made sure to keep a very close eye on all her contacts that made her or her underlings come down here.

. . .

For a second, Manticore paused, mentally reiterating her grocery list:

Tako-Bipodial Walker, Heavy Model. Should be painted purple and red, but bound to be discolored, so look for splatling-like guns mounted on its sides with large internal ink tanks. Retrieve the Zapfish processor and anything else that is present and valuable (as according to the provided blueprints)...

With a flashlight in one hand, a Luna Blaster in the other, and a rucksack of necessities over her shoulder, the octoling continued further. This area wasn't unusual to her; she had been here a time or two before, the distinct landmarks of dusty old signs lingering.

. . .

But ink trails?

She stopped, tucking her blaster into her belt, and stooped down to examine, her curiosity piqued. Without fear, Manticore briefly dipped her hand in the liquid, brow perking at its consistency as it played between her thumb and forefinger.

Someone had been here recently, probably just some refugee or another treasure hunter. But, giving the ink a brief whiff, it didn't have the common scents of neither octoling nor inkling ink -- and it wasn't blood, that was for sure.


Curiosity piqued, she continued further, flashlight slowly following the trails while keeping an eye out for anything that looked remotely like abandoned machinery.

[attr="class","landfill-scroll"]

Ugh, she felt so vulnerable like this, going around with a potential threat about when there wasn't much of a way to disguise or hide. While it wouldn't be impossible to comfortably defend herself if need be, she rather wanted to keep her ink tank full until it was quite necessary.

There was a sudden stir in the dark trails illuminated by her flashlight, and Manticore took this as plenty of a reason to pursue, her finger held firmly on her blaster's trigger. It wasn't too easy to follow, however, it never quite was when it wasn't your own ink or an ink that was chemically modified for public use. So her pursuit was awkward and a bit slow, but now that she knew that there was someone else down here, it wasn't something she could let go.

That was just the price she paid for the life she chose, though.


"You better show your face, whoever or whatever the hell you are," she called out, her voice a rough growl, no real effort put into refining it for niceties.

"Because I'm not leaving until you do.."


The good news was that she had a day's worth of rations on her if she needed it, along with a few safety nets for sticky situations. The bad news was that there wasn't much of a signal down here (rather, none at all), so there wasn't the option of keeping in touch or calling backup.

Oh well.

[attr="class","landfill-scroll"]

By now, the paranoia towards strangers had started to slowly set in, and Manticore was being pulled a bit thin between her desire to just pass by and keep going, or to address this possible threat. Maybe she could just disappear and avoid further trouble, focus on the goal--

No. She had gone and made it quite obvious that she was here, so running away would just leave her open to being tailed. The octoling made a displeased, gurgling sigh, rubbing her brow with the back of her hand and slowly approaching the wavering barbed-wire fence.

She honestly had no idea why people so much as tried for barbed-wire. Anyone with a weapon could get through if it was over ground that didn't downright reject ink; with a few shots, not going far but terminating in explosive pops, she laid a neat trail of dark golden ink beneath the fence. Her form disappeared in the very limited light as she reverted, brilliant blue rings flickering lightly as she swam through and neatly jumped out on the other side.

Shaking herself off, Manticore quickly erred to the left, moving to have the fence at her back for the sake of shelter.


"... Look. Show yourself, and I won't have to start firing to get you isolated. It'd just be damn nice to know what you are," she offered in her best level tone, trying very hard to suppress the stressed nails-on-chalkboard notes from coming through.

"So just.. come on out already?"

[attr="class","landfill-scroll"]



Thankfully, she didn't have to wait too long for an answer. The silhouette of something moving from the door frame was enough of a reason for Manticore to lower her blaster, just as she had said; while she didn't like playing by the rules most of the time, she prided herself on being reliable.


But.. what was this individual supposed to be? Grinding her teeth thoughtfully, the octoling took a tentative few steps forward, flashlight held cautiously low. It wasn't the tentacles or the clothes that stuck out, but rather, the fact that they bordered on twice her own height. Now, she wasn't tall to start, but this...?


Breath heated and rings aglow, Manticore approached a little more before stopping once she could pick out the stranger's details well enough in the limited light. Suckercup-covered tentacles, the mark of an octoling or a close genetic sibling, but.. six tentacles on the head, like an inkling? Was this one of the rare children between the two races? She knew they happened, there was at least one in Quod's ranks, but.. that height was the most unusual thing.


"Glad you did."


Her tense hand on the blaster's trigger relaxed before she put it to hang at her belt, momentarily bowing her head in a note of respect.

"I didn't know there was anyone else down here," she started, keeping her distance now that it was fairly clear that the stranger seemed more scared of her than anything else.
No reason to push boundaries.

"So... sorry for chasing you. You could have been the cops or whatever, didn't want to turn my back on that."

[attr="class","landfill-scroll"]
She watched the other a bit longer, paying particular attention to check for any weapons. It didn't look like there was any firearms or blunt force stuff going on.. and no trademark flicker of an ink tank, unless it was hidden under the clothes like hers was. Maybe a knife or four, but she had enough of a distance to be safe.

"I've been dealing with police, soldiers and agents for years, it's just a part of the business. I think I'd know if I was being followed," Manticore answered coolly, shrugging her shoulders. "They've got better stuff to do than chase someone underground. Or at least, I'd hope."

With Octo Valley's government in shambles after recent events, they couldn't afford to pursue troublemakers who went into dangerous and less-than-documented territory. Maybe Inkopolis' authorities could do that, but she'd laugh if people all the way from there were chasing her.

"... Years. Geez."

How anyone could survive down here that long was beyond her. You had to go up eventually, there wasn't much in the way of food down here even with nature beginning to claim the abandoned and forgotten once more. But.. then again, this octoling, or inkling, or whatever she was, didn't look super healthy to start.

"Dunno why I'd do that. I'm not with the military, or the government, or any of that crap. What would I get from flapping my lips about some rumor underground..?" Manticore asked, starting to wander the wreckage that lingered in the area. Nothing worthwhile yet: the most interesting thing she had found here so far were a few abandoned double-A batteries.

"Bad enough, huh.."

The pity was starting to take over, like it always did, softening her hard gaze and getting her tentacles to flick and curl uneasily. Nothing new, of course: smuggling refugees under her wing and getting them to somewhere safe was part of the reason that she had started QED in the first place. While this wasn't exactly a place you would be a refugee from.. the living conditions were definitely lacking, and it tugged at her.

No cephalopod, squid or octopus or anything else, was meant to live like this.

"Lemme you ask this: if you could leave, would you?"

She didn't simply stand and hold contact, instead starting to dig through surrounding dust and overgrowth. There was a large tangle of vines on top of something here...

[attr="class","landfill-scroll"]There were worse things than getting stuck with perimeter patrol, Crow supposed, but when it came to patrolling abandoned kettles, he began to lose sight of the reason behind it all. No sane individual, Inkling or not, would hide out in such a place. If the militia didn't find them first, the failed or abandoned projects which had entirely overrun the place surely would. It was why he'd been chosen, after all - Elite soldiers were less likely to be killed.

Perhaps, he mused, he could fake his own death; at least that way he wouldn't be stuck aimlessly wandering abandoned kettle after abandoned kettle for hours on end. God knew he had better things to be taking care of, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. The sooner he got it over with, the better.

His eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, particularly with the aid of his goggles; they gave off a faint purple light, but not enough to draw any attention to himself. Crow managed a shred of gratitude that the roads had not all been entirely overgrown, but that was the extent of it - he'd long since decided that he hated absolutely every other aspect of this pointless expedition, and for good reason. He hadn't seen anything even remotely suspicious. The faroff cries of abandoned experiments didn't concern him; they were as normal as normal got in places like this, after all.

Drawing a thin breath, he tucked his hands into his jacket and lowered his gaze, glimpsing a trail of ink there upon the ground. At first, he didn't seem to recognize or think much of it, even beginning to look away - then, with a subdued expression of realization, he stopped and looked back at the trail, allowing himself a moment to stare in mute disbelief. Then, gradually, Crow lifted his stare and followed the trail off into the near distance; it appeared to lead past the barbed wire fence of an abandoned facility. His lips twitched, a kind of amused exhalation escaping him after a brief pause.

Speaking of suspicious.

Instinctively, he reached for his weapon and crouched down slightly, suddenly more alert than he'd been a second ago. Crow stepped a few yards away from the trail until he managed to find some proper camouflage behind a line of dilapidated buildings. Then, following the ink from a distance, he proceeded carefully towards the gate, mentally preparing himself for whoever -- or whatever -- was behind it.