His morning started as they always had: slow and quiet. Craig begrudgingly acknowledged the usual symphony of aches and pains one earned when they lived as long as he had. As he slowly hauled himself from the bed, he was reminded of the other choir of soreness and injuries that one would gain when they survived what he did.

With a spirited grunt, Craig pried himself from the comfortable clutches of the bed. He hadn't fought through a war and survived just to let something as benign as the march of time stop him now. I'm still going damnit! Got too many things still cookin' to croak now!

...Still, that didn't mean he had to rush. The sun wasn't even up yet; he'd have plenty of time before Agent 3 returned. So Craig took his time getting ready, giving his muscles the breaks they asked for as he bustled around the cabin. A kettle of water found its way to the stovetop acting as the timer for a short bout of morning chores. Agent 3's hero suit was mostly packed back into its case. A few other miscellaneous bits of tidying up all got completed before the kettle's shriek pieced the relative silence.

Back in the kitchen, Craig fished a tea bag out of a box tucked against the back of counter. He paused with his hand in the box and tipped it towards himself, looking inside. "Hmph. Only three bags left. Need to import more." Boiling water from the kettle was carefully poured into a mug, with the tea bag chasing it in a moment later. Craig left that to sit on the counter and cool, leaving it with another "harumph" As he wandered back into the living room.

Opening the door to the study, he flicked the light on and swept his gaze over the room. It was a rather cramped space, with a rather large desk against the wall opposite the door and a table smack in the middle. Where there weren't bookshelves, old framed hand-drawn maps covered the walls; his original copies of the innermost domes. There was no way any of the maps were accurate anymore, he didn't dare send his Agents to the center of the domes for something so trivial as a map, as useful as the information could be. The left side of the desk was covered by a pile of rolled up maps, a collection of the more recent maps of the outer domes that Agents One and Two had produced before taking their leave. The right was just covered by miscellaneous stacks of reports and other papers, leaving a small gap in the middle for things to be worked on. Craig sat down at the desk, squeezing into the available space, and grabbed a stack of pale yellow sticky notes from a small pile in the left corner.

Scrapping buildings for raw materials

He ripped the note off of the sheet and stood, turning to face corkboard that covered nearly the entire right wall. Numerous other notes were pinned to the board, most written in some different combination of handwriting and paper. Several photos were also pinned to the board, depicting many of the structures inside the domes. Red string was tied to many of the pins, 'connecting' the ideas together. The new note found its home on the right edge of the board. With the note now in its proper place, Craig stepped back and just stared at the thing, thinking.

(note formatting, all separate if I can manage to scatter them at least somewhat.)
Large Machines coating roads in ink
Radar interference near tunnels
Soldiers spotted wearing red sunglasses
Noise reduction detected. Cause???
Source found, no more trucks
Temporary training grounds on empty farm stack layers

Craig scratched his beard, before reaching up and moving a couple of the red strings. A new string was added, tying the new note to the one about the sunglasses.

"I'll want Agent 3 to look over this too, see what he thinks. A fresh pair of eyes'll do the trick!" Satisfied, he turned and walked out of the room. He grabbed the mug of tea from the kitchen, and started towards the porch. He groaned quietly as he lowered himself onto the hanging wooden bench, and the wood protested similarly. It held though, and Craig felt the gentle sway of the bench beneath him.

He sat, content in the quiet of the outdoors. Wind gently swept through the valley, it's quiet whistle buffering against the side of the cabin and rustling the leaves of the few nearby trees. The sky had just begun to glow with its dazzling array of purples, reds, and oranges. He silently brought the mug to his lips, and sipped at the tea. The mild, savory flavor dulled the aches of his old heart, still mourning those he had lost. The taste of wasabi leaf tea complimented the magenta hues of the sun's first peak over the horizon and the memories all the same.

Waiting under a sewer grate in a major city wasn't exactly Craig's definition of fun, though by no means was it the worst way he had spent his time. Eh, let's see. Bein held up in that storage closet was bland. Drillin' the antenna mounts in the valley was pretty dull. And there was the week on that damned boat... Bah. Least these young'uns are interesting to look at with their crazy clothes.

He sat in the grate, watching the people in the square to pass the time. He was content to sit back for now: he had shown up a little early in case his new agent was a real go getter. He didn't have a complete read on the kid yet, but from what Craig had gleaned so far, he was a good one. He's sharp. I know neither of my existing Agents woulda thought of that half-baked stunt he pulled yesterday. He's quick on his feet, but his actual sprinting's gotta get faster. That's not nothin I can't fix up with some good ol fashion training though. He ran through yesterday's mission in his mind, comparing the movements he tracked with Agent 3's description of the events. Least he doesn't freeze like a carp staring down a shark, but he'll need to work dodging as well. As he worked through the fight and reached it's conclusion Craig's mind slowly shifted its focus on the kid's version of what happened, or more specifically, what had come right before it.

Craig remembered how Quinn's demeanor had changed in an instant. Moments before he had been laughing as he came down from an adrenaline rush. Then Quinn practically pleaded with him, begging for a chance to go back into the domes to collect the cheap plastic bomb frames he used to save his own life. Begging for forgiveness.

The revelation had brought a chill to Craig's core. Quinn thought he was mad at him. No, Quinn had been terrified of him. Not once during their initial meeting, or under the threat of being splatted had the boy stuttered. It wasn't until he was expecting retaliation from Craig that it started. And Craig hadn't done anything to prove that he wasn't exactly what the boy had pictured. He had spent the entire time he'd known the kid egging him on, messing with him in the Plaza, playing down his worries and concerns. He should have known to draw the line when the boy got genuinely angry when he was cut off a few times to many. Guess he got the last word on that one, eh?

He had tried the same tactic he had used on Marie. His grandsquid needed to be acknowledged for what she accomplished. Pretending to write her off and talking over her gave her something to prove, and when she 'earned' a little bit more respect, she got the acknowledgement that she wanted. Compared to her, he had a similar practical way of thinking, similar dry and sarcastic humor, and practically the same direct mindset when it came to conversation.

In that comparison, Craig made his damning mistake: Quinn wasn't Marie. He didn't need a challenge to rise to, or to 'earn' his respect. The poor boy wasn't even sure he deserved respect to begin with. Quinn needed someone to be there for him. He didn't come from a nice place, and if his off-handed comments about money were any indication, he wasn't exactly in one right now either.

And so Craig sat in the sewer grate, waiting for the boy he saw too much of his granddaughter in. The news broadcast came and went, and there was still no sign of his agent. He waited another hour, and then a third one after that. With a quiet sigh and heavy hearts, Craig allowed the grate to fall shut with the a dull ka-thunk, and he sawm back to the Cabin. He couldn't blame the kid, really. A lot happened to him yesterday— and Craig had pushed him to his limit. If he doesn't want to be here, it's better that way, Craig comforted himself in his mind. Even Callie almost walked away after she learned everything.

I hope he finds someone to point him in the right direction.

Craig was about to step into his room when the landline rang out from the kitchen. He grumbled to himself as he wandered over to grab the phone. Only two kinds of people call that thing, and one of them had most of it's members leave the country not to long ago. He put on his best 'confused old man' voice to annoy away whatever telemarketer was calling as he picked up the phone. "Eh, Hello?"

"Ah, yes, Captain Cuttlefish, Hello." A young, nasally voice enthusiastically announced over the phone. "I have a message to deliver to you!"

"Sheldon?" Craig asks, confused. "I already got the box, so unless ya made some gear I don't know about..."

"Oh no, I'm not calling about the enhanced tank or the Hero Shot! Though I would still like the field data on them. It's very important to—"

"I'll send ya the data kid, just tell me why ya called."

"Of course! Your new protégé stopped into my shop and asked me to pass along a message."

Protégé? "You mean Quinn's there?"

"Yes sir, I do. He apparently overslept, and would like you to come get him!"

"I'm already on my way." Craig declared, ending the call and setting the phone on its little charging deck. He quickly made his way out the front door and back to the grate he had just come from. He'd not been this excited since he attended his grandsquid's graduation.

Quinn sat with his head in his hands. He was at a table in the Captain's study, staring down the map laid out on the table in front of him. It showed the first dome he explored, the abandoned housing complex from about two weeks ago. Small notes were written in his own tight handwriting next to several points of interest. It was a new copy of the map, freshly traced by his own hand from the most recent copy, with a distinction added regarding the building cutting he had found. He carefully pulled the old map out from below the new one, carefully rolled and tied it up and with a dated tag, before setting it in a carefully marked bin. He sighed, turning back to the new map and giving it one final look over. It's incredible to think a place this complicated and large existed, yet was practically unheard of. Almost a little suspicious.

"Hey Captain?" He called out into the cabin.

"Eh?" came his reply a few moments later.

"How come no one talks about the domes?" There wasn't a verbal reply, but the sound of a bamboozler hitting the ground told Quinn the old man was on his way. "I mean, it's a really big place. Even ignoring the, eh, occupation, this is something that should probably been common knowledge."

The Captain wandered into the map filled study, with an inquisitive look on his face. "No one talks about em?"

"Yeah. I mean, the war was taught in history class, but there wasn't any mention of any domes. I even went to the library and looked it up online; there were links to some college history departments and an obscure web forum that's been dead for 18 years, but none of these mentioned anything about domes. Just human settlements."

The Captain stroked his beard, clearly mulling something over. "Hmmm. No mentions... Yer not gonna find anything online about 'em I don't think." The Captain walked the rest of the way into the room and made his way to the towering bookshelf at the back of the room. "Too new. Now, let's see here... ah!" He pulled a series of three books off of the shelf, setting them on the table's corner. He grabbed the book on top of the stack, flipped it to a specific page and handed it over to Quinn. "Take a look at this, tell me whatcha think."

Quinn first closed the book, making sure to save his place with his finger before he did so. The title read 'Inkadian History, circa 13923', and the book's appearance matched it's 95 years of age. "This is a history textbook."

"I can't say I bought it with good intentions—" The Captain ribbed Quinn with his elbow and smiled for this next bit, "I wanted to know what they were sayin' about me. But it's still a history textbook." Quinn flipped back to the page the Captain had marked. A specific set of paragraphs had been highlighted, so he read those.

...the Pro-Exchange party's victory with the aid of Inkadian armies. Most notable among them was the Squidbeak Splatoon. A small specialty squad sent along with the Inkadian ambassadors before the official onset of the war. The isolationist party, rather than accept their defeat and re-integrating with society, fled with a large majority of its members. They invaded a recently discovered human settlement near Mt. Nantai, and after removing all non-associated peoples from within, demolished all the entrances, effectively isolating themselves from the rest of the world.

Despite attempts, neither the Inkadian or Octolian factions were able to stop this retreat. Instead, patrols were posted around the area the the party was last seen on the surface. No additional signs of life have been detected since the party isolated itself.

"It wasn't ever public knowledge that they were domes, was it?" Quinn slowly asked. That explained the difficulty finding anything about it, but not the complete lack of any mention whatsoever.

"I'm afraid not. The site wasn't even a month old by the time they moved. Most likely the archeologists hadn't even gotten past the first dome. How's that make ya feel lad, you made it further than the pros in their hayday!"

Quinn didn't respond to the praise, but his cheeks flushed slightly red. "Were you part of that guard squad?"

"Eh, no actually. That guard post quickly became a retirement post. Old commanders and the like would spend their last year or two of service out in the valley where nothing happened." Quinn's brow furrowed, but The Captain continued before he could speak. "I see you kid. I know I'm old, but I'm not that old. I was only 40 when they retired the post." He reached to the end of the table and grabbed the next book, flashing it's cover to Quinn.

'Modern Inkadian history, 13800 to present.' read the title. This book was newer, though it showed several signs of wear and tear. "This one's from when my son went to secondary school," The Captain explained while he flipped through the pages. "What's that, about '78 then? Eh, it's somewhere in there. He wrote so many notes in the margins, and beat the snot out of em bad enough the school made us buy it off them." He passed the open book to Quinn, it again had a section highlighted.

Inkadian forces were instrumental to the Pro-Exchange party's victory. When the Isolationist party turned traitor and attacked their former comrades, it was the Inkadian Squidbeak Splatoon, a small splatoon of soldiers sent with the three Inkadian ambassadors, who held the democratic complex until reinforcements arrived. Legendary Commander Craig Cuttlefish was credited with the decisive action that almost single-handedly turned the tide of the war.

The Isolationist party barricaded themselves inside an abandoned underground shelter to avoid the realities of their loss. No sign of the former faction has been seen to this day, leading most to believe they have already died out completely, or are well into the process.

Within the margins of the book, there is several notes scrawled in messy hand writing that says things like "Dad's sure they're not dead!" and "cowards!!" near the mention of treachery.

"They don't even mention the human complex or the guard duty! They just completely brushed over the entire thing!"

"Yer sharp one lad, I didn't notice it myself until my grandsquids started asking me questions."

"You were too distracted by your glowing review in that one weren't you." Quinn smirked as he levied the light-hearted accusation.

"Mmm. The first one didn't even mention my name, hard not to get distracted." The Captain answered, his voice playfully gruff. "Now look here. This one's from about yer time."

The third book looked modern, it had that glossy finish that was only ever present on mass-market school textbooks. 'Inkadian History: What you need to know' was marked across the front. Quinn wasn't given much time to examine it any further as the Captain set the book in his hands with the page flipped open to a highlighted section. "This one's my grandsquid's. She took after her dad."

Around 100 years ago, the Octavian civil war began due to a dispute regarding an open border policy with Inkadia, proposed due to fears regarding encroaching tides. The talks were tense but peaceful until the extremist Isolationist faction retaliated by attempting to assassinate the leaders of the Pro-Exchange. Luckily, Inkadia's Squidbeak Splatoon, headed by the legendary Captain Cuttlefish was present, and managed to defend the officials until the armies arrived.
That marked a turning point in the war. With the Inkadian army's help, the Isolations were defeated. Their ideology persisted for several years, but has since ultimately died out in the collative consciousness.

Cartoonish pink doodles lined either side of the page. The Captain's name had been underlined, with the phrase "Gramps!!" written next to a large smiley face.

"They don't even mention the party's retreat!" Quinn shouted. "What the hell!?"

"It's a concerning trend you start to see too much when you get to my age. A lot of the world's 'insignificant' details get swept under the rug as things move on, till no one knows 'em."

"I mean, it's not unknown," Quinn insisted. "Historians at Shellendorf and Conch College had things about the domes on their pages!"

"Oh no, something as big as that isn't going to be completely forgotten." Craig amended. "Those batty old professors can remember all they want to about 'em. Doesn't mean they're gonna get even one step closer to the truth."

Quinn anxiously tapped his fingers on the table. "They probably think the Iso— the Octavians all died out."

"I imagine so." The Captain confirmed. Silence fell over the two for a few moments as Quinn's brain spun. This was insane, how could this kind of thing even happen? Such an important detail, just swept into obscurity, if he hadn't seen both the actual domes and history books himself, he wouldn't have believed it.

"What's on yer mind lad?" The Captain asked, curious.

"I just... that's how I was taught. No mention of it anywhere."

"It's not your fault kid. You can't control what you're taught as a squidlett."

"I wonder..." Quinn started again. "These are all Inkadian history books, I wonder if Octarian history books say anything different.

The Captain stopped, his eyes squinting as he thought. "That's a good question. I have no idea... I'll get my grandsquids to get one, they're visiting the country at the moment."

So that's where they went. "They probably go into more detail, right? I mean it's their own history, surely they talk about it in more detail."

"That's the hope, but I'll ye honest with ya lad, I don't think it'll have much more."

"Hmm." Quinn grabbed the next map, letting the conversation lapse into silence. A few minutes later, a thought occurred to him. "Hey, Captain, is there a comprehensive map?"

The Captain looked up from the journal he was writing in. "A what?"

"Like--" Quinn grabbed two of the maps he'd been working on, and held them up so their exits roughly aligned-- "A big map with all of the connected domes?"

"Nope. Mainly been focused on keeping them accurate." The Captain turned back to his journal.

There was a pause while Quinn slowly put the maps back where they were.

"But, if ya keep sharpening yer skills like ya have been, I'm sure ya could knock something like that out, no problem!"

Quinn froze, unprepared for the sudden praise. He could feel his cheeks turning red, so he turned away without saying anything to hide his embarrassment.

A loud beep suddenly sounded from the kitchen. "Oh, there's the pidgin!" The Captain quickly stood from his desk. "Come lad, there's enough for the both of us!"

Quinn immediately started to decline, but The Captain left the room, seemingly ignoring his attempts to escape. He reluctantly followed the old man into the kitchen where he tried again, only to get shut down by the Captain waving his hand.

"Bah! This is just some left overs from last night. I got the bird on sale, it was more than I thought it'd be. Need to eat it before it's gone. Now go, sit, I'll bring everything over." Quinn frowned, but slowly complied, taking an unsure seat at the dining table at the far end of the room. He didn't need to wait long, The Captain soon wandered over with two plates of pidgin, covered in sauce with some greens on the side. "Dig in bucko!"

It was the best meal Quinn could remember eating.

"Keep yer back straight!" The Captain chastised from above him.

Quinn pushed off the ground again, arms straining as the handle of The Captain's bamboozler was pushed against his back. There wasn't any significant force behind it, but Quinn straightened his back all the same. "Forty... five!" he gasped as he finished the push up. It took a serious amount of effort to stop himself from just dropping to the ground, but he managed to lower himself flat to the ground once again.

"Keep going lad, yer almost there!" The Captain cheered, keeping his cane level with Quinn's movements. "This is it for the day bucko, don't quit now!"

Grunts of effort slipped from his mouth involuntarily as he pushed against the ground with all his might. He stopped counting— out loud at least— he needed every spare resource he could spare.

Forty six. Forty seven, Forty eight.

Forty nine.

"Fifty!" Quinn half-cheered half-wheezed as he held himself up. H's arms were shaking so hard they threatened to fall out from under him, but he again managed to lower himself most of the way to the ground. He focused on his breathing, taking deep, steady breaths while trying to ignore as much of the pain in his arms as he could.

"Good work Agent 3!" The Captain celebrated, clapping his hands together. Quinn grunts in response, getting a chuckle from the old man. "When yer ready, come on inside. I got a nice lasagna bake in the oven that'll be ready soon."

Quinn grunted again as he sloppily maneuvered his right arm to show a thumbs up. He was just going to lay there for a bit, it had been a very long day. It always started with a whole slew of stretches and basic exercises The Captain assigned him to do each morning. From there, the plan would very by day. If he was going in a mission, he'd preform a few more exercises and suit up. If it was a day off, he would head to the Battle Lobby to do some ranked turf matches for G. Or, if it was like today, he would be worked to his cartilage on drills and exercises meant to help him get stronger. The Captain's regiment was initially pretty light, just a basic workout routine with rudimentary combat drills, though it didn't stay so simple for long. Just today, he'd run his morning workout routine twice, two separate routines for his arms and his legs, ran an hour's worth of sprints, climbed the walls of the canyon in adult form, practiced repelling down walls in both forms, performed several running combat drills, and a stealth exercise with the Captain in Inkopolis. He was making fantastic progress, in just three short months he'd become the healthiest and most fit he'd ever been in his life.

But is was also so cod-flipping tiring. He was almost grateful for the turf days, they were a welcome brake for his mind, he practically ran them on auto pilot at this point. Quinn laid on the concrete slab for who knows how long, just feeling the ache of his muscles while his thoughts slowly flicked through the similar routines of weeks past. Eventually though, the time to stand came, and Quinn fought his way to his feet. He was a dead fish walking, but he made his way from the concrete square behind the Cabin to the front door only tripping once.

The Captain opened the door and waved him inside. "There ya are kid, I was starting to worry you fell asleep out there!" Rather than the military 'uniform' he was wearing earlier, he wore a simple tank top and light blue apron. "And take this too." The Captain handed him a protein shake, topped with just a bit too much whipped cream on top to be considered strictly healthy.

Quinn braced his back against the door frame before attacking the shake with vigor. He hardly even tasted it, he was too busy relishing in how good the cold of the drink felt. With the drink thoroughly emptied Quinn staggered his way the rest of the way into the Cabin he had become so familiar with, closing the door behind him. He steadied his balance on the island counter as he ventured towards the table at the far end of the dining room, practically falling into the chair when he got there.

"Food's served!" The Captain happily announced as he placed a plate loaded with enough food for three people in front of Quinn. It smelled heavenly. It, nor the plate that came after it, lasted very long at all. He relished the experience, the good food and the comfortable atmosphere, the ache of his muscles, it was all just so nice he just kinda relaxed at the table.

He's not sure how long he sat there, but when he started to stir it was dark outside the kitchen window. He shook his head, trying to wake himself up from the unexpected nap. The kitchen was dim, with only a pair of candles— one on the table across from him, the other on the kitchen island— being the source of light. Quinn stood in a rush, nearly knocking the chair over in the process. He glances around, before quickly stumbling out of the kitchen. The study door was open, with a dim lighting seeping out into the darkened living room. He stepped up to it and peered inside.

The Captain sat at one of the desks, writing something in a journal by lamplight. He was dressed even more casually now, wearing only a white tank top and simple gray sweatpants. The old man looked content, sat there writing away while Quinn looked in on him. It was, admittedly a little startling. It was easy to get lost in The Captain's energy, that drive that made him almost feel larger than life at times. He often forgot that his old mentor was, well, old. The moment struck him as particularly poignant for some reason.

The Captain broke the silence, closing the journal and setting the pen beside it. "Evening, Agent 3."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Quinn asked, trying his hardest to hide how tired he still was.

The Captain chuckles. "Kid, you woulda fallen asleep in the pipes. Heh, you probably would still."

"Nono, I'm good. I can—" Quinn's meager defense is cut off by a yawn. Damn.

"Worm yer way outta that suit, son. I'll set up the spare room for the night." He stood from the desk and started out of the room. He grabbed Quinn's shoulder gently and shook it playfully. "And I won't have you sayin no. Yer about to pass out on the spot."

As his mentor walked down the hallway, Quinn tried his absolute hardest to prove the Captain wrong. When he swayed a little to far and bumped into the door frame, he finally accepted that, yes, he might be just a bit too tired to make it back to his apartment tonight. With a silent sigh, he went about slowly fighting the Hero Suit, he had been so focused on food earlier that he had forgotten to take it off then. One by one the bits of the suit were removed, everything but the pants falling into their proper spots in it's yellow case. He tumbled his way into the bathroom, grabbing his non-Hero Suit clothes from the coffee table as he goes. Staring in the mirror, there was only one thought in his mind; Cod, he looked as exhausted as he felt. The sweaty undershirt clung to his shoulders weird, but it provided enough motivation to take a quick shower before he passed out.

About 10 minutes later, a freshly showered Quinn stepped out of the bathroom. The smell of coconut followed him into the hallway as he laid a pink towel over his shoulders to catch the spare water droplets still falling off his tentacles. He was still wearing the undershirt from before, mostly for lack of any other option, but he had at least swapped to his regular turf pants.

The Captain met him in the hallway a few moments later with a gentle smile and a small green zipper bag. "My grandsquids used to stay over often enough that we'd make these little 'sleepover kits' as we called 'em. They're out doing their thing in the world right now, so I have a bunch of these things just laying around."

Quinn had to blink a few times to keep himself focused. He took the bag, pulling the zipper open to peer inside. It was just a few basic toiletries, a new toothbrush, toothpaste, a few disposable cups, a pair of washcloths, and a packet of headache pills. He gave The Captain a small smile and a nod.

"Use whatever ya need in there, it'll be a while until they're able to visit again, so mosta this'll go bad anyway, so use it if ya need it." The Captain reached over and patted him on the back before walking through the door just down the hall from the bathroom. Quinn shook his head to try and buy just a few more moments, though he knew he was fighting a losing battle. With the help of a cold washcloth, he managed to hang on long enough to brush his teeth and fumble his way into the room across from The Captain's.

The spare room was on the smaller side, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was easy to tell how often his grandsquids would visit The room was probably considered 'theirs' up until recently, though it had obviously been changed to suit him as a single occupant. On the far wall, two beds were pushed together, each carefully fitted with sheets with one big cover draped over them. On each bed sat a pillow, one in a pink case, the other in a green; a color combination that was becoming increasingly familiar to him. There were a few other bits of furniture in the room, a wardrobe, two desks and two nightstands, but Quinn's tired mind only wanted to focus on the pile of clothes left at the end of the bed.

Hey kiddo! I figured you might not want to sleep in that sweat-soaked undershirt you got. I found a few bits my grandsquids left behind you could wear instead. Don't worry, I've washed em! Rest well.

He smirked at the note, before letting it fall to the floor as he examined the options before him. A pale white hoodie, a light pink tank top, a simple blue blouse, and a pair of sweatpants. He mulled over the options as he wriggled out of the dirty undershirt, tossing it to the floor as he makes his decision. The hoodie was up and over his head before he had much chance to think about it, and the sweatpants quickly replaced the turf pair. He carefully set the remaining clothes on the floor beside the note before climbing into the bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

"This section looks clear." Quinn quietly reported into the radio.

"Good job Agent 3! That's the last abandoned dome, I'll have ya map it out to make sure you know yer way around in case of emergency."

Quinn scoffed into the mic, but smiled all the same. "Sure thing Captain."

"Check out anything else you need for yer notes, but be quick. Don't know when another squad's gonna arrive. But when yer ready, let me know. I need ya to see something else before you leave."

"Alright. Give me a few moments." Quinn returned to his search, keeping his body low and moving quickly through open sections. This dome was strange. According to the Captain, when the humans lived here, this place was designed to mimic a beach. Now, Quinn's never been to the beach, but he knows what one is, and this was not it. There was a large section of sand, but no water and unsurprisingly, no plants either. An abandoned slice of city, arranged roughly in a crescent formation, took up the non-sand portion of the dome, giving him a proper space to sneak around. All in all, the place was just empty and depressing. He paused for a moment scanning the surrounding buildings before picking one of the more oddly shaped and circled around it.

"Captain, I've seen what I needed to see."

"Make yer way to the closed off planter dome. The easiest example's in there."

"Ok," Quinn acknowledged, before turning and starting for the tunnel at the par end of the crescent. He traveled quiet and quick, several months of stealth practice, plus numerous missions into the domes, had given him plenty of experience with that kind of movement. It didn't take long for Quinn to arrive at the tunnel intersection. Before him stood three different pathways; the left lead to the closed planter dome he was after, the middle lead to a supposed empty forest, and the right lead to an operational planter dome. Best to avoid that one.

He started the walk down the left path. He paused for just a moment, and looked scathingly at an empty section of sidewalk right at the end of the tunnel. There was supposed to be a kettle there, but it had been removed at some point in the past. He brought his hand up to scratch the itch under his eye as he started walking.

"Hey Captain, have you ever heard of super jump skipping?"

"Have I heard of what now?"

"Ok so you know how you can skip rocks on water if you throw them right? Well, it's like that but with super jumps?"

"That sounds... impractical."

"It is, a little bit. I think the record is six hops, because they use a lot of ink."

"I see where yer going with this Agent 3."

"I won't report it to any record books! I just want to know how much further I could go with this tank."

"Are ya still chasing the high from that first jump?"

"What? No!"

"Kid, I do not need you going adrenaline junky on me. There's enough stressful stuff out here already."

"I'm just gonna try it..." He changed the Hero Shot's fire speed to the highest setting before he shot a small puddle of ink at his feet. He swapped to swim form, splashing into the ink while beginning to charge the jump. A moment later, he launched forward in a long, low arc to avoid hitting the tunnel's roof. As he started to descend, he swapped back to his adult form just long enough to spray a long line of ink in front of himself with the hero shot. He swapped back to swim form just before impacting the ground, landing with a splash, already charging the next jump. He shot back into the air in a very similar arc as before. Again, as the descent started he fired at the ground. Only, the ink trail suddenly cut off, as the Hero Shot clicked dry. Shit.

He swaps back to his adult form moments before hitting the ground, legs making a dull thud where he landed. The momentum sent him staggering forward until he crashed into a wall to stop it.

"Good first attempt?" The Captain asked over the radio.

"I got one skip..."

"One seventh of the way there! Don't forget to cycle your ink next time."

Quinn sighed. "Yes Sir."

The walk continued in silence until he finally emerged into the abandoned planter dome. A large 7-layered structure took up the entire central space, consisting entirely of round bare metal platforms. At one point, crops were grown on the different layers, using heat lamps to provide the warmth and light they needed to grow. However, every spare particle of dirt had been removed, presumably by the Octavians for use elsewhere. The Captain instructed him to walk clockwise around the structure.

After a few minutes of travel, a question that'd been nipping at the back of his mind finally bubbled to the surface. "Why can't we snatch one of the floating platforms, or at least the machine part of em, and take them to Sheldon. He's crazy, I'm sure he could figure out how to reverse engineer it in a matter of hours."

Over the radio, The Captain sighed. It wasn't a disappointed sigh, as he had come to learn, but one of repetition. He's answered this question before, probably dozens of times thanks to the previous Agents. Secretly, Quinn took a small of pride in asking these same questions, it means he's on the same track as the previous Agents. Maybe he had a chance to stand along side them in the future.

"We can't do that Agent," The Captain explained. "That's gonna raise too many questions. Unless ya can solidly provide the research needed to prove how it works, yer going to end up with all kinda of trouble biting at your ankles."

"I'm sure Shel—"

"That boy's one of the sharpest minds of your generation. But, just like his Grandpapa before him, only if it involves weapons, or mitigating them. He won't get a lick of research done with that tech, he'll just stick it on the end of a charger."

Damn, he was right. "I'm sure with all the G—"

"The government's going to step in the second ya take that public bucko. Take it private and they're booting yer butt the curb the moment you hand it to em, especially if ya don't know how it works."

Damn. "But—"

"Kid, the news is still abuzz about the Great Zapfish heist where the only semi-plausible rumors consist of a 'supposed' UFO seen by 6 people total. You want to be the one to show the world that gravity defying technology exists? You're being put in prison the same day."

"I—" Damn. "Yeah. That's fair."

"And no Octavian tech leaves the domes. Understand me Agent 3? I don't even want to risk someone happening upon it by complete accident in the Cabin."

"Fine. Where am I going exactly?"

"Just a few more minutes forward. Yer going to a little bit before the halfway point."

When The Captain told him to stop, nothing looked any different from everything he'd been looking at so far. "Alright, what the hell am I looking for, because I don't see it."

"Take a look at the sky Agent 3," The Captain calmly instructed.

Quinn turned to look at the wall of screens. He still felt awed by this thing, even after so many missions. "I... see it. Am I counting clouds or something?"

"Not exactly, but good guess." The Captain continued to elaborate after a short pause. "Look around until you find wat looks like three rectangular screens in an upright row." It took a few minutes of squinting and scanning for TV screen edges, but Quinn managed to find the configuration the Captain specified. "Alright Agent 3, there should be a screen that's essentially level with you. It's directly below the right-most screen in the three you found."

"Found it, now what?"

"Go push it."

Quinn cocked his head sideways in confusion, but walked up to the wall all the same. "Like, just shoulder to the corner or how exactly..."

"Shoulder should be fine, just give it a good, solid shove."

"Sure," Quinn agreed before lining up his shoulder, and doing just as he was told." The TV screen budged. "Woah... is this like a secret stash or something?"

"It's a secret, but not a stash. Move the screen enough for you to get out, and then push it back into place."

"Right," Quinn had to shove it just a single time more to be able to slip through the gap in swim form. Now on the other side, he followed instructions and pushed the screen back into place, plunging him into complete darkness. "Alright, done. It's pitch black." He felt along the side of the Hero Shot until he came across a small switch. Like every other Hero Gear toggle, it took a bit of force to trigger the thing. With one empowered flick, the attachment on the front of the weapon lit up, casting the environment in a dim blue glow.

"Congratulations Agent 3, you've found a secret exit!" The Captain cheered over the radio.

Quinn flicked the switch a few more times, turning the intensity of the flashlight beam up to the highest setting. He was stood inside a small metal nook that lead out further into a cave. There was a pretty sizable drop between the crack he stood in and the ground below. Nearby, he could see part of a large stalactite that had fallen onto the dome, presumably what had created the large crack in the side.

"These exits are littered all around the domes, not even I know about all of 'em." There was some shuffling on the other end before The Captain continued. "I don't like havin ya move through the caves though. Their terrain is a lot trickier, and honestly I don't know what's goin on out there. The Octavians do have operations in the caves, I know that much, but no idea what exactly."

"Isn't that something we should be working on?" Quinn shined the light around the cave, taking in the sheer scale of the underground cavern he found himself in. "I've been mapping the domes for weeks, this wouldn't be too big of a jump."

"Eh, not yet. I'd like the other agents here as backup if yer goin into unknown territory. This is far enough out that the other Agents have mapped this area, which is why yer seein' it, but I don't want ya goin any deeper if ya have a choice. Now look fer the markings Agent One put on the floor. They'll be subtle, but ya should be able to see it. Hurry up and dig yer way to the surface, I got a pot of stew with our names on it back at the Cabin."

"Could I at least get some some music, since I don't really need to be on guard here?"

"Sure! I don't got any radio out here through so yer gonna have to deal with my grandsquid's songs I got here on this old memory chip thing." The Captain admitted with a chuckle.

Quinn sighed, but couldn't stop a slightly fond smile from crossing his face. With a quiet nod to himself, he started scanning for the marking The Captain mentioned while an album of Squid Sisters music started to play.

Craig tapped his pen against the desk in a quiet rhythm that probably only he remembers. When he finished mulling over his words, he leaned forward and wrote in the journal on the desk in front of him.

[8/27/15]
Training went well. Simple maintenance exercises due to yesterday's mission.
The lad's shaping up well. He's got the grit to see through the consistent requirements this field takes. He's a brilliant Agent and sharp as my own aim,
Still working on raising his confidence around figures of authority.

Quinn stepped into the study's doorway with those light footfalls of his. "Captain, sir?"

"Oh, Agent Three. Good to see ya lad." Craig merrily replied. He looked over his shoulder towards his pupil. "You heading out for the day?"

Quinn looked nervous. "Uh, not yet." He held his hand behind his back, holding something if Craig had to guess.

"What's on yer mind bucko?" Something about the kid's demeanor reminded him of that first mission's aftermath. The kid's seeming need to apologize after making any kind of choice on his own rubbed Craig the wrong way. He wasn't mad at Quinn, quite the opposite. The rampant apologizing was a learned behavior, not the boy's fault in the slightest. If Craig ever gets the chance to learn the full story, he might have some people to look into.

Craig watched as Quinn seemed to find his resolve. "I had a, uh, question I wanted to ask you."

"A question? Alright, ask away." He answered with a open tone. Whatever Quinn was doing right now clearly required a lot of nerve, and he didn't want any kind of resistance, perceived or real, to slow him down now.

"I... I had an idea." Quinn paused for a moment, searching for words. "Would you like to hear it?"

"Of course!" Craig immediately answered. "Yer my Agent, I wanna hear what ya gotta say. What kinda idea are we talking about?"

Quinn looked genuinely surprised at his answer. "I uhh... the Hero Vest is too bright, I wouldn't be able to sneak around without being spotted so I uhh..." Quinn trailed off. He averted his eyes and whipped his hands forward. He presented a very thin, dark cloth, dense enough Craig couldn't see his hands. There was a patch of a different amateurishly sewn over top of the dark cloth. It was reflective, dully shining the aggregate colors of the study back at him.

"New material for the vest?" Craig ventured, trying to prompt the Agent to speak.

"Not quite," Quinn nervously answered. When Craig didn't react, save for a slight turn of the head, he continued with a bit more confidence. "It's meant to be a camo layer, like a cape I could wrap around myself to cover up the vest."

"Oh, I see!" The Captain said. "That dark material'd blend in quite well in the domes. But, what's the..." Craig pointed at the reflective patch.

"The catwalks!" Quinn blurted.

"Eh?"

"The catwalks scattered around the domes. I can't use them without being seen." Quinn slapped the dark fabric against the Hero Vest, obscuring the bright yellow completely. "Even with the cloth I'd still be an obvious dark blob they could see up on the catwalks..."

Craig connected the dots. He picked up where Quinn trailed off, growing more excited as he talked. "So ya use the reflective stuff to color yer cloak like the screens!" He slapped his knee and beamed at his Agent. "Quinn that's brilliant!"

If Quinn looked surprised before, he looked downright floored now. "You really think so?" He reached up and scratched at that place under his eye again.

"Course I do!" Grabbing his cane from where it leaned against the desk, Craig pushed himself to his feet. "Lad, yer idea's genius. The vest'll always reflect the right colors no matter what the screens show!"

"And with the base color, it blends in with the catwalks!" Quinn added, his excitement quickly growing to match Craig's own. He reached up to scratch at that spot again.

Craig wandered over and clapped a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Lad, be careful picking at that place, else yer gonna up with a buncha spots on yer face like I've got! Now, let's see about makin yer cloak."

Quinn pulled his hand away from his eye. "You mean like, now?"

"Well, yer not gonna be walking outta here wearing it, but we can start the process!" "Now tell me, whatdja make it out of?"

"It's the same material as the Hero Pants actually, just a much lighter cut. It was a bit hard to get the right fabric from Jellonzo..."

Craig smiled as Quinn talked. It was good to see him finally opening up about things. Craig couldn't undo whatever happened in the boy's past, but he could help him move past it.

Much later in the evening, after hours of talking through a design and another meal, Craig sat back down at his desk. He looked over his unfinished note from earlier and smiled.

He's a fighter, that one. I can't imagine how hard the battle he's fighting right now is, but he'll get there.