Marina smiled as she closed her phone. It was nice to have multiple people to keep in touch. Cammi was just one of the several friends she now had in her network. Three months ago, even the idea of having multiple people in her little corner was completely unthinkable, but no! It was real!

...Not that it was obvious at this very moment, since she was traveling alone. Pearl unfortunately couldn't join her, not that Marina hadn't offered. Ever since the Squid Sister's Squidmas concert, she hadn't seen the shorter inkling a single time. There wasn't any reason to worry, though— not that Marina was worried— really, she wasn't— since Pearl had told her over text that it wasn't her fault. There was something she had to work on that would take a while. Whatever it is, it must be killer, since she's practically fallen into the darkness!

That left her alone for the day, which wasn't an issue, ultimately. Marina was on her way to do something she'd wanted to do ever since her first morning in the city.

After a few more minutes of walking, she finally rounded a corner, and laid her eyes on her destination. Even after seeing the Inkopolis Courthouse, Townhall, and Library, seeing the architecture of a new building stole her breath.

It was a tall structure, made with deliberate brickwork and proud marble columns. Decorative edging surrounded every window, ledge, and corner, giving the building a mystique that only the other institutions could rival. Large signs around the front of the building proudly announced what lay within. Several travelling displays from around the world, the permanent showcase, and a centennial exhibit for the Great Turf War.

The Inkopolis Museum of Natural History. It's time to get my facts straight.

Barely a step through the front doors and the breath she'd just regained was stolen right back. A humongous skeleton, bigger than even the Octobot King, hung above her, suspended by cables. It took a polite throat clearing from someone behind her to tear her eyes off of it. An embarrassed shuffle out of the doorway led her to a placard explaining that it was the skeleton of a whale hanging above her, bigger than she could have ever imagined.

It only cost her 600G for the ticket, practically nothing even for her modest income. Standing here in the lobby, Marina was struck by just how surreal it felt to be here. Just two months ago, she'd been standing in a hotel room, completely lost and drowning in a world utterly foreign to her. A pamphlet for a place she couldn't dream of understanding clutched in her hand with no idea how to progress from where she was.

So much had changed since then. Marina had found herself a place in this new world. A job, an apartment, music she loved and places she could work. Pam, Cammie, Sven... Pearl, all of these wonderful people she got to call her friends; it hardly bared repeating but it was more than she could have ever hoped for.

Marina owed it to herself to put all the miseries of her past behind her, so she could live fully in this new life she'd built. And the first step to that, is to get a definitive answer on what happened 100 years ago.

Once she got a grip on herself, Marina squared her shoulders and stepped beyond the lobby. She was met with a large display explaining the museum's main gimmick in multiple languages. The museum was divided into two main sections: a rotating space for temporary and visiting exhibits, and the thing she was here for, the museum's permanent history exhibit. The permanent exhibit was further divided into three paths: Natural History, Marina Life History, and Technological History. Each path worked chronologically, starting from pre-history, and moving to the present day. Each path had many unique exhibits tailored to points in their stories, but they also had several "joint exhibits," where at least one other path would play a critical role in the showcase.

Marina hesitated for a few moments, tempted by the technology path, but that wasn't why she was here. With a surprising reverence, she started down the Marine Life History path, determined to learn the story of the world, and her people.

And so, she ventured forward into the story. Into the tale of humanity, a world-spanning species. Their rise, their wars, their unification. The unfathomable structures, technology, and culture that spanned millennia. The hubris, infighting, and their ultimate downfall at their own hands. The underground structures they constructed, trying in vain to last despite everything.

Images of the domes flashed before her eyes; the complexity of its underlying structures, imprints of signs in a language long dead and indecipherable, and the incredible technologies still powering them that no one understood. A harrowing pang of familiarity, a longing for a place she vowed to never return to, echoed through her hearts as she stared at the photographs and relics on display.

The story continued into marine life. The simple, mindless creatures of the sea. How they started to change, evolving into something more. Mechanisms growing beyond simple survival, sounds growing beyond archaic communication. Gills became lungs, gazes shifting binocular, fingers sprouting from fins. And then, the moment everything truly changed: Landfall. It was life, a fire lit. Privative tools rapidly gave way to new technologies: wheels, agriculture, metalworking, permanent structures and the roads that connected them. Tribes, settlements, villages, cities: an explosion of development only ever seen once in history prior. People, cultures, ideologies, all rose and fell to the march of time, but progress marched regardless.

Inkfish, Inklings and Octolings, two convergent genus, together through all history. Tribes of each traded, celebrated, and warred. Villages raised in harmony, towns slaughtered in separation. Was it an innate conflict of species, or merely circumstances continually pitting them against one another? Every era had times of unparalleled peace and growth, until unspeakable acts of bloodshed always followed as war reared its horrible teeth.

Time and time again, the story repeated, until finally, the present approached.

Marina closed her eyes, pausing the story as it was told to recount how she knew it. Two powerful nations stood, border to border, rising sea levels threatening the sovereignty of both. Peace talks were stalled, betrayals wrought, and an entire culture forced underground in a desperate bid of preservation.

She opened her eyes, and continued the story. Two great nations stood edge to edge, the threat of rising sea levels once again pushing them toward war. However, the nations wished to join with the echoes of history heavy on their shoulders. Pleas for peace, a collective stand in defiance history, a cry for things to be different rang out across the lands. Naturally, both sides had those who were deaf to the chorus, be it by will or by circumstance, but it was the Octarians who decried the call. A small, but very loud collection, the traditionalists as they called themselves, rallied behind segregation. They called for walls, they called for war, an utter rejection of any attempt at peace. And when their cries went dismissed, they grew vicious.

Turning on their own people, a callous, hateful bid for power, They attacked an ongoing peace summit, intent to purge their leaders. Their bid was deflected by the Inkling's Squidbeak Splatoon, who held the premise until reinforcements could arrive, defending without discrimination. Faced with a world of defeat, where their hateful ideas were not only stopped, but potentially vanquished entirely, the leaders refused to bow to such a fate. Hatred was their message, their drive, their platform. To lose that would be to lose their power and control. Rather than let their ideology of destruction die, they fled, shepherding as many as they could into newly discovered human settlements, before the future came to be. The exits were sealed, trapping their ideology underground with them, where it slowly snuffed itself out.

The exhibit continued, detailing everything that occurred in the hundred years since, but Marina couldn't process any of it. She simply floated past it, letting the occasional bump of the crowd slowly shuffle her forward until she eventually found herself on the precipice of the lobby once again.

The domes, my past, my... home... It didn't feel right. It- It couldn't be right. If this was the truth... then Marina's entire life was a lie.

A massive, systematically built and maintained lie. A lie she'd been born into, unknowingly indoctrinated into, and helped reinforce. She had genuinely believed she was fighting for freedom, to preserve their culture, and for her people to return to the home they had been FORCED from a hundred years prior.

But it was a lie. It was ALWAYS a lie. She herself was the one that had been robbed. Hatred and discipline was given to her in lieu of the life she could have had. How could somebody do that?

No. No, she had to have missed something, or-or misunderstood a scene. Marina quickly turned, powering her way through the exhibit a second time. The story sped past her, humans, sea life, evolution, development, all to end up at the Turf War scene once again. With a fervor bordering on desperation, she poured over every plaque, every note, every photograph, and—

And it was a lie. Her life was a lie.

Of course, this could all be inkling propaganda. She was in the very heart of their territory after all, this could just as easily be a lie.

Except, even if it was, Marina still knew that the military had never told the truth. Even if this historical account was false, the country of Octolis still stood. Inklings and Octolings still interacted every single day, peaceful and friendly. Even if this historical account was a lie, the mere fact that she could text both Cami and Pearl at her leisure went against everything Marina had been taught underground. She'd known deep down, from that first time she met Pearl on the mountain, that it had been a lie. She just couldn't admit to herself until now.

Was it getting hotter in here? Were the lights getting brighter? Her vision was swimming as the weight of this revelation settled on her shoulders. Now more lost than ever, Marina staggered through the rest of the exhibit, not paying attention to anything beyond putting one foot in front of the next.

It was—

She—

Marina's faith in the military's leadership had been slowly flagging for years. That doubt was a large part of why she nearly worked herself to death, trying to either beat it out or overcome it. Even in her worst case scenario, she couldn't have imagined... this.

The Head Engineer must be willing to sacrifice everything she has for the domes. The position is, after all, a blessing.

This was too much. As she staggered into the lobby a second time, she made her way to the nearest wall, and fell against it. Sitting on the floor, she rapidly folded and unfolded her hands, tapped her food against the floor, fussed with her tentacles; really anything that she could use to try and ground herself.

Everything stood out so sharply, the shadows, the lights, lines and edges, but it was impossible to focus on anything. The lobby's ceiling seemed to stretch further and further away, the walls curving in unnatural ways to make the room big enough to swallow her whole. Sunlight from the windows seared against her skin, the warming comfort she thought she'd grown used to suddenly hostile and foreign.

"I tell ya, those meetin's were a bunch more interesin than I thought they'd be. I'd never had much an ear fer politics, but I dunno. Somethin about em had my interest."

In the distance, a voice echoed.

"You sat in on the negotiations?"

"Sure did. It was parta th' job n' all that. Keep an eye on Ambassador Kimrish at all times, as the Cap'n that meant followin' her inta the meetins."

A voice Marina recognized far, far too well.

"I knew it was all posturin', there was hardly a damn thing I coulda’ done if someone actually tried anythin' funny, but the theatrics have always been parta' politics."

It was a lifeline, one singular, stable sound cutting through the noise she could cling to. Marina grabbed with everything she had, desperately scrambling to her feet to chase the source down.

"Could you tell us about the attack?"

"Mmm." The speaker was quiet for several long seconds. "I remember a whole lotta stuff 'bout that night. Lotsa things happened. One moment, we're all sittin around that shoddy lil' table in the back, playin cards. I'd just got two kings, and I could tell by tha look in Kira's eyes that she'd not gotten anythin' better."

His voice is one she could never forget. Octarian that was entirely fluent, down to the slow drawl of formal Octarian she herself was getting used to, but there was something downright strange about how he spoke. The confidence of someone who'd utterly mastered the language, yet readily ripped it to bits with slang, twang, and grit. Mixed in with it was the foreign drawl of a second language. This unique blend could only belong to one man.

It was another long pause before he spoke again. "It's... strange, how these things work. That moment, just before the battle, I remember it better than anythin' else. Hell, I could count the number'a borards in th' floor if ya wanted to know."

Marina stumbled her way into the travelling showcase section. What was on display, she didn't know, nor did she even consider slowing down to learn. There was only one thing in her mind: Find that voice. She didn't know if she'd be able to pull herself back together if she didn't.

"Sudden. It was very... it happened so fast. One moment everythin was alright, an the next, the entire buildin' was shakin'."

She soon rounded a corner, and stepped into a modest theater. On the screen, a rather handsome lone inkling man was the focus. Despite being somewhere in his 50s, he still appeared quite strong, with a lithe frame, orange goatee, and a tan from spending time out in the sun. He wore a pristine military uniform, with several medals adorning his left breast pocket. Beneath a VERY weathered blue captain's hat, two weary eyes were not fully present as a distant, grim look settled on his face. A bamboozler was clutched in one hand, his grip on it's handle crushingly tight. He was seated at an angle, his focus on somebody just off the edge of the screen.

"Sure, we'd been through basic trainin', but, I mean, we're an honor guard'a 10 squids, 3 of which were non-combatants. We were there as a show, ta look strong so the diplomats felt safe enough to take on their fight. An actual fight was the worst possible outcome."

The screen faded, the man being replaced by a hand drawn map of a city's downtown. "The battle started quickly and decisively," A female voiceover explained. "The opening attack involved launching explosives at the city's state-of-the-art mechanical respawner, rendering it inoperable." A stylized drawing of an explosion briefly covered a structure on the map, before a red X replaced it. As she continued to talk, more of these drawings appeared, visualizing what the narrator said. "Large groupings of troops, later confirmed to be 60 in total counting commanders, quickly surrounded the building. Chargers took position with their aim trained on every door or window that could be used for escape, while squads of 8 soldiers prepared to breach into the building. Two more explosives were set off, damaging nearby infrastructure to prevent any non-combatants from approaching and to attempt to instill fear and panic in the politicians. When no one ran outside, the soldiers proceeded to breach the building. However, rather than the panicked, disoriented crowd they expected, the Isolationist soldiers met an impenetrable wall of resistance."

Knots twisted in Marina's stomach as she watched. She knew instinctively what the soldiers were going to do before the narrator said it, down to the composition of the 8-person squads. How could she not, when she'd spent her entire life surrounded by these very same tactics?

The screen cut back to the man, a hardened look now on his face. "It only took one word ta snap my soldiers outta it. We had a purpose, and no time ta waste. The top priority was securing the central chamber, since that's where everyone was. There were rooms that'dve been better fer that purpose, but there's no chance we'd make it to em in time."

It was fascinating to watch him recount the story. From the way his voice flipped between a hesitant waver and an uncontestable assuredness. His expression would shift just ever so subtly, in a way that spoke a million more words than any description ever could.

"It was, ehh heh..." The Captain let out a humorless laugh. "It was hell, keepin' em all from running outside. Panic overrides everythin' else in the brain, and when yer barely a step above it yerself, pullin' everything together is worse than ya could ever imagine."

"We got 'em all secured under cover on the edges of tha' room." On the screen, the man was moved into a smaller box while a new map, this time of the building, became the main focus. Again, stylized depictions of what he described played out as he spoke. "We managed to shove enough stuff against the back doors to block entry from behind us, but the chamber's main doors were far too big ta block."

A photograph of the chamber appeared on screen, putting the man's words into context. The doors were easily 3 times the height of a normal octoling, and wide enough for two to lay down head-to-foot in. "That's what we had ta hold, come hell or high tide, or we were all as good as dead."

The documentary went on to explain what the battle was like, cutting between the narrator's chilling description and the man's somber recollection. For Marina, it was a harrowing experience, one that recast the entirety of her military upbringing in a new light. This was the origin of the Octarian army, it's tactics, it's purpose. She couldn't tear her eyes from the screen.

Untold time passed before the video eventually switched back to a full screen of the man. He looked far more tired than before, but juxtaposed to that, he almost seemed... lighter, like he'd lifted a weight off his shoulders. The shot lingered on his face for several agonizing seconds before he let out a deep sigh. "Walkin' outta that buildin' that mornin' didn't feel... real. Ya can't just switch off that edge. I was, no really, all of us were on a hair trigger as we stepped outside. Hell, it took damn near every bitta will I had to not aim a loaded weapon at the folks comin' to help us." It was clear that he was weighing each word carefully, because the second pause was almost twice as long as the first. "Seein the destruction... the smolderin' respawn station, the tore up surroundings..."

"I wish I could say things got better after that..."

Marina watched, enraptured, as the documentary continued through the months of strife and warfare that followed that day. The outcome of the war was a forgone conclusion drawn out into a slow, grueling, unnecessary fight by the people she had spent her life following. The Isolationists had planned to blame the event on the inklings, throw the country's governance into turmoil, and use the opportunity to seize control themselves by going to war with the inklings. With their plans nullified, the only thing they could do was slowly bleed out as their support was cut off, and they were inevitably overpowered by the combined forces of the Octarian and Inkadian armies. There was a palpable irony that the documentary was eager to highlight: the Isolationist's actions brought the two countries much closer together than they would have been had the original plans gone through.

As the documentary came to a close, the screen changed to a picture of Octolis's skyline a hundred years ago, as the Man's voice came back one final time. "Things were rough for a while... but it didn't stay like that." As he spoke, the picture faded to a new image of the skyline, dated one year after the first. "It was slow at first, but everyone worked to pull everythin' back together. Buildin's rebuilt, relationships mended, and soon, new ideas took root. Before ya knew it, things changed fer the better." As he spoke, a time-lapse of the Octolis City timeline played, until it finished on the skyline as it was fifty years ago.

"I don't think I'm anythin' special." The man sighed, his grip on the bamboozler finally loosening. "Me bein' Captain didn't magically change a thing 'bout that day. I'm just a backwater kid who did what anyone woulda' done. Tides bless, it was enough that day." There was a a poignant pause before he spoke again. It still haunts me. The amounta damage that hatred can do. It nearly cost us everythin'."

For the first time since the interview started, he turned to look directly at the camera. Marina's breath hitched as she locked eyes with Captain Cuttlefish, leader of the Squidbeak Splatoon.

"The future's always comin, weather ya like it or not. Those who couldn't face that... aren't the ones who stayed around ta see it. So, embrace it. Take that next step. Things could turn out so much better than ya coulda ever dreamed of."

The lights in the room brightened, as the credits started to roll. Small crowds of people gingerly shuffled past her as they exited, but Marina didn't move. She was still standing just inside the doorway, where she'd been rooted to the spot since first setting foot into the theater. Her world was a mess of conflicting beliefs and betrayal, threatening to tear her apart.

How can I go on, if everything I've known is a lie? She cried to herself. How am I supposed to go on if everything I am is built out of deception and betrayal?

Take that next step.

Those final words echoed in her mind. The tired, but unwavering confidence of The Captain's voice practically hammering away at her doubts.

The future's always comin, weather ya like it or not. So, embrace it.

A single laugh— practically a scoff— escaped her as that old bastard's hope wormed its way into her heart once more. I can't believe he found me at my lowest again.

It was hard to be confident about anything right now. Her entire life had been a lie, but maybe... she could move on? It would just take time, Marina just had to give herself the chance. Tonight, she would go rest, since the world was still shaky under her legs. But tomorrow... she had something she needed to prepare.

Things could turn out so much better than ya could ever dreamed of.