Quinn splashed into the ink running through the pipe below the grate. He was immediately reminded that this was, in fact, not a good idea. The ink in the pipes, a specially mixed ink that lets any color inkfish interact with it, made his movements feel sluggish and his limbs feel sticky. A lot of public infrastructure used the stuff to essentially eliminate contact risk altogether.

What was he doing right now? He'd just jumped into the sewer's for cod's sake! He was just supposed to ask the guy some questions, not chase the bastard! He slowed down as he approached something in the ink in front of him, what he soon discovers is the old man. Apparently, he had been waiting for Quinn, because the second they were close, the old man sped forward again.

This was the time to decide; follow the old man to who knows where but get answers, or call it quits and trudge home from the other side of the city? He debated the options in his mind. It could also be some kind of scam or trap, using the old man as bait. He had the element of surprise with his splattershot, and he could always try and swim away if that was the case, but there was no guarantee he could get away. It could also just be the old man, in which case he shouldn't be in any danger. If he chose to bail, depending on where he exits the sewer line, he could face a pretty hefty fine for misuse of public infrastructure.

Quinn matched the old man's pace, making sure to follow him through whichever turns he takes. From there, he was lead through an incredibly confusing path, with several seemingly-arbitrary turns, two instances where they swam against the current, and one time where Quinn was almost certain they were swimming in a loop. Eventually, the old man slowed down again. As they approached a right turn, the old man swam left, pushing into a much smaller hole in the left edge of the pipe. Quinn followed a moment later.

This pipe was smaller, with only about a third of the inkflow. Just riding on the current wasn't enough to keep up with the old man, he had to actively swim now. The pipe continued on in a straight line for several minutes. Suddenly, the old man began to ascend, despite the pipe continuing forward. Quinn slowed himself down dramatically, trying to figure out what exactly happened. He gets his answer when he's stopped by the identifiable membrane of an inkrail. It took a bit of effort to push through, but once inside, the ink rail's vertical trail was revealed.

The other side of the ink rail held him in place while he weighed his options. With only a little hesitation, Quinn swam upwards. Small gets of ink pushed him forward every time he swam through one of the inkrail's bulbs-- the small jets used to keep ink moving through the line despite the verticality. He stopped about halfway up when a loud metallic screech echoed down from above, but continues after no other sounds follow it up.

When Quinn reached the end of the ink rail, he was let out in a small concrete room. There's a built-in ladder on one wall that leads to an opening in the ceiling. The opening is covered by a grate, like the one in the Plaza, though this one was flipped open, presumably the source of the sound from a moment ago. He weighed the splattershot in his hand, still partially filled from earlier. With a shrug, Quinn grabbed the rungs of the ladder and climbed.

Stepping out of the hole, the first thing he noticed was the wind. It was gentle and cool, gently slipping past him a way city winds just didn't. The next thing was the shade of the tree he stood under. The general warmth of the mid-spring day lead him to conclude the sudden change was surprisingly comfortable.

The third thing, and really the most obvious thing, was the surrounding landscape. He was stood atop a large plateau on the edge of a massive valley. Two large mountains, one vaguely shaped like an octopus if you squinted, rose on either side, the golden brown of the rocks shining in the sun. Reds, yellows, oranges, whites, and tans lined the valley walls in striped patterns, lead lower and lower down. It was breath taking, unlike anything he had ever seen before.

"It's beautiful, ain't it?" The old man called out, startling Quinn out of his trance.

Quinn turned to look at him. He wore the same thing as before, the blue hat, the patchwork rags, the rack of metals. He was standing off to the side, leaning on an old bamboo cane, watching. Now that he had a good view of the man, Quinn could see just how built this guy was. He wasn't about to break any records, but for an old man who had to be well into his hundreds, the geezer could probably outlift him with ease.

"Yeah..." Quinn continued to inspect, well everything. This place is so unlike anywhere else he'd ever been, he tried to see as much as he could on instinct. Behind the old man was a rather homely looking cabin. It was very weathered, almost all of the colors had been bleached away, leaving the walls such a pale blue they might as well have been white. Despite the apparent age of the house, it appeared quite lively. A few chairs rested on the covered front deck, next to a hanging bench. None of these chairs looked quite as old as the deck they sat on, which helped give the cabin a bit of life. A pick up truck that looked at least as old as the cabin sits near a shed off to the side. Beside that was a square of poured concrete, with a few deflated turf dummies resting on one of the edges.

Quinn was truly taken aback. He didn't quite know what he was expecting, but a homely cabin in the most scenic place he'd ever been was not it. He turned back to the old man. He was looking towards Quinn, but not with any discernable intent. Just leaning on his cane, no, that wasn't just a cane. A cane wouldn't need a secondary handle, or a fold down reticle, or a trigger. That wasn't a cane, that was a bamboozler. "Who... are you?"

The old man didn't respond immediately, instead he stroked his beard and turned to look into the valley. He stared out, gaze lost in the distance for some time, absent-mindedly tapping his 'cane' to the ground.

Without warning, he turned on the spot. His eyes were sharper, posture straight, and his hands weren't shaking. The sudden change in presentation caught Quinn off guard; it was like a different person was standing there. he couldn't help but feel a little intimidated.

"The name's Cap'n Craig Cuttlefish, leader of the Legendary Squidbeak Splatoon."

It took Quinn a few moments to remember where he'd heard the name before. "The civil war hero? That Captain Cuttlefish?" Now having said it, Quinn could see the resemblance to the figure he'd seen in his history books and on TV during the civil war celebrations. Quinn absently scratched at the spot under his eye as his mind went wild connecting the dots.

The Captain leans forward slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "The one and the same." His posture deflated slightly, becoming just a little less confident. "And Quinn, I need your help."

Huh? "Huh?"

"I've been watching ya, kid. I've kept an eye on your turf games ever since you spotted me in the plaza."

"Wait, so I wasn't just being paranoid? You were actually watching me?"

The Captain nodded. "You did make it difficult to keep up. Those damnable towers were not easy to navigate at my age."

Quinn's mind reeled. What the hell? He was actually right? He was sure he was going crazy, that the city was finally getting to him, but no. This guy actually was following him around. What the hell is happening?

Like he was reading Quinn's thoughts, The Captain stepped forward and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry lad, that wasn't exactly a, em, legal thing to do, but I had to be sure about this. I need your help, and I'm not sure anyone else in that city could do what I'm going to ask of you."

Quinn needed to put his foot down. He stepped back, out of The Captain's grasp and pointed at the old man. "I need some answers from you. What the hell are you talking about?"

The Captain just let out a delighted chuckle, eyes alight with mirth. "Atta boy! Not one to dawdle, eh? Alright, I'll lay it all out. I'm sure you've heard the Great Zapfish's gone missing?"

"Hard to miss it. It's all over town. Lights are dimmed if not outright turned off, and there's curfews and stuff. No one knows who took it."

The Captain laughed, though this time it was less mirthful and more mischievous. "I wouldn't say no one knows." He leaned forwards with a smile as mischievous as his laugh. There's was way he was saying he knows. A quirk of the Captain's eyebrows argues otherwise.

"How do you know where the Zapfish is? Inkopolis' top professionals couldn't find a thing, they've got absolutely no leads. How have you managed to figure it out."

"Heh, those fools are all looking in the wrong place. See, we've got what they don't: Intuition. I know who took it, and we're gonna get it back."

Quinn narrowed his eyes skeptically, meeting the Captains gaze with one of his own. "That's a pretty big claim old man, are you sure you know?

"Positive."

"Who took it then?"

The Captain's straight posture returned, lending even more authority to his answer. "The Octavians."

Silence hung in the air for several seconds.

"The... Octavians?"

The Captain cleared his throat before he sighed. "Come with me lad, you're going to want to sit down for this.

===
"Ok... let me get this straight." he massaged his temples as he asks, trying to process the sheer deluge of information that had been thrown his way over the past twenty minutes. "100 years ago, the inklings helped the pro-exchange octoling faction win the civil war. When this happened, the losing side, the isolationists, secluded themselves in abandoned underground domes, rather than admit defeat?"

After a second of hesitation, the Captain agreed with a nod. "Missing a lot of nuance, but yes."

"That same group has managed to progress their own society down there, where they have been for generations?

"Yes."

"And you know this... how?"

"I've kept my eyes on 'em since they ran down there. Well, me and my grandsquids when they were old enough."

The conversation paused for a moment.

"And these isolationists--"

"Octavians." the Captain corrects.

"Octavians, then. Where did that name come from?"

"Their leader, named DJ Octavio."

Quinn moved to ask a question but the Captain continued before he can. "He followed his people underground. Don't... don't call them the isolationists. There's entire generations in there that haven't ever known anything else." A look Quinn couldn't identify shines in the Captain's eyes. "He... they don't deserve to be labeled by a stance they don't know an alternative too."

Quinn nodded, and mentally noted the touchy subject. "Right, ok. These octavians stole the Great Zapfish then?"

The Captain grimaced, but nods again.

"How?"

"Octavio's lot are a particularly clever bunch, even back then. They've locked themselves in with old human tech and nothing better to do for a hundred years. They've made progress that leaves those of us on the surface chokin' on their dust!"

"You're telling me..." Quinn jerked his head up, staring the old man down. "The supposed UFO sightings are not only real, but completely revolutionary technology created by a war faction who's been locked underground? And now said war faction has access to an unprecedented amount of power, the one thing they've been lacking in their mission to return to the surface?"

The Captain held his gaze, completely unfazed by the teenager's attempted stare down. "My boy..." He clapped a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "That's exactly what I'm telling you.

Quinn looked at the Captains face while he tried to process everything. It was completely unbelievable, there's no way something like that could happen. Even if it did explain why no one can could up with a single plausible answer for the theft. If it was tech nobody even considered possible, they'd never have any reason to suspect the actual culprits. It couldn't actually be real though. There's no way.

His disbelief had to be obvious, because The Captain smiles as he asked, "Do you wanna go see lad?"

"Shit yeah I do."

The Captain tapped his bamboozler on the ground twice, a smile once again brightening his face. "Haha! I knew you had that spark bucko!" He stood and started walking towards the cabin door. "Come, come." He called as he opened it, looking at Quinn. "We can't have you walking into enemy territory naked!"

Quinn hesitated, but ultimately stood up and followed The Captain's footsteps. Before the explanation, he was pretty sure that this was just some lonely old man who got bored, maybe his kids had grown up and moved away or something. But the old man seemed completely serious, and after learning that this was the legendary Captain Cuttlefish and his plausible-yet-impossible story... he just didn't know.

Either way, he had a decision to make. He stood in the doorway to the cabin as he pondered: did he really want to walk into this random old man's house? Famous or not, Quinn didn't know him, and they were out in the middle of nowhere. It really didn't seem like anyone else was around though, and he still had his Splattershot if things looked. If things went bad, he could ink the ground and swim away, the Captain only had a bamboozler after all, and there's no way he could catch up if Quinn started running. He set his jaw and steped through the door.

The inside looked just about as old as the outside suggested it would. The first room was a surprisingly open living room with slightly uneven wooden flooring. Wallpaper in the same sky blue he assumed the outside was supposed to be lined the space. Mismatched pieces of furniture were scattered around the room, each looking as old as the rest of the cabin. An old couch with more patches than original covering sat against the far wall. On the left of the couch were two arm chairs with faded pink and green blankets draped over their respective backs. In front of the couch was a large rectangular wooden coffee table that looked half-petrified. The lampshades and curtains all looked equally ancient, the latter bleached completely white by the sun everywhere but the edges and top. Even the TV was old, with it's thick backing frame and relatively small size. Several retro game consoles rested with it on top of an entertainment center that was probably used by humans.

Despite all this, the interior didn't feel old, more so it felt... cozy. Like visiting the grandparents he never got to. Quinn tentatively stepped further into the cabin, and slowly pulled the door closed behind him. Sounds echoed from somewhere down the hallway on the left wall. There was another door much closer to him on the same wall, but it was closed. Across the room, the space widened into an open kitchen area.

From down the hallway, the Captain hollered to him, "Eh, you don't have to take your shoes off or anything lad. I built this ol' cabin tough, she can handle a lil bit of dirt!"

"Alright." Quinn half-shouted back. He slowly stepped further into the room, taking advantage of the Captain's absence to peer into every nook and cranny he could find. An old upright box piano sat tucked against the back corner with a cloth draped over it. Several cardboard boxes were stacked on the flat top. There were a couple loose items strewn around the room, earrings, bracelets, a small tub of mantle gloss, and similar. Probably leftovers from his grandsquids' visits.

It was while he was staring down a few framed newspapers from nearly 100 years ago that Quinn realized something. This room wasn't dusty. There was maybe a weeks worth of build up, as opposed to the the months (if not years) worth he had expected. That's good at least, means someone's around helping take care of the old guy. Maybe his kids help clean up when the grandsquids visit?

He slowly let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. The atmosphere here was just so relaxed, he couldn't help but feel a little comfortable. For a moment, it felt like the old guy just wanted someone to talk too, and not like he was about to be marched into supposed enemy territory. As he heard the Captain start on his way back down the hallway, Quinn subconsciously expected him to walk out carrying an old photo album and a proverbial book's worth of stories.

"Here we go lad!" the Captain announced as he walks into the living room, shattering those quiet expectations. "Almost everything you're gonna need to enter the domes." He carried a familiar yellow case, the same one Quinn's suspect old man carried out of Ammo Knights the day before. "I meant to have this out and ready for you when you finally got here, but you came a lot faster than I was expecting."

Quinn's eyes narrowed slightly as the old man walks further into the room. When I finally get here? So he had been planning this then.

"Change inta this and then I'll give ya the talking to." The Captain held out the case, which Quinn gingerly took in his own hands. The Captain turned and walked towards the closed door, pulling it open and stepped inside. "Let me know when you're done, I'll be in here," he says with a wave, before flicking the light on and closing the door.

Quinn looked back to the case, which he sets in front of him on the coffee table. It had 4 latches, two on either side, which he gingerly unhooked. The lid flipped up to reveal a surprisingly bright safety-yellow vest folded neatly on top of a pile of clothes. He pulled it off the top, and then proceeded to empty all the other items out as well. There was a heavy black jacket, a pair of long black pants, headphones, an ink tank, tank harness, limiter, and the strangest looking weapon he's ever seen. He lined the items on the coffee table, eyeing them curiously.

"Um, Captain, sir?" He asked, directing his voice towards the closed door. "What exactly is this stuff?"

There's a bit of shuffling before an answer comes. "That's the Hero Suit, some top of the line Agent gear! You got it on yet?"

"Not yet. I... just wanted to know."

"Make sure to thread the harness through the jacket!"

"Through? Why not just wear it outside?"

"More spaces for the enemy to grab and grapple ya! Gotta give em as few chances as possible."

"Right."

Well, no time like the present. Quinn unclipped the ink tank from his back, then set it, it's harness, and his splattershot on the couch beside him. Quickly, he slid his shoes and pants off, before he put the new darker pair of pants on. They're a bit trickier than they looks, as this "Hero Suit" pair had full ink-rings, rather than the half rings in standard turf pairs. There's no undershirt, so he assumed his own would do fine. He grabbed the tank harness and the heavy jacket. He followed the Captain's loose instructions and found smalls holes near the top and bottom of the jacket, which he fed the harness through. It took more work than he would care to admit, fastening the harness while fighting the heavy jacket, but he manages well enough after a few attempts. The reflective vest came next, easily layering on top of the jacket like it was made to go there. It probably was. Overall, the outfit is a decent fit, if a little big. The pants pooled on the floor slightly, while the jacket and vest hung over his legs some.

"I've got the clothes on!" He called, presuming the old man is listening.

Indeed, a few moments later, The Captain opened the door, somehow, while carrying a backpack, a pair of shoes, and several tubes of presumably paper in his hands. "Looks good on ya lad! It's a perfect fit!" his voice drops into a lower register while he mumbled. "(For a hand me down from Agent 1 at least.) Anyway, what's next?"

"Oh! Uhh, thanks? Next is the tank, I think." Quinn reached down to grab the tank in his hands. It's heavy, more than even the higher-end tanks he had tried on. It also just felt expensive, the metals and cool almost rubber-like plastics far higher grade than anything he could hope to buy in his lifetime. The occasional inset window, made of some kind of thick sheet of plexiglass, revealed the level of ink inside the tank.

"Ah, the Hero Tank. Real piece of work there, you can thank Sheldon for that one."

"Is everything named like that?" Quinn grabbed the limiter off the table. "Is this the 'Hero Limiter' then?"

The Captain scratched his chin, apparently mulling the idea over. "It is equipment unique to this set... I don't see why not!"

Quinn resisted the urge to slap his forehead. Instead, he turned his attention to the limiter. It took a bit of searching, but he managed to find the place where the limiter connected to the ink-rings in the 'Hero Pants'. The limiter then hooked into a small nook at the bottom of the Hero Tank. He caught the tank in the harness, and settled it into two small straps along the back of the vest.

"It hugs a bit tight against your back doesn't it?" Quinn asks, a bit of bite in his voice.

"Just like the harness." The Captain patiently explains. "Less open surface for the enemy to grapple too. The tank's feed is obscured too, so it's harder to cut."

"Preparing for every possibility, huh?" Quinn half-chastised, a bit more harshly than he intended.

The Captain seemed unfazed. "You could not possibly be too careful in a battlefield. I'd rather 10 extra precautions I don't need than be missing a single one I do. Now, put on these too." The Captain loosely tossed the pair of shoes over to him.

Quinn was halfway through tying the second shoe when he pauses, realizing something. "Wait a second, where's the inkstrips?"

"What's that?" The Captain asks.

"Ink strips, you know, how you put ink in your tank?" When he doesn't get a reply, Quinn continued. "Push ink into the strips and it carries it to the tank?"

The Captain snaps his fingers. "Oh, like that! That's just the jacket. Hold on." The Captain steped over to Quinn, and felt along the back of the vest. He stopped at a point right in the center of the vest, by the top of the ink tank. "Right here, feel this." Quinn reached back where the Captain's hand was touching. A small nub, maybe half the size of his finger, sat under a flap of the vest he hadn't seen before.. "That's the jacket's feed out tube. Just ink out of your back and it'll collect it." Quinn grabbed the tube and pulled it out, and with a bit of guidance from the Captain, managed to plug it into the tank.

Next up is the headphones. They were the standard cone shape with a nice black finish and small blue lights along their edge. They felt like the same high-quality materials as the tank. They fit on his head comfortably enough, and more surprisingly, hardly had an impact on his hearing.

Last but not least was the strangest looking gun he had ever seen. It was the standard shooter shape, handle with a trigger, and a barrel with a nozzle at the end to fire from. It quickly deviated from that norm by having two ink tanks; one above the barrel vaguely shaped like a power clam with a lid on top, and a second underneath the handle shaped like a sideways can of spray paint. Along the bottom of the barrel was a hand grip that led into some kind of flashlight or aim assist, he wasn't really sure. A metal beam ran from the back of the grip, connecting to a weird square cube at the end of the second tank.

"This is..." Quinn squinted his eyes as he stared down the strange weapon. It had much more going on compared to the rather simple design of his splattershot. With concealed hesitation, Quinn picked the weapon up. It fit very comfortably in his hand.

"Like it, do ya kid? You'll never believe it, but this one's called the Hero Shot" The Captain explained with a slightly joking tone.

Quinn held the Hero Shot out at arms length, experimentally aiming it around. "It's got a nice weight to it. Despite it's... inspired... design, it rests really well in one hand."

"Ammoses was a smart man, and Sheldon's not too far off. That weapon's got two generations of smart built into it. She's what weapons are like when they're not beholden to regulations."

Quinn stopped, his aim slowly falling as he turned to face The Captain head on. "What do you mean?"

The Captain didn't immediately answer, instead, he stepped forward towards Quinn. "These are not toys, like you're used to."

"With all due respect, sir, I don--" Quinn was cut off by a bamboozler jabbing into his side.

"The Hero Armor!" The Captain announced, his voice shockingly full. "Layered with 4 kinds of absorbent material. Can take three charger shots point blank before you feel a thing. You could swim in enemy ink and come out alright."

"I don't--"

"The Hero Tank!" The cane jabbed into the tank, knocking Quinn's balance off. "Uses specially modified pressurization technology found in ink jets to store over three times more ink than the highest grade tank you could ever hope to buy. It is so thoroughly capable of supplying a soldier with ink that it needs--" two rapid cane pokes to his side and legs kept Quinn off balance-- "special gear to interface with it. Nothing on the market could hope to keep up."

"Why--"

"Kid. Shut up and let me talk." The Captain's serious tone was enough to send a chill down Quinn's spine. He nodded.

"The Hero Headset was made with military grade technology at its core. It can send a signal through two miles of solid stone, scan the surrounding area for hostiles, and track relative movement. These are not toys. The equipment you are holding is not something you can take out of this canyon. It was not made with leisure, pleasure, or any kind of joy in mind. They are tools of warfare, I expect you to treat them as such."

Quinn just stared at The Captain for several seconds. The full weight of the situation was finally dawning on him. This was real. He was holding equipment that cost more than he would probably see in his lifetime. Thousands of questions flooded his mind, but only one truly stuck out.

"Why me?" He asked, still staring down at the Hero Shot.

The Captain turned to look at him. His face softens, and his tone changes to match. "Well, because lad. You caught my interest."

"How does that--"

"Let me finish." The Captain cuts him off, though his tone wasn't hostile. Quinn complied. "When you saw me in the Plaza the other morning, you probably thought it was a bit strange, yeah? Weird old man pops his head out of a sewer grate and stares up at the big TV. What you didn't notice, was that no one else looked. Not one other person in that plaza noticed the weird old man. Even then, most people woulda left it at that. No, kid, you wanted to know more."

Quinn nodded, not quite understanding, but indicating he was following along.

"And I found that interesting. So I kept my eyes on you. You fight well enough, though you're obviously still a rookie. That's easy enough to fix though so it's not a problem. No, kid. What I found is something more, something I wasn't sure I'd ever find in today's youth. When I showed up to egg you on, you changed things up to get your answers. And a lot quicker than I was expecting too!"

"What are you saying?"

The Captain stepped forward, and put a hand on his shoulder. "You got that look in your eyes, Quinn. The look that says 'I need something more, I want something more, I want to do right.' That's the one that I've been looking for."

Quinn fought to keep his breathing even, suddenly touched by the Captain's speech. It was... nice to be wanted for something. To have someone think he was able to do something. "Alright." Quinn finally answered, voice steady. "I'll see what's going on, at least for today."

"Atta boy!" The Captain cheered and slapped his back. He stepped and picked up the backpack from earlier on, the tubes easily slotting under his arms as he marched for the front door. "Come along lad. We got some domes to explore!"