metro blues

Boris sat at his desk in the dark aquarium-lit office of his apartment complex, staring in deep thought at the sheet of paper in front of him. Most of the time when he received letters it was impersonal bills and business correspondence, but today he received something handwritten in green pen. It addressed him as ‘Mr. Boris’, the writing slightly wobbly and scratched out in a few places from covered up mistakes. It was a plea for help with a phone number as a signature. What sort of help? He wasn’t exactly sure, but the fact that the letter mentioned the name of an octoling he’d help rescue from the deepsea metro… he had a good guess as to what he was being asked of.

Was this the sort of reputation he was starting to gain? Over the past twenty or so years he’d been basking in the sun on the surface, he’d done everything in his power to help others. Still, he didn’t feel deserving of this trust. The reputation he had before leaving the underground was the opposite of this. His disposition has always been that of controlled lightheartedness, even as the conductor of the deepsea metro. He stayed professional as he watched young octoling ‘test subjects’ break down in front of him. They were tired, they were just kids, they wanted to go home. But they no longer had any home. He’d give them a few more points so they could try to take that test one more time. Not tests he devised himself, but ones he maintained per his job description. He repaired the obstacle course-like mechanisms and filled them with brainless enemies. Husks of the test subjects’ comrades. Boris never thought about it deeply. It wasn’t his job to do that.

At least, he didn’t think about it deeply until it was a little too late. Until the weight of what he was doing hit him all at once and he left everything he’d ever known behind in a fit of guilt.

His shoulders heaved with a sigh as he folded the letter in half. Obviously, he would help whoever sent it. Not helping wasn’t an option that he’d allow to even cross his mind. However… he wasn’t going to get much done if he was silently stewing with the feelings this dredged up from within him. He’d already learned long ago that dwelling on what one could’ve done only keeps one from doing what they should do.

The sea angel traded out his professional blazer for the worn letterman jacket he kept on his coat rack. It was time to go for a walk. Not a walk around the block or to his favorite café as he usually did, but a proper walk. One to the metro. To think about what he’s done.
Purposely going to a place of bad memories to process these sorts of feelings might’ve been seen as counterproductive, but he was sure it would be helpful. Confronting one’s sordid past builds character, after all!

The platform for the deepsea metro’s Inkopolis stop was only a few blocks from his building. Cephalopods carrying turf weapons rushed around him on their way to the battle lobby. He gave Sean a friendly wave as he passed him taking a smoke break behind his food truck. Boris had gotten very used to these sunny, carefree days on the surface. It didn’t quite feel like home, but he appreciated it all the same. What felt more like home was the cool shade of the alley he stepped into. The metro stop was once abandoned, but now it was a bit livelier with octolings and former denizens of the deep hanging around it. Perhaps they were just reminiscing about shared experiences, or maybe they were waiting to see if any fresh faces with unadjusted, exhausted eyes stumbled their way up and needed someone to guide them.

He only had to wait a few minutes before a graffiti-covered train pulled to the platform. He easily stepped inside and nodded politely to the conductor. Last time he went for a soul-searching walk, he’d learned that the very small conductor’s name is C.Q. His replacement was a stark contrast to himself. Boris was over six feet tall, bulking once with muscle but now with dad bod. C.Q. could easily fit in one of his large hands. Perhaps the new conductor was more suited for maneuvering around the rush hour crowds than Boris was.

A group of sea angels hung around the train doors. Their letterman jackets bore a logo he wasn’t familiar with, but he could tell they were just his sort. They talked in low voices, just shooting the shit, occasionally hunching over with laughter. The sight of them hit Boris with a strong wave of nostalgia. How many times had he sat in this exact train with his hockey teammates doing the same thing? Falling over each other from exhaustion or after-party drunkenness. The other passengers would complain about the space they took up both physically and audibly. Some of them would be nursing new wounds from the game. He’d inevitably get into some kind of bet with Frederick.

The group turned to him as he shimmied by, also recognizing him as one of their own. One of the standing ones reached out to him as he passed, and Boris raised his hand and met his with a sharp crack in a satisfying high-five. He laughed heartily and so did the group of young men. Ah yes, for everything he didn’t miss about this place, he did miss that.

Rather than join his kin, he nodded them a goodbye and proceeded toward an empty seat in the back of the car. He didn’t want to ruin their fun once they figured out he was an old man and not a twenty-something like they were. Besides, he was here to brood and needed his space to be moody.

He took a seat near a window so he could watch as the space shifted around them as they went deeper. Time had a strange way of standing still underground. The two flashlightfish schoolgirls nearest to him didn’t even spare him a glance as they flipped through the latest issue of a top-side fashion magazine. It seemed more influence from the surface was making its way down since the train started running to its final Inkopolis stop again. He’d been seeing more and more denizens of the deep around the city as well… perhaps time no longer stood as still as it used to.

His hands ran over his lapels as the train began to move. There was a small memento there from the newest member of his family. Capri, the sanitized octoling they had fought hard to save, was now well enough, comfortable enough, grateful enough to buy him a small rainbow flag pin for his favorite jacket.
His thoughts turned to her and her siblings. Yuri, who he rescued from near-death and adopted long ago. Mori, who made it through everything safely and was now reconnecting with those she lost. And the two girls he couldn’t rescue… or at least, hasn’t rescued yet.

There are no octolings on the train today, he noted. He was unbelievably thankful for that. There was a large surge of migrant octarians a few years ago, presumably around when Kamabo’s influence on the deepsea started to slack. That flood has now slowed to a steady trickle. Boris had hoped that simply meant that majority of the octolings there had made it to the surface. But now, with the letter that sat heavily in his pocket… he wasn’t so sure. It seemed there was still far too much work to be done.

Boris’s thoughts turned to his children and his plans for the future as the train got darker and the air pressure grew heavier on him. He thought of the pipe dream projects he kept taking on no matter how unreasonable they seemed on the surface. One day he’d finally do everything he could. One day he could stop and feel satisfied. Hopefully.

After a half hour, Boris got off the train and was given a curious look from the sea cucumber conductor. Every metro regular knew that this was stop was more or less abandoned. The platform was empty aside from a few benches, a vending machine, and a set of lockers. The only exits leading to the battle-zone domes that non-cephalopods like him generally tried to avoid at all costs.

Despite how bleak, this metro platform was special to him. This was the place where he launched his first plan to rescue Capri from the depths of Kamabo’s test chambers. It was his first real attempt at redemption, not just a fleeting chase to find something to give him meaning or a tilt in his karma. It was a good place to think, though the trek meant he only came here when he was deep in his mind. No one ever bothered him here.

“Hey, daddy-o.”

Except for today apparently.

A young woman sat on the ground not far from the train doors he just stepped out of. Her back rested against one of the benches, an acoustic guitar placed in her lap. Papers and books were scattered around her and shifted with the odd breezes that came from the train tunnels. They scattered completely as the train started moving again and brought the wind along with it. Boris wondered if this is who was responsible for the papers filled with poetic scrawling he always found littered around here.

“May I stay to listen?” He asked politely, and his new acquaintance gave him a smile.

The octoling lazily strummed her guitar as he took a seat on the bench she was leaning on. She was an odd one. Her dark maroon tentacles were bunched and shredded in a strange way. Not anything he’d seen on an octoling before, or any cephalopod for that matter. The tips of her fingers were calloused, presumably from her guitar, and her knees were covered in heavy scarring from what he could see through the rips in her jeans. Her ice blue eyes hid behind dark circle shades, but from his angle he could see them peeking up at him. Seemed like she was observing him just as closely as he was observing her, though he knew nothing about his appearance was very telling.

“You look like the sort of woman that has an interesting story to tell.” Boris said casually as he leaned over with his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his folded hands. The octoling simply hummed before plucking out a soft tune on her guitar.

“Now, I don’t like talking about myself much. But you seem like a nice guy.” She gave him a teeth-showing grin that seemed a little hesitant. “Decided to leave. Had about enough of being a sheep. Needed to be free, you dig?” Boris simply nodded. That was a sentiment he’d heard from most octolings he knew. “Went through the metro because I didn’t know of any other way. Managed to make it through… Got all my cakes.” A bit of smugness livened up her fake smile.

“I must say, that is very impressive!” His horns perked up slightly from surprise. “I conducted the metro for years and only met one octoling that ever managed to recover all of their memories. Unfortunately, they didn’t make it to the surface as you have.”

Something he said caused the octoling to squint a bit at him. She studied him with her lips slightly pursed. These were very subtle changes in her expression but reading those was a skill of his he’d honed over the years. She was studying him closely, strategizing. While he’d rather her not have so much suspicion towards him, even though he did feel he warranted it, it seemed he at least had her intrigue.

Boris leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, rubbing his hands over his knees. “This is an odd question… but how do you suppose recovering all those memcakes has changed your life?”

The woman curiously raised an eyebrow at him.

“I have never understood why Kamabo would go through the trouble of extracting memories of test subjects, only to use them as bait…”

“Well, Mr. Conductor, I would’ve thought that you’d be the one with those kinds of answers.” She let out a small huff, almost amused. He simply chuckled and shook his head.

“The more I dig for information, the more I realize just how little I knew about this whole operation.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost a little sheepish. “But I have wondered… if they were worth all the trouble of collecting if it could be life threatening. How much does memories of a past life matter when they could be abandoned for a brighter future?”

The octoling strummed her guitar while her eyes wandered off in thought. Boris knew it was a heavy question, but it was one he never had anyone to ask other than himself. Most octolings he knew never recovered their memories or had managed to avoid the metro all together. But in front of him was a woman who quite literally made it to Hell and back fully intact. Even if he felt a little guilty for putting such a conflicted expression on her face, he couldn’t help but be excited when she turned to him to answer.

“I made it through with my sibling, and they didn’t get any back. They sacrificed their memories so I could have mine.” While that was touching, it didn’t surprise Boris in the slightest. The familial bonds between octoling soldiers was the strongest he’d ever seen. “I’ve appreciated having my memories. It makes me a deeper person, dig? I already made my mistakes, and since I remember them, I won’t repeat them. When I see people I recognize, I got the choice to bring up that past or start fresh with them.”

She plucked out a few notes rhythmically. Boris noted that everything she said was carefully planned. Never revealing too much of her true emotions. He could sympathize.

“But my sib… Jo. They don’t know where they fit into this world. On the outside they don’t seem bothered about it much, but they’re desperate to recognize anything. It’s not that the past is gone, get it? A person without their memories just can’t find it anymore. It’s frustrating to not be able to find something you know is there…”

If she had more to say, it trailed off quietly. Her head rested on the back of the bench as she looked at the ceiling. Boris did the same as he crossed his arms. His mind turned to his adoptive octoling son and how he was always haunted by all the memories he lost. It seemed having just one memcake, one thing to grasp to, was more maddening than having nothing at all. Even now, with tangible proof of who he used to be, he never seemed fully satisfied. Boris couldn’t help but wonder what might become of his new acquaintance’s sibling.

“And, sir.” Her smooth voice brought him out of his thoughts. “You know just as well as I do that no matter the amount of memcakes, those ‘thangs’ gave all your test subjects the same end. What’s it worth worrying what the value of memories is when we just gotta live life until we get the same fate? Dig it.”

Boris went very quiet. ’Your test subjects’… my test subjects. There was no malice in her voice. No tension in her body or quirk to her lips. Still, his own conscience wielded her words like a blade to cut him deep.

The sea angel heaved a heavy sigh and ran a hand over his horns. “I have to disagree. As you said, you’re a deeper person for remembering your past. You remember your mistakes. I remember mine. The value in memories is that we can move forward from them. I only question if it’s worth risking one’s life for.” He hadn’t noticed that his tone had slipped from carefully conversational to openly offering dad-wisdom. The young woman looked up at him with curious, wide eyes for it.
“But your insight… is very appreciated. It’s absolutely invaluable, in fact. Thank you.” Boris was genuinely grateful, but still sounded hesitant. “If I may ask…”

“You’ve been asking a lot of things already.” The octoling interrupted with a small laugh. It startled Boris just a bit. Maybe she was pleased with getting any kind of reaction out of him, or maybe she wanted to lighten the mood.

He simply shook his head and continued. “How did you and your sibling manage to make it to the surface in the first place? The one person I knew that managed to pass all their tests was ultimately…”

“Blitzed? Blended? Made into fish paste?” She offered, but all of that verbiage made Boris’s stomach churn uncomfortably.

She sighed and lazily strummed her guitar. The look on her face turned fond as her lip quirked up in a smirk. “A twerp of an inkling hero crashed through the glass ceiling and broke the blender.”

Boris couldn’t even stop himself from laughing at that. “Well, if it isn’t just like an inkling to do something so reckless.”

The heavy tension between them lightened as she joined his laughter for a moment. This octoling might’ve been one of the most interesting people he’s ever met, but he’d prodded her answers enough. For a few minutes they sat in silence as she played a slow, lulling song. He allowed it to relax him. If he had eyes, he would’ve closed them; instead he leaned forward again, elbows on his knees and head on his hands, as she got lost in her own music. Boris quietly wondered if those scribblings of words on paper that blew around the station were lyrics.

He thought again of his past and the future he’d hoped to achieve. The children he loved dearly, their friends he’d always help when asked, and the request for help he’d been entrusted. For some reason, when he thought of these things now, his shoulders didn’t feel as heavy as they did before.

The song slowed and she turned to him, her voice pulling him out of a daze. “Now, Conductor-sir, you asked me a bunch of questions. I don’t like talking about myself, so I think you owe me.”

He straightened up and chuckled warmly. “Alright, shoot.”

“What’s your name?”

The question took him a little off guard, but he answered easily. “I am Boris Zherikhin.”

She nodded and hummed an affirmation. “I’m Atta Dharma.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Atta.” He bowed his head slightly, and Atta gave him a warm smile. “The pleasure is all mine, daddy-o.”

He titled his head at the nickname again. Atta was definitely an odd one. Her guitar sang as she strummed out another song on it, a little bit faster in tempo than the near lullaby from before. As much as he enjoyed listening to a skillful musician, it felt like there was something left unsaid and it was making him unease.

“Was… that all you wanted to ask me?”

Atta didn’t stop playing as she turned to give him a bright but mischievous grin. “Oh, not at all! You seem like a well of knowledge. But it’s no fun if I get all my answers on the first try, right? I’ll have something for you next time.”

Boris huffed out a laugh.

Next time?