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Chapter One

The sun rose over Inkopolis, onto some of the last land on this otherwise mollusk-ruled world, to bring a new day to its citizens. To bring new people, people with hopes of the better, into the city's pristine streets. To bring up and coming news, of new material possessions and new swagger of the youth. To bring new wars, new friendships, new experiences.

But for some, things never change.

She woke up from her bed. Then, she brushed her teeth and threw on the disgustingly worn clothes she chose to wear every day since she bought them. After putting on her glasses and grabbing her weapon of choice, she went out to the Central Lobby, Inkopolis Tower, in which she would be transported to one of Inkopolis' stages. She and the strangers she met inked turf after turf, sometimes even ending in a win for them.

Even if they lost, they'd still get their fair split of the compensation money. This was her job. Other inklings would call her, and others like her a quote unquote semi-professional turfer, a minor-leaguer, any sort of exclusive title. Surprisingly, it wasn't a hard position to earn- she signed up for it out of a flyer outside Ammo Knights, under the condition that she would be studied under statistics such as her splat count and how she performed in Inkopolis' 'war nights', Splatfests.

After a hard, sometimes rewarding, others excruciating day of all this, she would swing a right, two lefts, and a u-turn to the apartment above a restaurant bustling all day and almost all night; the restaurant known as Flanker's. The fact that they served the best catfish burgers in the city kept the place busy, and her aunt, the sous chef, working thirteen-hour days until the sun set.

This was the routine for every single day of this squid girl's life. Plenty of good days, and even when it didn't quite hit the spot, there was still positivity abound. For every streak of good days, though, it took just one bad day to place a damper on her attitude.

Such is the case of the regular Tuesday she had woken up too. Routining through teeth, clothes, glasses, gun, she thought that surely after all these well-by times, it couldn't take its dip now. After making her way to the lobby to witness the new day, she took a ticket with her and boarded the train.

Whizzing on the rails, the train was headed straight towards a closed oil rig- however, it had garnered a use beyond its old days.

Saltspray Rig. The first Turf War of the day, and the first group she was placed in spelt a scheme of trouble.

Three other boys took her company, their weapon being the easiest to use- Splattershot Jrs. As she observed them initially, she jumped to see one of them quickly change from his Inkling form to that of a squid.

Must've been a mistake, she pondered. New players never had a grip on their squid forms. Her heart leaped a long jump when she saw the same boy do it again. And again. And a couple more times. At this rate, he wasn't going to stop.

The other two looked at each other, the corners of their mouths turning up into evil smiles,  and joined in.

As the team went through the spawn portal to the actual course, she figured they must've been screwing around. Suffice to say, she was far from right.

In total, the group of them lost eight Turf Wars that day. She was splatted forty-six times. It was the worst she's ever played since... since forever.

Somber and almost ready to fume, she left after lunch and headed back home. She tried to justify her performance in the game on her walk. They were boys. She was trying. All they did was do that squid-kid fast change, and she worked.

She couldn't deal with it. After taking the elevator up to the apartment she called home, she sat around and watched the TV.

When the clock struck eleven, she'd still be awake to see the door swing open. At that time the main breadwinner of the family would be coming back from Flanker's, her aunt.

"Ah, honey," Aunt Pesto exclaimed as she brought in a small box of leftovers. "Was your day much more exciting than mine?" She passed the carton of sardine salad to her niece and placed her white jacket on a hook for the next day.

As she ate, she thought long and hard. "Pesty," she finally replied, "I don't know why they let boys into Turf Wars."

Aunt Pesto's face slowly morphed into a small frown. She walked over to the table and sat down. "So, not very good, I see. What happened?"

"I got put with this squad of them today. They were just... They just kept jumping around, doing nothing, they're not what I was expecting at all. It's because of them we lost."

"Eh, feh. You're overreacting. The truth is, it's one of those sports that they mix up. Both boys and girls like to play it. It's not wrestling or volleyball, or whatever sports those two sisters got on the fax. You can't change it, even though they're people who don't respect the game like them. And frankly, not all boys are like that."

"It was humiliating. You would understand my plight if you were there."

Pesto chuckled. "Plight? That's some vocabulary. At least it's done for the day- maybe you could call up that Sheldon guy and take a day off."

Her niece moaned. Pesto, knowing there was nothing she could do, resorted to an inevitable tactic. She heaved and took the box.

"I think we're both just tired, Mesonii. It's best if we bunk in for the night."