No need to fight (Splatoon fanfic)

Part 1~ What it's like

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and feeling the cool breeze wash over my skin, the weight of the Splatterscope steady in my hands. Grounding myself, I open my eyes and take in the scenery, the salty smell of sea water fulling my lungs. I steady myself, closing my left eye and focusing my right through the scope, finger resting on the trigger.

Turf war, Skipper Pavilion. A stage I enjoy, due to long sightlines down both the middle and bottom portions of the stage, perfect for cornering thoughtless opponents and sending them straight back to their respawn point.  It's what I live for, an art I have almost perfected. Miss a few shots, and they get reckless. They leave themselves wide open, and then they fall. Easy as one, two, three. Of course, it's not a perfect science. Sometimes, I get too cocky, or don't spend enough time watching my own back. Missing crucial shots, getting ganged up on, it happens to all of us. You can never be perfect.

The sounds of a skirmish bring me back to reality, the familiar form of my trusty Splatterscope feeling light in my hands. Taking aim, I see someone running up the middle, escaping the battle in the lower section near the dock. Looking closer, they appear to be a boy, with a deep purple ponytail, and a single lock hanging over the right of his face, wearing a facemask and black hoodie. In his hands rests an inkbrush, though he doesn't seem to be using it.
"How odd..." I whisper to myself, focusing on him, steadying my aim. The laser points to his chest, as his face shoots to the source, just a hair too late, as I pull the trigger. I see the brief twinge of fear in his eyes, before the stream of ink connects with his body, dissolving him and causing a small explosion of pink ink.

As moments pass, I continue to stare at the pink blotch splattered across the ground. Something just... wasn't right about it. A full inkbrush, running from a fight, and all of this in a turf war, no less. Just what was he trying to pull?

My attention was snapped back to the present again as I felt the familiar burn of enemy ink against my skin. In a panic, I took aim, searching for my attacker. I looked left, then right, spotting an octoling with a mohawk cut, wearing a skull bandana and wielding a splattershot, inking the ground around me and moving in fast.  I fired, but missed by inches in the excitement of the moment. Seeing his opportunity, the octoling advanced, ducking into his ink and rushing towards me. The intense burning sensation of their ink motivated me to cut my losses and run, shooting down into my own trail that I had left as an emergency getaway, and swimming as fast as I could manage, but it still wasn't enough. I felt the ground in front of me blocked off, leaving me nowhere to run as the searing pain surrounded me. I knew there wasn't any point in fighting it, as darkness overtook my vision and I began to dissolve.

Though it's only a few seconds, it feels as if an eternity passes before feeling returns to me once more. My body materializing, I once again feel that cool breeze hit me, bringing me a familiar comfort. I take a second to berate myself, knowing I could have survived if I had just been a little more observant. No matter how many times it happens, you never get used to the feeling of being splatted. The burn, the fear, then the darkness. It's scarring, in a way. But whether I'm used to it or not doesn't matter, I have a job to do. Pulling up my map, I look for a teammate to super jump to, but all seem to be in combat. Muttering quiet curses, I dive into an ink trail, bolting back to my perch.