Solitary Confinement (Coral - OC)
Coral was so tired of being alone. “Quarantine” Dr. Oarfish called it. Bullshit is what Coral would say. She wasn’t sick. She hadn't been sick in months. Not a single one of the recent Ink Virus injections had caused an infection that was contagious for more than 24 hours; Coral would know, she snuck a peek at the test results. And yet she woke up this morning to find all doors within the lab locked with a new code, all air vents bolted shut, the loose floor panels sealed firmly in place, and the doctor himself with a smug look on his face. He'd managed to find and eliminate every last one of Coral's usual escape points.
Not that she really needed them anymore. Marina, Coral's only friend, was gone. She left for the surface over a year ago, so there was really no reason for Coral to want to escape anyway. But it still made her furious that the doctor would pull a stunt like this. He knew, and he knew that she knew. This was just one last “shuck you” to the little Octoling he already treated as less than sentient.
But the way he still looked at her, the way he was still so overly vigilant, made Coral feel a little spark of satisfaction. She was glad she'd made his life hell for as long as she had. He definitely deserved it. She hoped he spent the rest of his miserable career watching over his shoulder to make sure his little gremlin of a test subject hadn't escaped. The thought of it at least took Coral's mind off of what it meant for her: She was never getting out.
The project was nearing completion, so it was crucial to have Coral there and available at all times. This of course meant more needles. More short days of increasingly severe illness. More and more of her blood and ink being taken away to prepare an emergency cure, and to keep it in line with the Virus’ progress. Theoretically, that should be a good thing, since it meant she would no longer be needed and thus be set free. But knowing the doctor, that wasn't going to happen. He'd probably keep her down here out of pure spite, if he didn't immediately thrust her into something completely new. He had a bad reputation, and nobody was coming to him willingly. That was the whole reason Coral was in this mess in the first place. Somehow this madman wound up taking care of the egg Coral hatched from, and when his supporters disappeared, she was all he had to work with.
So there she sat, in silence, in a tiny room with a giant window in place of one wall, a small shelf of books she'd read at least 3 times already, a puzzle she'd completed so many times that the picture was gone and she could still remember where the pieces go, and a little music player gifted to her by Marina before the older Octoling fled the underground. That was Coral's only source of hope: a low-quality recording of the first song her mentor wrote. To Coral, it was a promise. A promise that Marina would be back one day to get Coral out of there for good… Or at the very least, a promise that Coral hadn't been abandoned.
Coral had heard the Calamari Inkantation before, but never understood the supposed “magical properties” of it, able to inspire hundreds of Octolings to just up and leave for the surface and for a better life. Ebb & Flow, on the other hand, she did understand. Because when she heard Marina sing, all she felt was comfort. Especially with the version she sent after the fact, where all one could hear by focusing on Marina's voice was happiness. She was so excited to share her music with the world (and her new bandmate wasn't half bad either, though Coral could never understand what the other was saying). But to hear Marina so happy and free on the surface gave Coral hope nonetheless; someday, she was sure that she could join her mentor up there.
Someday she'd be free, too. She just had to find another escape route, preferably before the project was finished.
Couldn't be that hard, could it?