Albert slapped the Inklings in his face across the face with the blue ink of his brush. He dashed up the tower, narrowly avoiding the red ink shot from snipers above.

He threw a splat bomb and splattered a nearby wall, ascending upwards towards his enemy as the snipers were blasted to kingdom come.

And it was then, at least, he reached the top. He glared at his enemy, a skilled gunman, and in his eyes, a traitor to the good of everyone he cared about.

"You..." He growled, gripping his brush with such force it may shatter, "Three months ago, you ruined my life!"

The gunman turned to face him, and without a word drew their Heroshot.

And there they stood for a silent moment, two warriors atop a broken city. Two twin rulers of ruins.

"Your reign ends here!" Albert cried as he charged.

Three months ago...

Albert was never one for Turf Wars. Was always more a Rainmaker type of guy. A team player. Always the type of guy to lead the charge and grab the Rainmaker when no one else wanted to.

In truth Albert desired the security of knowing how things would play it. This was just how he was, a man who desired security and safety for himself and those around him. A certainty to whatever degree he could ensure.

Which is why he was not happy about the outcome of the final splatfest. As soon as Chaos was declared the victor, actual Turfwars, like before there was order before there was peace, broke out across the city.

Albert closed his suitcase with clenched fists.

He wondered how the masses could choose Chaos, willingly? Did they not understand the danger it posed?

Could it be that even if the chaos was wrong that he wanted too much security?

He brushed aside that thought despite it being a genuine possibility. In his eyes this merely meant the masses could not rule themselves, but he was no leader. He knew that.

So, all he could do was run.

He wanted security above all else, but to find that he would have to get out of Inkopolis. Was a shame to lose work fighting in Rainmaker matches, it was a good, lucrative job, but alas, staying now would be suicide.

He exited his apartment and locked the door, giving the place one final look. He pressed his hand to the door, "Goodbye, Inkopolis."

And with that he began to leave, as he walked past the chaos of colors, the city looking like a massive oil slick in arrangement, he pondered where he was to go.

He knew he could leave but to where, he had no idea.

"Hey there's a blue guy right there, get him!" A voice exclaimed.

Three Inklings aimed for Albert, who sighed, "I'm not a part of your war. I'm just leaving."

The trio laughed, "Oh where's the fun in that? Come on! The whole city is fair game! At least put up a fight!"

One of the Inklings fired off a shot from their gun, which Albert narrowly sidestepped, the wall behind him stained green.

"Alright," He sighed opening his suitcase, "Hard way it is. You know I don't get why you all chose Chaos. You know? Never did like disorder."

He looked at his array of weapons, grabbing his signature Ink Brush as he closed the case. He kicked it across the ink covered ground, across which it slid with ease tripping the leader of the trio. While the other two were distracted by helping their ally, he splatted the trio with a barrage of blue ink, waving the brush side to side rapidly to coat them all at once.

He sighed, his enemies bested his picked his suitcase back up, "I just don't get you people I truly don't..."

He loaded his Inkbrush back into his suitcase, which held his weapons, some books on politics, and supplies for travel such as clothes and food.

"I never did like these splatfests," He muttered to himself, "All that matters is security. Wish someone who wasn't an idiot, someone who understood this, would step up and take charge instead of that nonsense, and now look where it's gotten us."

Albert listened for a moment to the sounds of combat before he sighed, "But it's not my problem."

He continued down the street, noticing an increasing frequency of orange ink on the ground and walls of nearby buildings as he neared the train station, when he arrived he found it the center of a battle between some Inklings and Octolings, the land a mishmash of green and orange.

An Inkling aimed their Splattershot at Albert as he approached. He exclaimed, "Hey! Hey! I'm just trying to catch the train!"

"Well good luck with that," the inkling sighed, lowering his gun, "That gang is holding it hostage, charging massive fees for anyone who wants to pass."

The young man with the Splattershot, loaded with orange ink, wore a black jacket, high end black sneakers, and black headphones with a white accents all around. His haircut was short, curled at the front, and both his hair and eyes were also orange.

Albert's attire appeared casual, a white t-shirt, gray sneakers, and a grey baseball cap, but it was tailor made for Rainmaker matches. Albert adjusted his cap to get a better view and asked, "What's your name anyways?"

"Terry," the Inkling replied.

"Well Terry," Albert sneered, handing him the suitcase, "I have a plan..."

Terry called to the gang at the station, "Fine! Here's your damn money!"

He slid a suitcase covered in blue ink across the battlefield. The gang closed in, the leader greedily rubbed his hands together, "Oh boy! Payday boys!"

He reached for the suitcase only for Albert to reveal himself, having hidden in the ink atop the case splatting him with his Inkbrush. The others caught off guard he summoned an Inkstorm, raining down ink from above, the goons panicked and scattered. One Splatbomb took out most of them leaving a sole survivor that Albert cornered and pointed his brush at. "Who do you work for?" He demanded with hatred in his eyes.

"No one," the goon growled, "It's every man for himself."

"Then you're just as vile as the rest," Albert growled before splatting him.

He turned to Terry who rushed to him, "That was amazing, but, how did you use Inkstorm with an Inkbrush?"

"It's custom made," Albert explained showing the brush, the handle having decorative rain drops along its long handle, which was white. The raindrops themselves a light blue color. "Comes with Inkstorm and Splatbombs. I call it Stormbringer."

"Guess this is your turf now," Terry replied as he eyed the brush.

"I'm not a part of your gang wars keep it for all I care," Albert pulled the brush away, "I'm out of here."

"Where you headed?" Terry inquired.

Albert froze, where was he going? To do what? What was his goal? His dream his ambition?

He liked his life before, working to be the best at Rainmaker, or at least the best he could be. He was respected before, and now that was gone. That was his passion and now he had...

"Nothing," Albert conceded, "Rainmaker was a passion, my life, and now its gone. I was one of the best. I was gonna appear on Off The Hook for an interview before this happened."

"Wait you're THAT Albert?" Terry demanded, "Man! I didn't expect to see a celebrity!"

"I'm just a skilled Rainmaker fighter," Albert chuckled.

"Well you clearly don't like how things are," Terry conceded, "Frankly neither do I. We could change things."

Albert became curious, "Go on..."

Terry continued, pointing at the Great Zapfish at the top of the city, "Well, he who rules the power rules the city. We take that tower, and everyone will have to bend the knee to us. You could instill order again or make things more chaotic. Everyone needs electricity. Besides, we can make life easier for those living under the thumb of these gangs."

Terry clenched his fists, "I hate them too. You know? In chaos there is freedom, and instead of using that to make unhindered progress, they're using it for a might makes right greed based ego trip. They're using it wrong!"

Albert looked at the train. He didn't agree with Terry but understood they shared common ground, and if he could help people it would be selfish to walk away, to flee like a coward.

He had to do the right thing.

Besides, these people clearly could not rule themselves, they had proven that, and those fools who had chosen chaos, he wouldn't let them win. They didn't deserve to win!

Albert smiled and extended his hand to Terry, and declared with this toxic mix of good intentions, pride, and spite, "Then let this be our base, Terry."

"Let's get to work," Terry nodded, shaking his hand, "Albert..."