Archive of Our Own

Heart on a Chain

You find the locked door in the Trash Zone.

Past the garbage bags that shine black as an oil slick, past the flashing neons signs covered in geometric scrawls, and amidst a vigil of rusting cars stands the door, inexplicably settled in the face of a trash pile as tall and wide as a barn. Its gray paint is flaking, and its flat, featureless surface reminds you of the door of an office building or a decades-old dentist office. Someplace hollow and soulless.

You rattle the doorknob. The door doesn't budge.

Susie sighs impatiently.

"Come on, Kris. There's nothing here. Let's get out of this dump already."

You suppose she's right, in a way. If there is a way to open this door, it isn't here.

You leave, your friends trailing dutifully behind.

It isn't until after you're alone with Noelle in the city that you spot the salt stains.

The street is covered with them, irregular rings of salt that mar the asphalt like flaking skin. You've seen this disease-like pattern before. On snowy days, the streets and sidewalks of your town are dusted with salt to keep the layers of ice from stacking one on top of the other. Snow boots and fur-covered paws track the salt into the doorway of every building, leaving the mottled white rings on the floor.

There's no sign of snow, and it doesn't feel particularly cold, but still, the road is salted.

As you cross the busy street, Noelle glued to your side with her hands flung dramatically over her head, you spot a particularly crusty ring adjacent to the curb. The salt hasn't quite flattened here but sits piled up against the concrete.

You absentmindedly bend down and pinch the salt pile between your fingers.

"Kris, what are you doing?!" Noelle cries. "The light's gonna change any second!"

Sure enough, you hear a cacophony of honking, and you scramble back onto the sidewalk just in time to narrowly avoid cracking your head against the hood of a passing car.

Noelle watches, bewildered, as you trickle the salt into your pocket.

"Kris…seriously? There are better ways to get your sodium intake. You know we always have salt licks at our house. You don't have to pick it up off the street."

You shrug and tell her the street taste adds flavor.

"Gross, Kris!" Noelle is laughing as you lead her to the next crosswalk.

You keep finding salt piles. Scattered by tiny mouse feet. Frosted onto the foot of the bench by the Ferris wheel poster. Clinging to the flaps of a cardboard box. Swept against the door frame of a floppy disk apartment. Five in all.

Noelle doesn't comment, but her earlier astonishment quickly gives way to suspicion. When you buy two cups of tea from the smiling Addison on the corner, she makes a point of keeping her hand over the mouth of her cup as she glares at you out of the corner of her eye. You consider actually sneaking the salt in just to match her expectations, but you decide against it. No use wasting salt on such a predictable prank.

You occasionally hear crunching from your pocket, and you know that Lancer must be helping himself. But there is still plenty of salt left over, so you decide to leave it be. Luckily, Lancer is too full from the free sample to make more than a dent.

When you reach the dead-end alley at the far end of the highway, the first thing you notice is the moss.

It wasn't easy to reach this spot. You'd had a few close calls as you weaved in and out of traffic, and the high-pitched squealing sound Noelle insisted on making every time you bolted across the crowded lanes wasn't exactly helpful. But at last, the time has come to reap your reward. And you realize the salt must have been put in your way for this exact moment. Why eat your moss plain when you can add a little seasoning?

But as you reach into your pocket, a glint of light snags the corner of your eye.

You look up and see that a corner of the dumpster pushed up against the wall is feathered with a coating of pure, white ice, the kind you would only see balled up in the upper corner of the freezer like the egg sack of a spider.

Noelle has noticed it, too.

"Look at that…" she says, and there's almost an admiring tone in her voice.

The two of you approach the dumpster. It isn't particularly cold outside, and yet the ice glistens, irrefutably solid. Looking closer, you see the ice is erupting from a crack in the dumpster like a popped boil. Something in the bottom of the dumpster is generating the ice, and it's leaking out into the air, adhering itself to the wall behind.

You open the lid of the dumpster and take a peek inside. The dumpster is absolutely packed, and aside from a single yellowed pillow, nothing in the pile of wrappers, food scraps, dog hair, shoe crumbs, and metal scraps really stands out. You do not feel like sorting through all that clutter to find whatever is making the ice, so you close the lid.

Noelle, meanwhile, is bent down near the pavement, inspecting the space around the crack. "Hey, Kris," she says, "I think there's something under the dumpster."

You bend down next to her to take a look. She's right. There's a small pile of something flat and solid sitting under the sharp bottom edge of the dumpster. The crevice is so small that barely any light can get in, and so whatever is inside is cloaked in dark shadow. You try to worm your hand into the gap, but it's too big to fit.

You stand and try to shift the dumpster away from the wall. It won't budge, not even when Noelle helps you. The dumpster is heavy, but it isn't that. You feel the contents shifting as you and Noelle pull, and you figure you could probably move it if not for the ice.

That's when you remember the salt. You spoon it into your hand and sprinkle it over the ball of ice.

"Ooh, good thinking, Kris! Maybe that'll loosen it up!"

You and Noelle place yourselves on either side of the dumpster and pull. After a few more tugs, the ice cracks and gives way, and the feet of the dumpster scrape over the sidewalk.

You see a flash of brass. You brush aside the white powder dripping from the walls and pick up the object underneath.

It's a set of keys. Three of them, grimy with age and the touch of hands. Two of them look like they would fit into metal locks somewhere, while the third looks like an ignition key. Somehow, you can tell they would taste like a penny if you put them in you mouth. Dangling from the keyring is a single heart-shaped keychain.

You show Noelle what you've found.

"Somebody's keys?" she asks, puzzled. "How'd they end up here?"

You suddenly remember the locked door in the Trash Zone. One of these keys would probably unlock that door.

At this point, however, it would be too much of a pain to backtrack that far. You remember the doors that allowed you to warp in the Card Kingdom. You hope that you'll come across more of those as you tuck the keys into your pocket.

"Kris… Hurry up, please…"

You clamber out of the Queen's car and shut the door behind you, muffling the vibrant melody of her mixtape. You can still hear the beat drumming the air as you head down the alley.

The rhythm, however, is quickly cut off by a loud crash.

You freeze. The crash came not from the road behind you but the alley ahead. The sound of something hard and heavy slamming against a wall and flying into pieces.

Accompanying the crash is a voice:

"NO. NO! [No Money Down!] WHERE ARE THEY?!"

The voice is loud and manic and not at all inviting. You contemplate hurrying back to the car and waiting out the traffic jam instead of facing whatever lunatic is throwing things in an alley, but instead you grip the hilt of your sword as you cautiously turn the corner.

The side street into which you've stepped looks like it was hit by a tornado. Seemingly the entire contents of the dumpster standing against the wall have been strewed all over the street and sidewalk. Grease-soaked boxes, crumpled popcorn bags, broken pieces of furniture, and various other unmentionable things are littered over every square foot of the asphalt. Against the far wall is a smashed CRT TV, the kind with a VHS player in the front, and you realize that was most likely the origin of the crashing sound you heard.

The lid of the dumpster flies open with a bang, and a rancid paper cup flies out, spewing melted pink slush over the street. Soon after, the head of a very frazzled-looking Darkner appears.

"NOTHING. ASBOLUTE JACK-[[Hyperlink Blocked]]. WHAT DOES A MAN HAVE TO [Dues and Fees] TO [wrangle] A BREAK AROUND HERE?"

The Darkner suddenly turns and locks eyes with you. You wish he hadn't. He's pale as a ghost, and the stiff, unnatural contours of his face remind you of a ventriloquist dummy. His shades, hair, and V-neck shirt are smeared with miscellaneous stains, and you can tell that some kind of attempt was once made to slick back his jet-black hair, but the juices from the trash and his current state of frenzy have left it sticking up in several places.

"NOT NOW, KID. CAN'T YOU SEE WE'RE [Closed for Repairs]? YOU THINK JUST CAUSE YOU'RE LIGHT nER YOU CAN COME IN HERE WHEN I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF [Lost Control of Your Life?]"

You have no idea what the correct response would be, so you elect not to say anything. You move your eyes to the far wall as you try to walk past.

The Darkner throws himself to the street directly in your path and glares at you behind his grimy shades. "[Stop Overpaying] RIGHT THERE, KID! YOU DON'T MOVE A [75-inch] UNTIL I FIND MY [[Ring, Ring, Ring!]]"

You notice he's shaking pretty badly, almost like he has a fever. Not only that, but the shape of his head keeps flickering and spasming in a way that reminds you of the graphics on a corrupted cartridge. The grip on your sword tightens.

The Darkner whirls away from you and picks busily through the garbage splayed over the street. You can still hear him muttering to himself.

"[Need it, Want it, Gotta have it!] TIRED OF [Going Nowhere?] CAUSE I SURE AS [$!$$!] AM! THOSE [Jingles] GOTTA BE HERE SOMEWHERE!"

You tentatively try to sneak by him while he's distracted, but your foot accidentally presses down on a particularly crinkly chip bag, and suddenly he's right in your face. The scent of cheap cologne nearly knocks you out.

"WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU, KID? NOT ANOTHER [instep]. DO YOU [No Way Out] WHO YOU'RE MESSING WITH? NONE OTHER THAN SPAMTON G. SPAMTON! EV3RY BUDDY'S FAVORITE [[Number 1 Rated Salesman1997]]."

You can't help yourself and ask if the G stands for "Garbage."

Despite his loud, hysterical laughter, you get the sense that Spamton is not amused.

"[Laugh Out Loud] FUNNY STUFF, KID. WE GOTTA REAL [Live Comedian!] OVER HERE! YOU WANT [Laughs] SO BAD, HAVE SOME [Slapstick]!"

With that, the joints in Spamton's marionette jaw open shockingly wide, leaving you staring at a black, gaping hole bigger than your entire head. You brandish your sword, but there's no time to get a strike in before something explodes against your forehead with the force of a migraine.

You reel back. Bizarrely, the magic bullets flying from Spamton's mouth are shaped like words. "$$DEALS$$," "$$VALUE$$," "$$PRICES$$," and other such text flies at you as you duck and weave, your head still throbbing.

You decide that waiting in traffic wouldn't be so bad after all, and you turn to try and run back into the alley.

"AW. [Packing up and Leaving] SO SOON? YOU CAN'T LEAVE WITHOUT LEAVING A LITTLE [Tax Deductible Donation] IN MY [Pain] FUND!"

The hole in Spamton's face creaks wide open again, but this time, there are no bullets. Instead, a tunnel of air cyclones into the hole between his teeth. The gale is so powerful that you feel yourself being whirled around and pulled back toward him. You stab your sword into the ground to stop yourself, but you can't stop several Dark Dollars from slipping out of your pocket.

The bills disappear between his white teeth as though being fed to a vending machine.

"YUM YUM. THAT'S [a spicy] KROMER!"

You grimace with irritation and ask Spamton what's got him so worked up anyway.

"YOU [Yanking My Chain], KID?! YOU'RE THE [One and Only] WHO CAME IN HERE WHEN I HAD MY [Aching Joints] FULL WITH [Too Much Hassle]! STEPPING IN MY PERSONAL [trash]. POKING FUN AT MY [Signature on the Back]. I'M A BUSY [Berries and Cream], KID! I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR [INTRUDER ALERT]."

You ask Spamton what he was so busy with.

"[Searching for that Special] SOMETHING! LOST THEM. LOST THEM. BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR THAT [Jingle Jangle] BUT CAN'T FIND THEM ANYWHERE. I'VE SEARCHED [High] AND [Low, Low, Price]. I'VE TURNED [Your Local Lost and Found] UPSIDE DOWN AND STILL NOTHING."

You ask Spamton what he's talking about.

"DON'T YOU SPEAK [30+ Languages], KID? I'M TALKING ABOUT MY [Keys]! SOME DAMN [Clown Around Town] RAN OFF WITH MY KEYS."

Keys? Your eyes are wide as you unconsciously slip your hand into your pocket. You can feel the sharp edges of the keys you and Noelle found earlier poking into the skin of your fingers. Doubtlessly, these are the keys he's talking about. Who else would have stashed their keys under a dumpster?

Your fingers curl around the bundle of keys, and you're just about to pull them out when, suddenly, you stop yourself.

Is handing over these keys really the best idea? You have no idea what they unlock. Presumably at least one is for the door in the Trash Zone, but what about the others? This Spamton is obviously a dangerous, unhinged individual. After all, he attacked you with very little provocation, and by the way he's shivering and shaking, he's clearly unwell. If he was so frantic to find these keys, they must go to something important. And whatever this lunatic considers to be important can't be good.

On the other hand, there's also no way of knowing for sure that whatever these keys unlock is something bad. You were, after all, planning on eventually backtracking to try and get into the locked door anyway. The other keys may open the way to something even more enticing. Handing over these keys might benefit you in the long run.

The fact of the matter is that you just don't know. You don't know which is the smartest choice.

So you decide to try and find out.

Your hand is empty as it slips back out of your pocket.

You express sympathy. You get how annoying it is to lose your keys.

It seems like such a simple thing to say, but for some reason, Spamton looks taken aback.

"You…get me…?" he says, bewildered.

His stunned look quickly gives way to crazed laughter.

"WELL, OF COURSE YOU DO. WHO HASN'T FELT THE [Burning Sensation] OF A [LOST OR DAMAGED ITEMS]. NO ONE WANTS TO BE THE [[Slime]] WHO'S STUCK ROOTING THROUGH THE [Dumpster]. LEAVING PATHETIC MESSAGES ON YOUR FRIENDS' [[Answering Machine]]. STEALING COLOGNE SAMPLES FROM THE [[Department Store]]. I FEEL YOUR PAIN, KID."

You offer to help Spamton find his keys if he'll stop attacking you. Spamton immediately brightens.

"YOU TRYING TO STRIKE A [[Deal]] WITH ME, KID? HEY HEY HEY! THAT'S A REAL [[BIG SHOT]] ATTITUDE! GLAD YOU COULD FIND IT IN YOUR [[HeartShapedObject]] TO HELP OUT YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON."

Spamton makes a show of slicking back his hair and holds out a tiny hand now freshly covered in gunk. You try not to shudder as you take it.

"A DEAL'S A DEAL, KID. WITH OUR [Eyes on the Sky], WE'LL FIND THOSE [[Little Nippers]] IN NO TIME! THE TWO OF US ARE GONNA PAINT THIS TOWN [Red]!"

As you're wondering what you've gotten yourself into, you suddenly remember the traffic. You tell Spamton to wait here for you. Spamton's eyes widen behind his shades.

"YOU TRYING TO SKIP OUT ON OUR DEAL, KID? YOU'RE NOT GONNA LEAVE ME [Alone on a Friday Night], ARE YOU?"

Something about the look on Spamton's face makes you wonder if he'll get violent again. You decide it's wisest to humor him and tell him he can follow you to the walk button.

Spamton is never quite relaxed, but when you say he can come with you, his shaking seems to subside somewhat. "GOOD [Man, Woman, or Child]! STICK WITH ME, AND YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO [Eat from a garbage can] AGAIN!"

You walk to the end of the side street, and Spamton follows you. You can hear his light footsteps crunching the garbage underneath. You're almost a full head taller than him, and the feeling of this little rodent-like man shadowing you so closely is not a relaxing one.

You turn a corner and finally return to the street. The cars are packed bumper to bumper in a solid grid, but even so, the second you press the walk button, the traffic clears as if by magic. You hear the whine of Queen's limo barreling down the street towards you, so you quickly duck back into the alley, out of sight. Spamton isn't the most coherent individual, but if he manages to communicate that he's looking for his keys in front of Noelle, she would probably inform him that you have them, out of the goodness of her heart. And that would give your whole game away.

You run back down the alley into the side street. You turn to look and see if Queen or Noelle are following you. Not only do you not see them, but you don't see Spamton either. You aren't left wondering where he went for long before he stumbles back into view.

He's breathing hard. As he turns the corner, he bends over and clutches the wall, gasping.

"HEY, HEY, SORRY ABOUT THE [Delay]!" he wheezes. "THIS [Cungadero] CAN'T QUITE MATCH YOUR [400 Horsepower]!"

It seems Spamton is having a hard time keeping up with you. His legs are much shorter than yours. You could probably slip him into your pocket as you would any other Darkner, but that's obviously not an option.

Instead, you walk up to him, grab his arm and pull him onto your back. He's shockingly light, and his long nose against the side of your head feels hard yet flimsy, like the plastic of a credit card.

He's silent for a moment before his arms fly straight out in a wingspan above your shoulders.

"LOOK, [Ma]! NO HANDS!" he shouts happily.

You stagger as you struggle to right yourself. The overpowering stench of the cologne mixed with the aroma of juices from the dumpster is already making you feel lightheaded. Struggling not to cough, you heft Spamton through the alley and back into the city.

You keep your eyes down, peering over corners and shadows that you previously checked for salt, rummaging through garbage cans that you've already opened, making a show of looking for the keys. Meanwhile, you keep one ear open to Spamton, listening to his voice, trying to gauge his intentions.

Of course, even if you wanted to shut out Spamton, you probably wouldn't be able to. His chatter is constant and nonstop. You didn't think it was possible for anyone to be more in love with the sound of their own voice than Berdly, but…

"I'M TELLIN' YA, KRIS, IT'S NOT ABOUT HOW MANY [Loads] YOU CAN [Bleach]. IT'S ALL ABOUT WHO YOU [Know and LOVE]. WITHOUT THE RIGHT [Restrictions Apply], THIS CITY WILL EAT A [[Little Sponge]] LIKE YOU LIKE [frozen kale]. LUCKY FOR YOU, YOU GOT YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON TO SHOW YOU THE [Silly Strings]! I KNOW THIS [hole] LIKE THE BACK OF MY [gluten-free] HEAD. STICK WITH ME, KRIS, AND YOU'LL BE A…"

"[BIG SHOT!]

"[[BIG SHOT!]]

"[[[BIG SHOT!]]]"

At this, Spamton jolts back and pumps his fists in the air with such enthusiasm that you're sent staggering backwards. You right yourself again, cursing, just in time for Spamton to point out a nearby sewer grate.

"OOH, KRIS, CHECK IN THERE, [Pardner]!"

You kneel down to peek inside the sewer grate, sincerely hoping that Spamton won't ask you to climb inside. Luckily, Spamton seems distracted as he surveys the street over your head.

"WHAT A VIEW. I ALMOST FORGOT WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE IN THE [Mile High Club]. I COULD ALMOST SEE MY HOUSE FROM HERE [[IF I HAD ONE]]!"

You wince. You do not appreciate Spamton suddenly screaming in your ear, and this particular screech was loud enough to make your ears ring.

In fact, they're still ringing.

Hang on, that's not your ears…

You realize what you're hearing is actually a siren. You've already heard it several times today, and so you are not surprised to see an Ambyu-Lance strut into view, the light atop their head rotating steadily.

What you are not expecting is the tense way Spamton's fingers suddenly tighten on your shoulders.

"Oh, no…" he mutters.

The Ambyu-Lance turns their head and looks right in your direction. They hesitate for a moment, and you see their gaze leave yours and move just over your shoulder.

And you clamp your hands over your ears as the siren rises several octaves in pitch and the light blares brightly enough to blind you.

"Malware detected!" the Ambyu-Lance shouts. "Get on the ground and don't move!"

A hail of cross-shaped bullets spew from the tip of the Ambyu-Lance's needle. You ready your shield, but the bullets fly around you like a diverted stream and aim themselves squarely over your right shoulder. You hear a cry as the impact throws Spamton to the ground.

With a flick of your wrist, the shield on your arm is converted back into a sword. You rush forward and take a swing at the Ambyu-Lance, but you miss as the Ambyu-Lance barrels right past you, brandishing its reflex hammer at Spamton.

"Hold still!" they bark. "This won't hurt a bit!"

They swing the hammer down, and the sidewalk actually cracks as Spamton frantically rolls out of the way. Whatever joints those hammers are meant to test must be pretty sturdy.

"KRIS, GET THIS [[Authentic Pork Flavor]] OFF ME!" Spamton yells.

You use your shield to shove the Ambyu-Lance backwards and position yourself between them and Spamton.

"Wee-woo! Stand back, Lightner!" the Ambyu-Lance commands. "That program is infested with malware! I've never seen so many bugs in one place before! Get out of the way and let me do my job!"

You think of the feverish way Spamton is always shaking and glitching and realize the Ambyu-Lance probably has a point. Nonetheless, you remind the Ambyu-Lance that anyone has the right to refuse medical care.

"Not this time, Lightner! I've seen worms like his before. They'll just keep multiplying until they've corrupted the entire system. Trust me, this is for his own good!"

And another flurry of bullets streaks past you and barrels toward Spamton. They pelt the side of his face and shoulders as he throws himself toward you, clinging to your back as though sheltering behind a wall.

"KRIS, DO SOMETHING. I'M [Overpaying for medical care?] HERE."

You swing your sword again, and this time, you manage to get a hit as the Ambyu-Lance circles around you to get at Spamton. What follows is an absurd kind of waltz as the Ambyu-Lance continuously tries to get behind you while Spamton, who you're now realizing is much stronger than he looks, keeps swinging you in the path of the Ambyu-Lance like a human shield.

"Aiding and abetting an illness?!" The Ambyu-Lance's beady eyes narrow. "Now you're making me sick!"

The Ambyu-Lance sprays a flurry of bullets, this time aimed squarely at you. You try to roll out of the way, but Spamton's mass on your back drags you down, and you feel the sting as they pelt against you.

Frustrated, you yell at Spamton to quit cowering and help you already.

"HELP? YOU? YOU NEED [Me, Myself, and I] TO HELP [[YOU]]?"

For some reason, Spamton sounds confused. You throw him off your back and stand over him with your sword held aloft. The Ambyu-Lance comes at you, hammer raised, but you parry their swing with your sword.

You manage to get another strike in, but the Ambyu-Lance counters with a swing to your shoulder that leaves you gasping.

Spamton stands up.

"ALRIGHT, KRIS. THIS ONE'S FOR ALL THE [Bouncy Balls]!"

You hear the machine whirr of a vacuum as all the air around the Ambyu-Lance is sucked backward towards Spamton's gaping maw. Your hair thrashes around your face as you brace yourself against the gale, but the Ambyu-Lance's entire body is taut as the whirling vortex pulls them slowly toward Spamton. You can see their metal knees trembling and the bottoms of their feet throwing up sparks as they're dragged by the wind.

You take advantage of the Ambyu-Lance's incapacitated state to strike them across the chest. The Ambyu-Lance winces from the blow.

The Ambyu-Lance twists their body in the wind, trying to turn against the current. You swing your sword as high as you can and point the tip straight at the Ambyu-Lance's head.

"No, wait!" they cry.

There is a sound of glass shattering. There is a sound of a siren slowly winding down into a groan. There is a splash of isopropyl on your face as your sword comes screaming down.

Your sword comes to a stop embedded in a frame of screeching metal. The structure of tubes and pipes holding the Ambyu-Lance's body up collapses and folds in on itself as you thrust the top of its neck down between its legs and against the pavement. The light stops spinning and grows dark.

You're left staring, both hands still tight around your sword, as a puddle of clear fluid spreads under the shards of broken glass. What was once a living, talking, moving thing is now nothing but scattered parts.

Why? How? How did this happen? You've never seen a Darkner die in a fight before. No attack has ever been able to destroy them. They always run away before things get too serious. Why didn't this one run away?

Then, you realize it was because of the wind. Because of the gale. They couldn't run away. They tried, but they couldn't.

Your hands are shaking.

"HOCHI MAMA! KRIS, YOU JUST SAVED MY [Impossible Bacon]!" Spamton scampers to your side and peers eagerly over your handiwork. "YOU REALLY DID A [Number] ON THAT [Quack]! WAY TO SHOW 'EM YOUR [[Hyperlink Blocked]]!"

The chords of relief in Spamton's voice cut through your initial shock. You take a deep breath, and the shaking in your hands slowly subsides as you try to clear your head.

You've never been able to kill a Darkner before. Now, with Spamton, you can. Possibilities race through your mind.

And the pounding of your heart, warm and strong in your chest, feels good.

You ask Spamton if he can do that vacuum move again. Spamton brightens.

"WHY, SURE, KRIS!" yells Spamton. "MY [Cyclone Technology] IS READY TO USE ANY TIME, ANY [Dealership in Your Area!] NO [DUST], [DIRT], OR [SLIME] STANDS A CHANCE WITH MY [Patented] [[Hyperlink Blocked]]."

You take that as a yes. You pull your sword out of what remains of the Ambyu-Lance and straighten.

You were planning on backtracking through the city anyway. Now, it seems, a whole new path has opened up.

You decide to experiment.

It isn't long before the two of you have worked out a system.

As always, you take the lead in every battle. When the Darkners approach, sirens blaring, whiskers twitching, wires snapping, you slide Spamton off your shoulders and brandish your sword. You engage the enemy, leaving scratches and cuts against plastic and rubber and grainy pixels. In turn, you endure blow after blow as Spamton takes cover behind you.

Then, once the assailants are weak enough, you signal Spamton to bring them in for the final strike. And, for someone who was so hostile to you just a short time ago, Spamton always seems positively giddy to be called upon.

"SICK AND TIRED OF [Soot] AND [Stains]?! CALL 1-800-[SPAMTON] FOR ALL YOUR [Deep Abyss] CLEANING NEEDS!"

And the jaws creak open, and the Darkners are caught in a freezing maelstrom of whirling papers and dust. As they push themselves against the howling wind, knees and backs bent and eyes squinting against the current, that's when you finish the job.

It works on everything. The Virovirokuns, light as they are, are pulled back with such speed you practically have to run after them. The Werewires are whipped through the air like cord against a flagpole. The Maice tumble head over heels like dust bunnies into vacuum. Even with their lids closed, the Poppups spin and turn over themselves like empty pizza boxes as they skid toward Spamton's jaws.

You see their eyes widen in fear in the moment before the final strike. The contents of the Maice are spilled over the street like coins from a wallet. A final spasm of electricity flays over the crumpled bodies of the Werewires. The Virovirokuns fizzle and disappear with a sound like bubbling static. The smell of burnt metal fills your nostrils. You leave litter everywhere.

And with every kill, you feel yourself growing strong, stronger, yet stronger.

Your movements become quicker. Your strikes become harder. Pain grows duller. Your mind races with an icy clarity, and hesitation disappears. You increasingly feel as though you've just emerged from a cool spring, your nerves and neurons tingling.

Soon enough, the Darkners who once barreled toward you when you locked eyes are now running from you in fear. The sight of their retreating figures creates a stinging burn of indignation in the back of your throat. They always run. You were always at risk of being killed in the fights they start, but they always ran before they were in any real danger. And now that you could return the favor, they didn't want to fight at all. Cowards. Hypocrites. Don't they know you reap what you sow?

Spamton seems to agree. Whenever he spots a Darkner making tracks, you feel him lean against your shoulder and see his arm pointing out of the corner of your eye.

"THERE'S ANOTHER [Tough Customer], KRIS! DON'T LET THEM GET AWAY!"

Somewhere around the third battle, Spamton got the idea in his head that one of the other Darkners must have his keys. "THOSE [Jingle Jangles] DIDN'T GET UP AND WALK AWAY BY THEMSELVES Y'KNOW!" You never bother to correct him, so at the end of every battle, Spamton is there, rooting through the remains like a raccoon.

"NOTHIN'. [NADA]. [[ZILCH]]. DON'T WORRY, KRIS. WE'LL FIND THEM. WE'LL FIND THEM."

He never walks away empty-handed, however. The first time this happened, he tossed you a small roll of bills. You had unrolled the paper and checked the amount. Five Dark Dollars.

You had asked Spamton what he did with the rest.

"KRIS, KRIS, KRIS…" He had clicked his tongue and shaken his head, which had pixeled and buzzed before returning to its normal shape. "DON'T BE GREEDY. THAT'S YOUR [SLICE N' DICE]. NOW GO BUY YOURSELF SOMETHING [Stuffed with Crab Meat]. YOU EARNED IT."

You had raised an eyebrow. You had always been the one to handle all of the money. And even if you were splitting it now, you knew five dollars had to be far less than half.

But you had decided not to push it. The power you were gaining was more than enough to make up for any money you might be losing.

Besides, you didn't want to risk antagonizing Spamton and losing your secret weapon.

You notice the streets are growing emptier. Rush hour appears to be over, and the few cars you do see scamper away at your approach. The overpass stretching between the upper floors of the skyscrapers above is completely bare as you step into its shadow and collide with the figure already standing there.

You stumble back, and your sword is already halfway out of its sheath when you hear a familiar voice say, "Hey! If you're not on noclip, then watch where you step!"

You straighten and squint in the low light. The sharp point silhouetted against the neon lights beyond the overpass tells you that you're face to face with the Hacker.

You slide your sword back into place just in time for him to recognize you.

"Oh, it's you, Lightner. What happened to the rest of your party?"

Without going into detail, you tell him that you got separated.

"That's real bad timing. This isn't a good time to go single-player."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING [Singles in Your Area], [Clickbait]?!"

The Hacker jumps, startled, as Spamton leans over your shoulder. "KRIS HERE IS MY [Business Associates]. AND TOGETHER WE'RE TAKING THE [Hyperlink Blocked] BY STORM!"

The crease between the Hacker's eyes deepens. "Say…" he says, "you look kind of familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before?"

You feel a sharp point jab into your back as Spamton kicks off your shoulders and plants himself on the ground. "YOU BET YOUR SWEET [Pipis] YOU HAVE! YOU'RE LOOKING AT THE [ONE AND ONLY] SPAMTON G. SPAMTON. THE [BIG SHOT] OF THE [Ethernet Cable]!"

The Hacker's frown, which had been deepening in concentration, now relaxes as his mouth pops open. "Oh!" he says. "That's right! You're the guy from those ads!" He rubs his chin thoughtfully, and though you can't see his eyes, you get the sense that he's looking Spamton up and down. "Wow, you really let yourself go."

Spamton cackles madly. "HEY HEY HEY! IT'S ALWAYS GOOD TO RUN INTO AN OLD [#1 Customer]. SAY, PAL, MAYBE YOU COULD GIVE US SOME [Roadside Assistance]. WE'VE BEEN [Rush, Rush, Rushing] ALL OVER THIS [Metropolitan Area] LOOKING FOR MY [Jingle Jangles]. HAVE YOU SEEN 'EM?"

The Hacker stares. "Your what now?"

"MY [Commemorative Ring] OF [Little Nippers]. MY [[HeartShapedObject]]. MY [Goo Goo Ga Ga]."

Spamton is shaking in frustration so violently that his grinning teeth are chattering. You tersely explain to the Hacker that Spamton is looking for his keys.

"Oh, your keys? Sorry, I haven't seen anything like that. But wherever they are, you'd better find 'em quick. The sooner you're off the street, the better."

You ask the Hacker what he means by that.

"Don't you two pay any attention to the forums? Word on the net is that there's a killer on the loose. Best not to go out unless you're in stealth mode."

You ask the Hacker why he's still outside if it's so dangerous.

The Hacker grins. "I've got nothing to worry about, thanks to this little file of mine." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small USB drive. "Say hello to Heartbreaker. Picked this bad boy up in an auction site. It's a self-defense executable. So long as I've got this baby, I've got nothing to fear. I actually ducked under here so I could install it."

You're intrigued. A self-defense program? You ask the Hacker how it works.

"Well…" The Hacker falters. "I don't actually know. But I had to pay big for it. Real big. So, it's gotta be good, right? After all, it's supposed to work on any program in this system."

Any program? You cast a glance down at Spamton, the lenses of his shades reflecting the dancing neon signs. You turn back to the Hacker and ask, casually, if he could make you a copy.

"Sorry, but that's a negative." The Hacker tucks the USB back into the flap of his jacket. "You have any idea how many shinies I had to give up for this thing? I can't afford to give it away freemium."

You assure him you weren't talking about getting it for free. You have money, and you've already helped him out before. Maybe you could work out some sort of deal.

At the word "deal," Spamton's head jerks up.

The Hacker is shaking his head. "No, sorry, I'm really not—"

Spamton practically flings himself in between you and the Hacker. "WHY SAY [No] WHEN YOU CAN SAY [What Are You Doing In My House? Help! Police! Come Quickly!]"

The Hacker blinks in utter bewilderment. "Uh… What?"

"YOU'VE GOT WHAT WE [Want], AND WE'VE GOT WHAT YOU [Need]!" Spamton hollers. "WE'LL TAKE THAT [Junk] OFF YOUR HANDS FOR JUST THREE EASY PAYMENTS OF [7.99]! THIS IS A ONCE IN A [short, bitter] LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY."

The Hacker's brow furrows. "Are you cracked in the head? Why would I pay you to take my file?"

"I HEAR YA. I HEAR YA." There's an unmistakable note of agitation in Spamton's laugh. "YOU'RE A SHREWD [Tips and Pointers], BUT THAT'S WHY YOU CAN'T LET THIS DE4L PASS YOU BY. I CAN'T [Help] YOU UNLESS YOU [Help me.]"

"You can't help me at all."

"I'LL OFFER YOU A DISCOUNT." Spamton charges on ahead, his voice straining and cracking as he yells. "I'LL DROP MY PRICE TO JUST [4.99]. YOU CAN'T [Beat] THESE PRICES. TAKE THIS DEAL, AND YOUR [Daze] OF SLEEPING IN A [Dumpster] WILL BE OVER!"

The Hacker looks more confused than ever. "I don't sleep in a dumpster," he says.

This is getting painful to watch. You tell Spamton to quit messing around and just get it.

Spamton whirls on you. "WHADDYA THINK I'M TRYING TO [Due] HERE, KRIS?!" he snaps.

You repeat yourself. Spamton's teeth begin to unclench. "KRIS…?"

Get it.

Spamton's gaze drops slightly, as though his head were being slowly lowered on the end of a string. Suddenly, the neon lights reflected in his glasses are replaced with a flurry of gray pixels. His usual cheek-aching grin has gone completely slack. "Hello…?" he mutters. "Who is it…?"

Get it.

"Oh… It's you… I've been waiting…for your call… I'm so glad…you got back to me… So glad…"

Spamton's voice is so low that he can scarcely be heard. The Hacker looks deeply concerned.

"What's wrong with this guy?! Is he bugging out or what?"

Spamton's head suddenly snaps up as he spins to face the Hacker, and you hear the familiar wailing howl as all the air around the Hacker is ruthlessly sucked into the void between Spamton's gaping teeth. The Hacker's body jolts as his shriek is sucked out of his throat along with the wind. The Hacker claps his hand to his shades and digs in his heels, and thanks to his portly frame, he is only dragged forward a few reluctant inches.

But the flaps of his jacket whip against his flanks like the leathery wings of bats, and before he can stop it, the USB drive spins out of his pocket and flies straight toward Spamton's face.

Spamton's head is flung back as his teeth clamp around the metal port. He slumps forward, his expression still slack as an image appears on top of the snow crackling on the lenses of his glasses. The image of a progress bar, slowly being filled.

A small line of text appears above the bar:

Loading…

The Hacker yelps and flees from the overpass. You grasp the hilt of your sword, ready to pursue, but the progress bar over Spamton's eyes is filling more quickly than you expected. You stop and watch, intrigued, as the bar reaches one hundred percent, and the USB drive clatters to the pavement.

"HUH? WHAT HAPPENED?" Spamton looks around, confused. "KRIS, WHERE DID-?"

Suddenly, he stops and clutches his chest. You see him clenching his teeth again, this time making no effort to disguise his grimace behind a grin. He groans, and his fingers knot the filthy, black fabric of his shirt as the plastic skin of his chest bubbles and swells like milk boiling over.

Spamton doubles over, his whole body seemingly coiling around his breastbone.

"KRIS… KRIS… IT HURTS… IT FEELS…LIKE A…

"[[HeartAttack]]!"

With a final howl of pain, Spamton's arms, legs, and head are flung back, and his torso is dragged forward as a solid, bile-green mass bursts from the center of his chest. The green shape rises above your heads and unfurls like the hood of a cobra into the shape of a heart. You find yourself staring into the yellow eyes of a giant pastiche of Spamton's own visage, grinning down at you from a cracked, heart-shaped face.

The face of the real Spamton, which had been screwed up in pain, is now staring up at its freakish doppelganger with a look of excited wonder.

"KRIS, KRIS, ARE YOU [cc'ing] THIS? ARE YOU [LOVEING] THIS?" he gushes. "WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY [New Cardio Workout]?"

The heart hangs suspended in the air on the end of a chain leading back into Spamton's chest. It sways back and forth between the two of you like a parade balloon as it grins.

Spamton turns to you, and his own grin is a perfect mirror.

"KRIS, WHADDYA SAY WE TAKE MY NEW [Upgrade] OUT FOR A SPIN?"

You agree that this sounds like a good idea.

You find your guinea pig in the form of a passing Werewire.

It takes you a while to find a target. It seems many of the city's inhabitants have followed the same train of thought as the Hacker and removed themselves from the streets. But the Werewire wasn't quick enough to evade you. You dodge the spheres of electricity they rain down on you and slash at their elongated limbs with your sword. Spamton as usual, is right at your heel. He's unusually quiet as he watches the brawl, his eyes locked onto the enemy.

You haven't been fighting for very long before Spamton is shaking with impatience like a dog.

"COME ON, PUT ME IN [Coach]. I'M CHOMPING AT THE [Gigabytes of RAM] HERE."

You decide that now's as good a time as any to test out the new upgrade. You point at the Werewire and tell Spamton to execute Heartbreaker. Spamton practically jumps up in excitement.

"FINALLY! HERE I GO, KRIS! THIS ONE'S FOR ALL THE [Hyperlink Blocked]!"

Spamton doubles over and plunges his fingers into his chest. With a growl, he pries the casing over his chest apart, and Heartbreaker springs forth from the ragged hole in his torso. In a panic, the Werewire fires bolt after bolt at the face surging toward them, its bared teeth gleaming. Spamton convulses with pain as the bolts connect, but Heartbreaker doesn't stop as its jaws spread wide…

There is an ear-piercing shriek as Heartbreaker's teeth clamp around the Werewire's torso. The Werewire's body writhes and heaves until, with a final crunch, the teeth clamp down, and the striped limbs go slack. The teeth keep pressing, harder and harder, and you see sparks fly between the enamel until arms, legs, and head fall to the street, and the torso slips between the teeth and is never seen again.

The chain is reeled back into Spamton's chest, and the heart is swallowed into it. Spamton is gasping and sweating, but when his eyes meet yours, he's all smiles.

"HOLY [Cungadero]! WHAT A KICK! NOW WE'RE PLAYING WITH [Death]!"

He's still chattering excitedly as you hoist him back onto your shoulders.

"KRIS, KRIS, MY [Home Slice Bread Slice], ARE YOU THINKING WHAT I'M THINKING? WHY EVEN BOTHER WITH [Patented Airflow Technology] WHEN WE CAN [Satisfying Crunch]?!"

Spamton makes a good point. In the following battles, you don't bother with the vacuum move, and soon you realize you don't even have to bother with your sword. All you have to do is point, and Spamton takes care of the rest.

You come across three cardboard boxes standing abandoned in the middle of the street. The music, however, is gone, and the space between the buildings echoes only with the hush of distant traffic. You suppose Sweet Cap'n Cakes must be hiding somewhere just like everyone else.

You check under the box where K_K once stood and find a CD wallet. Inside are four CD Bagels, which you quietly pocket. By now, Spamton is pretty roughed up. Your positions in battle have been reversed, and now it is Spamton who takes the lead while you stand behind. But no matter how many hits Spamton takes—and he takes quite a few—he is always ready to leap back into the fray, even when limping or grimacing through a broken jaw. In some ways, it is more convenient for him to be drawing most of the fire, but it is a pain to keep him well enough to fight. You've already had to use one Revive Mint on him, so you can't pass up the opportunity to grab more supplies.

You sit down with the bagels and wordlessly pass one to Spamton. The way Spamton eats reminds you a bit of a rat. He hunches his shoulders over the food and clutches it so tightly in his fingers that it crumbles in his palms. He then shoves the entire shattered mess into his mouth without bothering to swallow between bites. Susie was never one for methodic chewing and swallowing either, but you've never seen Susie's eyes dart back and forth neurotically like Spamton's do when he eats. It's almost as if he's afraid someone will spring out of the shadows and take the food from him before he can finish.

He finishes his bagel before you do yours and practically vaults himself over the cardboard boxes. You hear the sound of plastic sleeves flipping before the empty CD wallet comes sailing over the boxes and lands back in the street. The boxes are kicked and jolted aside as Spamton digs through them. You then hear the sound of coins rattling heavily in a plastic case, and you suppose Spamton must have found where Sweet Cap'n Cakes kept the money. The sound of coins clattering to the ground is interspersed with the sound of Spamton muttering to himself before the empty cash box is tossed out, too.

Spamton glumly kicks the boxes aside one final time before throwing himself onto the ground next to you.

"KROMER. NOTHING BUT [Beautiful] KROMER. WHO'S A [Guy] GOTTA [Kill] TO GET A LITTLE [Keys] AROUND HERE?"

You swallow a mouthful of reflective bagel. In the midst of everything, you completely forgot about the keys, which you can still feel rattling in your pocket.

From where he's sitting, Spamton looks over to you. His eyes narrow when he sees your half-eaten bagel.

"KRIS! HOW MUCH LONGER ARE YOU GONNA KEEP [All You Can Eat Buffet!]? WE CAN'T STOP NOW. WE'RE SO CLOSE TO FINDING MY [Key to Your Heart]!"

You ask Spamton why these keys are so important anyway.

"KRIS! YOU [Little Sponge]!" Spamton shouts. "YOU CAN'T JUST GO [Power Steering] INTO A MAN'S PRIVATE [Business]. THAT'S A PERSONAL [Secret Recipe, Just Like Grandma Used to Make]!"

Spamton pauses, and you see his fingers knot themselves absentmindedly in the collar of his shirt. Just above his heart.

He laughs.

"BUT HEY. WHY NOT? I'LL TELL YOU MY [Trade Secrets]. SURE. AFTER ALL, WE'VE BEEN [Working Together Since 1997]. SO, I'LL TELL. JUST FOR YOU, KRIS, I'LL TELL."

You wait. Spamton looks away for a moment before leaping to his feet.

"LISTEN, KRIS, YOU MIGHT THINK THIS IS AS [Good] AS IT GETS. [New Cardio Workout], FREE [Bagels], [Screaming] AND [Crying], NOT TO MENTION THE ENDLESS SUPPLY OF [Hyperlink Blocked]. IT CAN'T GET ANY BETTER THAN THIS, RIGHT?" Spamton laughs. "WRONG, KRIS. [Dead] WRONG. THE FACT IS, I'M ON THE BRINK OF MY NEXT BIG [Break]. YOU EVER BEEN TO THE QUEEN'S [Premium Condominium]?"

You shake your head no.

"CLASSY PLACE, KRIS. REAL CLASSY. FULL OF ALL THE [Color] AND [Burning Agony], YOU COULD EVER [Hopes and Dreams] OF. BUT THE REAL [Claim Your Prize!] IS DOWN BELOW. IN THE [Basement Floor Closed for Remodeling].

"IN THAT BASEMENT, KRIS, IS A [Miraculous New] BODY. KRIS, THAT [Bod] IS THE [Key] TO SOLVING ALL OUR PROBLEMS. ONCE I GET MY [red and cracked hands] ON THAT NEW BODY, YOU AND I WILL FINALLY HIT THE [Big Time]. ALL IT'LL TAKE IS ONE LITTLE [Download], AND AT LAST I'LL BE… AT LAST I'LL BE…"

You wait, expecting him to say, "a big shot," but instead, his glasses go dark as he mutters a single word:

"Free."

His head snaps up again, and his eyes are glittering. "AH, KRIS. KRIS. YOU'RE A LUCKY [100th Customer]. I WAS JUST ABOUT TO UNLOCK THE BASEMENT AND GET THAT [Brand New Ride] WHEN YOU CAME ALONG. I FINALLY HAD THE [KeyGen] THAT WOULD [Brake] THE [High Quality Encryption] BLOCKING THE WAY TO THE BASEMENT. I HAD IT TUCKED AWAY IN MY [Reputable Business], READY FOR SOMEONE LIKE [You] TO COME ALONG SO I COULD BREAK OUT OF MY [Pipis] AND SPREAD MY WINGS."

Spamton's glasses go dark again, and you can hear him grinding his teeth. "BUT THEN THEY FLEW THE [Co-op Mode]. MY KEYS. WITHOUT MY [Commemorative Ring] OF KEYS, I CAN'T GET INTO MY [Privately Owned Business]. I'M LOCKED OUT. MY CHANCE TO BE A [[BIG SHOT]] IS JUST BEYOND MY OWN LOCKED [Door], AND HERE I AM, OUT IN THE [Cold]."

Spamton's eyes are clear, and he's smiling again as he looks back up at you. "BUT KRIS… YOU'RE STRONG. VERY, VERY STRONG. THANKS TO YOU, THE TWO OF US HAVE GOT THIS TOWN BY THE [Buy 1 Get 1 Free!] THEY CAN'T HIDE THOSE [Jingle Jangles] FROM US FOREVER. THAT NEW BODY IS SO CLOSE I CAN PRACTICALLY [?$$X!] IT."

Spamton walks over to where you're sitting and claps you heartily on the back. "AND WHEN WE DO GET THAT [Workout-Ready Body], OUR LIVES ARE GONNA CHANGE IN A [[Big]] WAY. YOU WON'T EVER HAVE TO BE [Alone] AGAIN. BECAUSE I'M NOT LIKE THOSE [Other Guys], KRIS. SPAMTON G. SPAMTON NEVER FORGETS HIS [Friends]."

Spamton is beaming at you. You stand, wiping crumbs from the corner of your mouth. You have a lot to think about.

New body. Freedom. Big Time. That would certainly explain Spamton's desperation, the way he ransacked the dumpster, the way he urged you to chase down every last Darkner, the way he tore through their pockets even as they lay in pieces. It was only natural that he would do everything he could think of to reclaim his keys.

But what did freedom mean, exactly?

As you kneel down in front of Spamton so he can climb back onto your shoulders, you realize that "freedom" might mean not taking orders from you anymore. And that will not do. The feeling of getting stronger is like nothing else. The rush when you see the enemy fall, the sensation of pain growing duller and duller until nothing can touch you anymore… You see no reason why you should have to give it up.

You have to get rid of these keys. But you can't do it when he's so close, literally looking right over your shoulder. It's best to leave them be for now and wait for an opportunity to toss them. Perhaps you can throw them away once you return home. You doubt Spamton would ever be able to find them there.

As you walk away from the empty shop, you suddenly feel a weight drop into your pocket. It knocks heavily against your hip with every step. Annoyed and perplexed, you reach into your pocket and feel something round and solid, like a river stone. You pull it halfway out, look down, and find yourself staring at a stone effigy of Lancer.

You stop and stare. There, in the palm of your hand, is Lancer, completely petrified. How did this happen? Lancer has the same oblivious smile he always does, his now stone-gray tongue still sticking out of his mouth. His arms and legs are spread out in his usual jaunty manner. He might have turned to stone mid-step.

"KRIS, WHY ARE WE [Stop, Look, and Listen]?!" Spamton shouts impatiently. "LET'S GET A [Move Those Hips] ALREADY!"

For a moment, you contemplate dropping Lancer onto the street. He's no good to you like this, and you're irritated at the thought of him knocking against your hip bone as you walk. But you realize that decision might be too impulsive. You don't know if whatever happened to Lancer is reversible, and if it is, it might not be smart to throw him out when he might prove useful later.

So, you tuck him back into your pocket and proceed on your way.

The encounters are so few and far between now. You run into one stray Virovirokun, looking lost as it floats through the lonely streets of the shopping district. You catch up to it, and the fight is over in seconds. The teeth on the heart actually toss the Virovirokun into the air like a cat playing with a limp rat before clamping down on the twitching body.

The heart is getting bigger. Before, it was only the size of a foil balloon, but now its grin stretches more than four feet across. You're not sure where all the bodies go when it gulps them down, and you're not sure how the face and chain manage to fit inside Spamton's chest cavity. The process of packing it all back in appears to be an unpleasant one, as Spamton's jaw is always set and his eyes screwed up tight as the heart slips back into the gash from which it crawled, the yellow eyes gleaming as the wound seals over its grin. Once it's all back inside, Spamton is left clutching his chest, his fingers digging into his pale skin as though trying to hold himself together.

He doesn't feel any heavier, though, as you carry him through the shopping district. The neon signs have all gone dark, and the storefronts have been left unmanned. The aquarium glass at the front of every store displays nothing but shadows. Your eyes dart back and forth, trained for any sign of movement. You've long since abandoned pretending to look for the keys. Your only focus now is the hunt.

Down the street, less than a block away, you hear the rattling and scrape of metal. You feel Spamton tense on your shoulders as you run in the direction of the sound. But when you round the corner, you see only a single blue Addison pulling a shutter over the empty shoe store. Your steps slow as he kneels at the foot of the shutter, turning a small key in the lock.

He straightens and turns, perhaps alerted to your presence by a flash of movement in the corner of his vision. You see a light of recognition in his worried eyes before they move over your shoulder, to where the gleam of Spamton's glasses is visible.

And, immediately, his expression changes.

A shout of, "Get away from that Lightner!" is the only warning you receive before he's right at you and you feel Spamton being yanked off your shoulders. Spamton is dumped unceremoniously onto the sidewalk as the Addison grabs your arm and pulls you to his side.

He orients himself right between you and Spamton, turns to you, and, with a stern look on his face, says:

"Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?

Before you can respond, Spamton is on his feet, hollering.

"WHAT THE [Five Dollar Special] ARE YOU DOING? GET YOUR [Winter Mittens] OFF MY [Business Associate]!"

The Addison whirls on Spamton, adopting a defensive stance as he stands in front of you.

"I don't know what kind of insane scheme you're up to this time," he says, "but leave the Lightners out of it! You have no right to drag them down with you!"

You try to walk past the Addison to recollect Spamton, but the Addison hastily moves to block your way.

"Don't go near him, Lightner," he says. His tone is gentler when he speaks to you. "He's dangerous."

The Addison actually kneels in front of you, like a concerned mother addressing a lost child she doesn't know. "Where's the girl you were with earlier? Is she lost? If you want, I can let you inside so you can use the phone. We'll find her."

From behind, Spamton lets out a raucous shriek of laughter, the bitterest you've heard from him yet. "TRYING TO [Steal Away] MY [Little Sponge], EH? FIGURES. YOU [Off-Brand Competitors] ARE ALWAYS TRYING TO [Swipe Right] WHAT ISN'T YOURS."

The Addison's brow twitches in irritation before he stands to face Spamton again. "The Lightner isn't 'yours,' " he says firmly. "They're just a child. Don't you have any shame left?"

"KRIS CAN [Mosey on Down] WHEREVER THEY [Please and Thank You!] I'M NOT FORCING THEM TO DO ANYTHING! ISN'T THAT [Right On The Money], KRIS?"

The Addison turns back to you. "What did he tell you?" His tone is anxious. "Whatever he promised you, you can't trust him!"

Spamton laughs again. "KRIS, CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS [Similar Products]? HE'S TRYING TO KEEP YOU [Down To Clown]. TRYING TO KEEP YOU FROM BEING A [[BIG SHOT]]!"

"What, you mean like you?" The Addison advances on Spamton, and the difference in their heights leaves him glaring down at him. "Is this how a 'big shot,' lives? Getting children to do your dirty work? Making them cart you through the streets when there's a killer on the loose? Digging through the trash every night? Why don't you pull yourself out of the gutter before you go around making outrageous promises to kids?!"

Spamton bristles, and for the first time you see genuine, unmasked anger on his face. "WHAT DO YOU—

"WHAT DO YOU—

"WHAT DO YOU—

"WHAT DO YOU THINK I'VE BEEN TRYING TO DO ALL THESE [Years of Our Lives], YOU [Hyperlink Blocked]?! I TOLD YOU ALL ABOUT MY [Once-In-A-Lifetime Opportunity] TO [Return to the Classics You Love!] I OFFERED YOU THE [Last Chance] TO WIN BACK MY [Debt Forgiveness], AND ALL I ASKED FOR WAS A LITTLE BIT OF [Help]. BUT YOU TURNED ME DOWN. YOU ALL TURNED ME DOWN LIKE I WAS NOTHING BUT [Trash]! IS IT SO [Wrong] FOR A MAN TO FIND WHAT [Help] HE CAN GET WHEN ALL HIS SO-CALLED [Friend(s)] HAVE ABANDONED HIM?"

The Addison is looking away. His narrowed eyes are bitter above his tightly set mouth.

"We did try to help you…" he mutters. He turns his face back toward Spamton, and his voice regains some of its earlier strength. "We did. We were up all night looking for you after you vanished from the Queen's mansion. We all offered you a place to stay until you got back on your feet. Bates even offered you a job working at his store. Every single one of us loaned you money, knowing we'd probably never see it again. But none of that was good enough. You weren't interested in what we were willing to give. All you could ever talk about was that machine in the Queen's basement. And when we saw the state you were in after you tried to break in on your own…"

The Addison's voice trails off. His eyes move from Spamton's still face to the street, as though glaring disdainfully at some wretched memory crawling through the dirt there. "We tried our best to make up for what we did to you. But when we just kept giving and giving, all the while watching you continue to decline, at some point, we just had to accept…"

Spamton's glasses have pixeled over. "Accept what…?" he mutters.

The Addison looks down at Spamton wearily. "That you were a lost cause," he finishes. "Some people are just beyond help. We learned that the hard way."

Spamton doesn't move. "Beyond… Help…" he repeats in a monotone voice.

Once again, you try to step around the Addison, but he presses a hand to your shoulder to stop you. "Leave it," he says. "I'm sorry you had to get mixed up in our mess. You'd better find shelter if you can."

This is getting tedious. If the Addison won't get out of the way, he might as well make himself useful.

You tell Spamton to execute Heartbreaker.

The gray pixels rain over the surface of Spamton's glasses like a cascade of flies. His head jerks only slightly. "What…?" he murmurs.

Execute.

Spamton is silent for a moment before his mouth slowly stretches into a grin below the flashing snow on his glasses. "You mean it? Kris? You really mean it?"

Execute.

Spamton giggles to himself, his shoulders shaking. "YOU'RE [Serious], KRIS? YOU'LL LET ME DO IT? YOU'LL LET ME [Ice] HIM, KRIS?"

The Addison stares at Spamton in utter confusion.

"What are you talking about?" The Addison backs away from Spamton nervously. "Who are you talking to? The Lightner didn't say anything."

Well, it's only natural that the Addison didn't hear you. Your command was for Spamton, not him.

Spamton's giggling gets louder. His wraps his arms around himself as he giggles, but soon the giggling turns into a cough. The coughing turns into chest-heaving retching as his fingers scrabble over his chest.

Alarmed, the Addison turns back to you.

"Kris, that's your name, right? You'd better get out of here. I don't know what's going on with him, but I'll deal with it. Now's your chance to—"

The glare of yellow spotlights illuminates the back of the Addison's neck. The Addison turns just in time to see the gleaming teeth spread wide…

"Spa—!"

There is a sickening crunch as the teeth clamp around his midsection. His legs flail wildly, kicking blindly at the cracked surface of the heart, before the teeth scissor down, sending one last spasm to jolt through his frame. The legs writhing beyond the mouth straighten for just one second, as stakes of agony impale them both from hip to heel, before they fall down limp. One last chomp, and the legs and pelvis fall away entirely, the ragged edges of the bitemark scattering the sidewalk with bloodless pieces.

Spamton is still giggling as the chain winds back. By the time the heart has secluded itself within his chest, he's laughing in earnest. He drops to his knees, gasping for air, as you approach. He's laughing so hard he can't stop. Tears run down his face.

The streets are empty. Your footfalls echo in the space between the skyscrapers, making them ring like the hollow pipes of an organ. A chill blows down the sidewalk, across the faces of the blackened signs. In just a matter of hours, an entire city has become a ghost.

You know they're still there, watching you from the slats in their blinds, from behind tightly locked doors. You feel eyes on you, huddled away in the places you can't reach. Your ears are pricked for the sound of an opening door.

Spamton has been uncharacteristically silent for the past few blocks. You can still feel him shuddering against your back, but he hasn't said a word since you left the shoe store. Occasionally, a sound will erupt from his throat that may be a laugh or a sob. You can't really tell the difference.

Finally, you hear a whisper in your ear: "Hey… Kris?"

You turn. Spamton is leaning over your shoulder. His glasses are still dark. Even so, he flashes a weak smile.

"KRIS…I'VE BEEN THINKING…" he says, his lenses flickering, "DO WE REALLY NEED THOSE [Keys]? I MEAN, NOW THAT WE'VE [Bulked Up Big Time], WHAT DO WE [Half] TO FEAR? WHY DON'T WE JUST [Storm The Castle] AND HOLD THAT LOUSY [Peacock] TO THE [Wood Fired Grill] UNTIL THEY [Expired Warranty] AND UNLOCK THE BASEMENT FOR US?" The corners of his mouth creep up his cheeks as color returns to his lenses. "COULD THEY REALLY STOP US, KRIS? COULD ANY [Man, Woman, or Child] REALLY STOP US?"

You take a moment to mull this over. If you bring Spamton to the Queen's mansion, you will have to be careful about how you proceed. Whatever else happens, Spamton must not be allowed to wander into the basement. But the Fountain does need to be sealed. And you did leave Noelle with Queen. She and the others must be wondering what became of you.

You agree. Spamton's face lights up.

"YES! FINALLY! AW, KRIS, WHAT WOULD I [Ever] DO WITHOUT YOU?"

You turn and begin to run down the street, back in the direction from which you came. You have a long way to go. As the air whips your face, you can still hear Spamton babbling in your ear. "THANK [[Heaven]] FOR YOU, KRIS. THANK [[Heaven]] FOR YOU…"

Your mouth is dry, and you can taste the pounding heart in your chest by the time you reach the Queen's mansion. Even from a distance, it's unmistakable. The yawning likeness of the Queen's face plastered over the entire façade leaves little doubt as to who is master here. Over the many pointed roofs jutting out from behind her head, you can see the Fountain billowing into the inky heavens.

With Spamton on your back, you cross the long red bridge above the dark, rolling sea of data, expecting someone to swoop in and try to impede you at any moment. But nothing happens. The hiss of the fluid below your feet is the only thing that greets you as you draw steadily closer to the mansion.

As you approach the massive doorway set inside the Queen's mouth, you notice something gray sticking out of the knoll leading up to the foot of the building. The texture is like that of a garden stone, but the shape is more reminiscent of a pair of legs, jutting from the earth at an angle.

You walk over to the stone structure and bring your foot down onto the upper leg. As you push down, the buried half of the structure is uprooted from the earth.

The head of Rouxls Kaard emerges, spluttering gravel.

"Alackaday! And GOD DAMN IT. What mannere of whelps doth the Queene employ that hath the gall to force Rouxls Kaard to taste dirte that containeth not even a single worme?!"

Rouxls's stone body lies embedded into the side of the hill, his right arm still plunged into the earth. He seems to have been petrified from the neck down. His eyes swivel upward and find your face.

"Aah! Milord!" The nervous sweat on his brow belies his attempt at a smile. "Thank goodnesseth you hath arrivede safely! I… I did not abandon thee! I was merely…acting as a spye on thy behalf!" Rouxls closes his eyes and chuckles to himself. "Oh, how cunning and sneakye I was… They nevere even knew I was there…right up until they belittled me and threweth me out the windowe."

You ask Rouxls what happened to the others.

"Oh! I saw it, milord, just before I was defenestratedeth!" yells Rouxls eagerly. "The admirably tyrannical Queene did capture thine companions…as well as two othere juveniles who I did not recognizeth. It is most unfortunate that she happened to haveth exactly foure cages at her disposale."

So, the others have been captured. In many ways, this may actually make things easier.

You feel Spamton squirming with impatience behind you. "COME ON, KRIS! THAT [Smooth Taste] WON'T [Go Down Screaming] ITSELF."

You turn and make your way to the entrance. "Waiteth!" Rouxls shouts. "Art thou just going to leaveth me here?!"

You step inside the entrance hall and keep walking, letting his pleas fade into the distance.

You don't get very far before the expected impediment arrives.

Halfway down the hall, you are surrounded by three Swatchlings, two in front and one behind. You suppose they were lying in wait for you, sequestering themselves behind the pillars supporting the arched roof. You let Spamton tear them apart one at a time, and feathers and scraps of silk dust the air and litter the hallway floor.

You reach the foyer, where yet more staff is waiting to ambush you. You keep Spamton busy, directing him toward each target and deflecting any wayward blows with your shield. The once-pristine floors become spotted with ink stains.

You try the door leading to the café, but it's locked up tight. The cursive neon sign above is as dark as the signs in the empty city.

As you start up the staircase, you feel an anxious tug at your shoulder.

"KRIS? WHERE ARE YOU GOING [On A Weekend Getaway]? WHAT ABOUT THE BASEMENT?"

You ignore Spamton and continue up the steps, taking the next staircase on the right. Spamton is quiet for only a moment before he claps you on the shoulder.

"GOOD THINKING, KRIS," he says heartily. "WE'D NEVER CRACK THAT [Secure Padlock] DOWNSTAIRS. WE NEED THAT [Chatty Patty] TO UNLOCK IT FOR US. THAT'S REAL [[BIG SHOT]] THINKING, KRIS!"

In every hall, around every corner, it's the same. Darkners stride, scurry, or crawl in your way, and the chain rattles as their pieces fly. The Werewerewire falls easily. So too does Tasque Manager. If the mansion were tilted on its side and shaken by a titanic hand, the debris and scattered parts would spill out the windows and slide into the sea like hair from a dustpan. And all the while, the heart bearing Spamton's face swells.

As he tears through one enemy after another, Spamton calls out to the walls and ceiling.

"[[Swatch]]! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU OLD [Perfect Polly]? DON'T YOU WANNA SAY [Unintelligible Screaming] TO YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON?!"

Heartbreaker would then wrench the forelimbs and shoulders off a Tasque, and Spamton would laugh.

"SOMEONE'S MAKING A REAL [Mess] DOWN HERE, SWATCH! THERE'S [ Hair and Pet Dander] ALL OVER THE PLACE! GET DOWN HERE AND [Automatic Scrubbing Action]!"

Whoever Spamton is calling for has yet to appear, and at the end of every fight, Spamton sulks back to your side, disheartened but with his jaw firmly set. "DON'T WORRY, KRIS. DON'T [Loose a Night of Restful Sleep]. WE'LL FIND 'EM. WE'LL FIND 'EM."

But by the time you step onto the landing of the second floor, Spamton's last remaining scrap of patience seems to have fallen away. "[[SWATCH]]!" he roars. "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

Your hair is whipped against the side of your head as Heartbreaker flies over your shoulder and smashes through a vase bearing an image of the Queen's face, embedding itself in the wall behind. "[[GET OVER HERE]], SWATCH! I SWEAR ON MY [Fall Clearance Sale] I'LL TEAR THIS [$!$X!]-HOLE APART UNTIL I FIND YOU!"

"There's no need to shout."

You stop as a smooth, calm voice reaches your ears from the end of the hall. You feel Spamton push himself higher on your shoulders, as still as a dog who's sighted its prey, before a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a monochrome jacket steps into view.

"I am here," says Swatch.

In many ways, Swatch resembles the other Swatchlings, a birdlike face with a white beak, black down, crisp suit, polished black shoes. But Swatch stands taller than the Swatchlings you've seen before, and the pattern of his suit, black on one side and white on the other, creates a sharp contrast against the solid, multicolored hues of their subordinates.

A contrast that is all the more sharply illustrated when Swatchling after Swatchling pours into the room to stand at attention behind Swatch. You tense, and for the first time in a while, your hand flies to your sword. It feels like you're staring down at a whole platoon.

Spamton pushes himself off your back and plants himself on the marble floor in front of you. "FINALLY, SOME [Premium Customer Service]!" he laughs. "YOU SURE KEPT US WAITING, YOU OLD [Fresh-Roasted Turkey]! WE DIDN'T GET A [Complementary Drink] OR NOTHIN!"

Swatch pushes their glasses over the bridge of their beak. Their face is grim. "I am under no obligation to serve you, Mr. Spamton," they say quietly. "This is no longer your home. I deeply regret that I must teach you this lesson a third time."

Swatch turns their gaze toward you, and their eyes behind their bichrome glasses take on a mournful look. "As for you, young master," they say, "the Queen held you in such high regard." They shake their head, regretfully. "It is a pity."

"CUT THE [Cost Efficient Spending]!" Spamton snaps. "YOU KNOW WHY WE'RE HERE. WE WANT THAT [Body of Your Dreams!], SO UNLOCK THE BASEMENT OR [[ELSE]]!"

Swatch gazes down at Spamton with disdain. "Hand over the robot to the likes of you? I am shocked that you think so low of me. I have made every effort to be patient with you, Mr. Spamton. I must confess I was more lenient than I should have been, in light of your…situation." Swatch sighs. "But you and the young master have gone too far. I will not allow the two of you to interrupt the Queen's plans. If I must end this tonight, then so be it."

Swatch snaps his fingers, and the hall explodes into chaos.

Swatchings pour into the hall around Swatch, a stream of red, yellow, and blue. You command Spamton to execute Heartbreaker, and the heart springs forth. Ink splatters the walls and floor as Heartbreaker lunges, tearing into the assailants. But there are too many bodies for Heartbreaker to crush them all, and Spamton winces and throws his arms in front of his face as he endures blow after blow.

One Swatchling makes it to you and swings his arm at your head with such force that his forearm smashes through a painting on the wall. You thrust sword up through his chest and twist. Ink pours at your feet as you wrench your sword free and squint down the hall.

You see that Swatch's eyes are already locked onto you. They walk toward you with a measured step as the carnage unfolds around them. You raise your sword and charge at them.

"That's far enough, young master!"

Swatch throws out their arm, and your feet suddenly halt as though they've been nailed to the floor. You try to wrench up your right leg and find it fixed securely in place. You cast a wild glance downward and see that your once crimson SOUL is now shining a bright electric green.

You jerk your eyes back up to Swatch, who is now standing a few feet away, just beyond the reach of your sword. They flex their hand, and several of the feathers lining their fingers extend like cat claws being unsheathed. They fling their arm outward in a throwing motion, and the elongated feathers fly toward you, whistling in the air.

Not knowing what to expect, you swing your sword to deflect them. Three of the feathers ping off your sword at hit the wall on either side, exploding in bursts of colored light. Two of them however, streak past the arc of your sword and strike you, one in your shoulder and one in your leg. The impact sites explode with pain.

Swatch keeps throwing. Your sword cuts through the air, sending the projectiles sailing to either side. Colored lights explode around you, and your vision swims in floating shadows. The spots in your vision make your swings clumsy, and a shot strike you right in the stomach. You double over, your eyes tearing.

You yell for Spamton to focus his attacks on Swatch. Spamton has just been thrown to the ground by a Swatchling's blow, but at the sound of your voice, his head snaps up. He grits his teeth, and Heartbreaker flies straight for Swatch.

Swatch whirls to see the grinning image of Spamton's face bearing down on them. They thrust out their arms and manage to catch the jaws of the heart before they can close around their torso. Swatch's shoulders shake as Heartbreaker pushes against their grip, and the heels of their shoes screech across the floor inch by inch.

The green hue of your SOUL darkens back to red. Your legs now free, you push off from the floor and charge toward Swatch. Swatch manages to throw Heartbreaker to the side just as you reach them. Swatch's spine arches in pain as you slash across their back. A heavy blow strikes you across the jaw, sending you flying back as Swatch rounds on you. You stand, your sword raised, ready to charge Swatch again, but Swatch flexes their hand, and the world spins.

Your stomach heaves as your center of gravity pivots from the floor beneath you to the end of the hall. You find yourself at first falling backward then sliding down the floor headfirst as though you were plummeting down the side of a sheer cliff. You plunge your sword into the vertical floor, and sparks fly as the sword cleaves deeper and deeper into the marble until your entire body is yanked painfully by your arm and your feet are left dangling above far wall. By some miracle, you have managed to keep your grip on your sword.

You look around wildly, hunting for some explanation of how you ended up in this strange new perspective, hanging from the floor of a hallway that has suddenly turned into a tower around you. You look down at your own chest and see that your SOUL is now glowing a deep blue.

You look up and see Swatch's form jutting from the floor above you at a perpendicular angle. Spamton's eyes are locked on you, too, and Heartbreaker lifts off the floor, its yellow eyes flashing. But before it can reach Swatch, Spamton is thrown against the wall by a blow from a Swatchling. The yellow lens of his glasses is shattered by the impact. Heartbreaker swerves toward Spamton's assailant as his form crumples at the foot of the wall.

You glare up at Swatch. Swatch responds by swinging his arm upward. Your stomach heaves again as you feel the center of gravity spin around you. Your sword slides out of the gash in the floor, and both it and you are sent hurtling toward the ceiling. You slam into the grooves and carvings of the arched ceiling, and the pain leaves you gasping.

Far below, you see Swatch ready another handful of projectiles. Gritting your teeth, you manage to roll to the side, narrowly dodging the feathers as they burst inches from your back. A series of tiny, weblike cracks spread over the ceiling in the places struck by the feathers. You pull yourself onto your shaking knees and hold your sword out in front of you as another series of feathers rains down in your direction.

But, instead of striking you, the feathers burst into the ceiling right beside you, in the spot where you first landed. You throw your arm over your eyes to protect yourself from the flashes. As you lower your arm, puzzled, you see the cracks in the ceiling widen and crawl across its uneven surface. Pieces of debris are dislodged and sent spinning upward to the floor.

And that's not all. As another barrage of feathers widens the cracks still further, you see a bead of bright green fluid collect along the biggest crack. You hear an ominous hissing sound and see tiny wisps of smoke ripple over the ceiling as the beads of fluid collect and are expelled into the air.

From above, Swatch launches one last handful of feathers toward the damaged ceiling. The feathers burst, and the ceiling finally gives way as a column of debris and green fluid shoots upward. You feel your cheek burn where the fluid splashes against it and quickly back away. A torrent of acid is now pouring up to the floor. The collapsed chunks are swept up the stairwell as the acid spreads. The acrid smell of chemical burning reaches your nostrils.

Swatch reaches out a hand toward you and clenches it into a fist. You feel a hideous pressure in your chest, as though your heart is being squeezed in a vice. You and Swatch lock eyes. Swatch smirks, and you realize what's about to happen a second before it does.

Swatch jerks their fist down to their hip, and the moment you feel your feet leave the ceiling, you call for Spamton.

The last Swatchling falls with his right half torn away, and Spamton's head whips around in time to see you fall. You're falling, falling, the smell of the boiling floor growing closer and closer, but in the blur of color of around you, you see a massive shape hurtling towards you. Suddenly, your fall is halted by a powerful tug centered on your shoulders. With your legs dangling a mere foot from the acid, you look up see the grinning face of Heartbreaker gripping your cape between its teeth.

Everything seems to slow down. You look at Swatch, whose face has tightened in frustration, and then you look at Spamton. His eyes meet yours, and he understands.

With a grunt of effort from him, Heartbreaker whips its face in a circle, twisting the chain tight. Your knuckles whiten against the hilt of your sword as Heartbreaker swings you through the air, building momentum, before finally letting go. Once again, you are left hurtling through the air, this time not at the floor or ceiling but right for Swatch.

More projectiles are sailing towards you, but you cast one then another aside with your sword. As the space between you and your target disappears, you thrust your sword out in front of you…

And feel it plunge into Swatch's chest as you slam into them.

Swatch coughs a mouthful of black ink as they are thrown violently backwards and slide across the floor on their back. They slow to a stop amidst their fallen staff, leaving you lying across their chest. You push yourself up onto one knee and twist your sword. A spray of ink catches your face as Swatch's scream gurgles in their throat.

You stand and wrench your sword out of Swatch's chest. They clap a hand to their wound. Ink oozes between their fingers and pools on the floor beside them. You see the ink isn't truly black. A muddled mix of yellow, cyan, and magenta seep out of Swatch's body, swirling and bleeding until they create a murky tar.

"Forgive me…Your Grace…" you hear Swatch whisper hoarsely.

You step off of Swatch as Spamton pulls himself over. He seems barely able to stand. His shirt is torn, his foot is dragging across the stained floor, and there are hairline cracks running over his chest, neck, and face. But his left eye is glittering triumphantly behind the empty frame of his glasses.

"HOW DOES IT—

"HOW DOES IT—

"HOW DOES IT FEEL TO GET [Thrown Out Onto The Street]?! HUH? HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM [100% Organic] APPLES?!"

Spamton cackles madly. "YOU CAN'T WALK! YOU CAN'T EVEN [Standing Room Only]! IF YOU WANT TO LIVE TO SEE ANOTHER [Vintage Bottle from Our Finest Vineyards], YOU'LL LET US INTO THE BASEMENT!"

Swatch glares up at Spamton. "Never!" they hiss.

Spamton's lip curls. "FINE. FINE. [Have it your way!] IF THAT'S THE KIND OF [Family Game Night] YOU WANNA PLAY, THEN I'LL HUNT DOWN EVERY LAST [Esteemed Patron] IN THIS [Luxury Living Spaces] AND EAT THEM ALL ALIVE!"

Swatch's eyes widen in horror. "No!"

"OH, YES! THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME!" Spamton pauses, shivering and writhing in delight as he peers down at Swatch. "UNLESS YOU'RE WILLING TO MAKE A [DEAL]…?"

A look of anguish twists Swatch's features. They open their hand and look down at their fingers, sticky with their own ink.

You hear their voice break as they respond:

"I'll do it. I'll open the way to the basement. Just don't hurt the guests."

As soon as you hear these words, you order Spamton to execute Heartbreaker.

The look of elation on Spamton's face freezes and dies. "WHAT? WHAT?! KRIS, NO, DIDN'T YOU [Hear] THEM? THEY'RE GOING TO [Let Us In]! THIS IS [The Moment You've All Been Waiting For]!"

Execute.

Spamton cries out and clutches his chest as something pounds against it from the inside. You can actually see the skin of his chest bulge and crack as his fingers dig into his skin.

"NO! NO, DON'T! STOP!" Spamton's one remaining lens flickers with gray snow. His naked eye is wide and bloodshot. "WE'RE SO CLOSE! SO CLOSE!"

Execute.

Spamton gags and stumbles. The point of a green spine thrusts itself up through the cracks on his chest. Spamton desperately pounds it back with his fist as Swatch looks on in utter bewilderment.

Spamton looks up from his heaving chest to Swatch. "SWATCH! SWATCH, RUN! RUN! I CAN'T [STOP IT]! I CAN'T!"

Swatch doesn't move a muscle. They only stare back at Spamton.

"SWATCH! THE [Basement]! TELL ME HOW TO [Open] IT! TELL ME—"

"TELL ME—"

"TELL ME—"

Swatch closes their eyes and turns their head away.

Spamton screams as Heartbreaker tears its way out of his chest. Spamton tries to grab onto the chain to yank it back, but the chain rips past his fingers as Heartbreaker spreads its maw wide…

"KRIS! CALL IT OFF! CALL—!"

A sound like the flesh of a ripe fruit being torn from the pit. A fountain of ink running down the cracks of Heartbreaker's face. A few stray spasms from the length of Swatch's limbs visible outside the tomb of stained teeth. And then it's over. The better part of Swatch's body disappears into the heart. The rest is only scraps and stains.

Spamton's head and shoulders are slumped as the chain winds back. His back jerks slightly as the heart folds itself back into his chest. Suddenly, he rounds on you.

"WHAT! THE! [Four Out of Five Doctors] IS YOUR DAMAGE, KRIS?!" he screams. "WE HAD 'EM RIGHT WHERE WE WANTED 'EM! WE WERE SO CLOSE! SO CLOSE TO BEING [Free]! WE COULD'VE HAD THIS [World] EATING OUT OF THE [Palm Pilot] OF OUR HANDS! NOW WHERE THE [!$$!$] ARE WE?!"

Spamton tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls so hard it seems he'll tear it out by the roots. "I CAN'T [Believe it]! AFTER EVERYTHING I DID FOR YOU, YOU [Turn Around] AND STAB ME IN THE [Rearview Mirror]?!" Spamton rips his fingers out of his hair and glowers at you with crazed fury. "HOW COULD YOU [Do] THIS TO ME, KRIS?! WHERE THE [Holy Hellfire] WOULD YOU BE WITHOUT ME?! I'M THE [One-of-a-kind] THAT PULLED YOU OUT OF THE [Gutter]! YOU'D BE [Nothing] WITHOUT ME, AND THIS IS HOW YOU [Repay] ME?!"

You calmly reach into your pocket and pull out the ring of keys. You ring them meaningfully in front of your face. All of Spamton's white-hot fury melts away in an instant.

"KRIS…? THOSE ARE MY… MY… MY…" He seems incapable of continuing the sentence.

You tell Spamton that he'd better watch his tone when he's speaking to you.

The pink lens of Spamton's glasses pixels over. "But… But it can't be…" he mutters. "I was right there…the whole time… When did you…?"

Suddenly, the pixels clear, and the light of awareness jumps back into his uncovered eye. "KRIS?! YOU [Mean] TO TELL ME YOU HAD MY [Keys] THE WHOLE TIME?! THEN WHY THE [Hardware Flooring] DID YOU MAKE US [March Two by Two] ALL OVER THE ENTIRE DAMN CITY?!"

Spamton thrusts out a shaking hand. "KRIS. ENOUGH IS—

"ENOUGH IS—

"ENOUGH IS—

"ENOUGH. GIVE ME MY [Keys]!"

You don't move a muscle.

"KRIS! ARE YOU [Looking for a New Hearing Aid?] GIVE THEM BACK!"

You twirl the keys idly on your finger. Spamton gnashes his teeth.

"KRIS! [Heaven] HELP ME, IF YOU DON'T HAND THEM OVER, I'LL—!"

Heartbreaker explodes out of Spamton's chest and rears above you like a snake about to strike. You gaze up at it impassively.

"THAT'S IT, KRIS! I'M [Getting Them Back] ONE WAY OR ANOTHER!" And Heartbreaker barrels down towards you.

You don't even flinch. You're not afraid. A dog may bite its master if driven too far by anger or fear or pain, but Spamton is far less than a dog. And a doll can't so much as squawk unless someone pulls the string.

Heartbreaker stops just inches from the top of your head. The yellow glare of its eyes dyes you in lurid shadows.

Spamton gapes at you. "WHY…? WHY CAN'T I…?"

You gently push Heartbreaker out of your way and dangle the keys above Spamton's head. You tell Spamton that if he wants his keys back, then he'd better beg.

Spamton looks at you in utter disbelief. "YOU… YOU CAN'T [Make] ME…"

Oh, yes you can. Beg.

Spamton recoils, shuddering in revulsion. The look of agony on his face tells you there is nothing in the world he would hate to do more than this. But coming from you, these words are not merely a taunt. They are a command, and Spamton cannot refuse you.

Slowly, against his will, Spamton sinks to his knees and clasps his hands before his face.

You tell Spamton to beg.

"PLEASE…" he says. "PLEASE GIVE ME BACK MY [Keys]…"

You tell Spamton to pray.

Spamton's face crumples. He leans forward until his face is touching the floor, his hands still clasped above the nest of his hair. The chain connected to Heartbreaker rattles beside his head.

"PLEASE…" His voice is muffled behind his arms. "PLEASE. LET ME HAVE MY [Keys] BACK. I'LL DO ANYTHING. I JUST WANT THEM [[Back]]."

You turn and throw the keys as hard as you can into the acid behind you. Spamton's head jerks up as he hears the splash.

"NO!" Spamton tears past you and plunges his hands into the acid in panicked desperation. The sizzling that accompanied the keys melting in the acid triples in volume as Spamton's hands burn.

Spamton screams and jerks his hands out of the acid, his shaking fingers curled like claws. You come up behind him and yank him away from the pool by the back of his shirt. The keys and brass keychain froth and bubble as they sink, throwing up hissing yellow smoke.

You throw Spamton to the floor and tell him the truth.

You tell him that he's a worthless, washed-up nobody. You tell him that he never would have gotten this far if not for you, that everything he does is only possible because you allow it. You tell him that he's never been able to amount to anything without someone else pulling his strings and that he'd better be grateful for you because without you, he'd still be in the dumpster with all the other trash.

You say all this, and he looks up at you with this idiotically broken expression, as though you're being unjustly cruel, as though you've said something unfair.

"YOU… YOU'RE NOT [Kris]," he says. "KRIS WOULDN'T SAY THAT. [[Who]] ARE YOU? [[What]] ARE YOU?"

You tell him it's not his place to question you. You're the puppeteer, and he's the puppet.

The pink lens pixels over, and his naked eye is wide and staring. "THE [Voice]… THE [Voice]…" he murmurs. "THERE'S ALWAYS A [Voice]. YOUR [Voice]. THEIR [Voice]. YOU'RE [in my head]. YOU'RE [on the phone]. YOU'RE [crawling around] IN MY [skull]…"

Spamton's fingers scrabble at his temples. "Kris!" he sobs. "Kris, come back! Don't leave me alone with the [Voice]! [Save] me! [Help] me…!"

But nobody came.

The Queen is waiting for you on the roof.

At the sound of your footsteps, her jet-powered chair swivels to face you.

"Kris Honey Baby Apple Butter!" she says cheerfully. "Wherever Have You Been? You Kept Me And Your Poor Cool Friend With The Cool Head Waiting In The Car For Ages (Hyperbole)."

Her chair floats over to a giant hand looming over the edge of the roof, where Noelle hangs suspended by her wrists.

"But Check It Out, Kris!" The Queen smirks. "While You Were Busy With Whatever, I Found Noelle! So I Guess That Means Our Trucies Are Officially Over! Too Bad So Sad. Looks Like It's Back to Blanketing The World In Darkness (And Also Kicking Your Ass)."

You tell Queen to give Noelle back or else. Queen laughs heartily.

"Um? Like? Seriously?" The letters "LMAO" appear on the Queen's visor as she laughs. "I Admire Your Determination, Kris, But C'mon. I've Already Captured All Your Friends (And Berdly). You Can't Hope To Beat Me On Your Own."

You tell Queen that you're not on your own and reach into your pocket.

You toss the folded email printout that was in your pocket onto the roof, and Spamton appears in a flash of light. The Queen stares down at him. The word "BRO?" appears on her visor.

"Kris…?" Her tone is a strange mixture of amusement and concern. "Where'd You Find That Guy? Kris, I Get That You're Hard Up For Allies Right Now, But Baby You Can Do Better! You Shouldn't Have To Settle For This Has-Been."

Spamton, who has been standing quietly with his head cast down, suddenly jerks as though recoiling from a slap.

You tell Queen that this is her last warning. Her amused expression turns cruel.

"Okay Fine. If You're That Confident (Stupid) I Guess I Don't Have To Hold Back!"

The Queen's chair rockets up and spirals down below the roof. You hear the thundering of colossal footsteps as the massive head of a giant robot slowly rises into view. The face of the robot laughs in the Queen's voice as it towers above you.

"Alright Loser, Hit Me With Your Best Shot!" The Queen's voice echoes from the robot's mouth, causing the roof to rumble under your feet.

You tell Spamton to execute Heartbreaker.

Spamton clutches at his chest as his head rolls back. Like an insect bursting from its molted skin, Heartbreaker rips its way out of Spamton and unfurls. The curves of the heart grow wider and wider, spreading its wingspan through the air until it's grown larger than the robot's head. The mouth creaks open, threading saliva between its teeth, and the Queen's shout is cut off by a thunderous crunch.

The earsplitting screech of metal on metal tears through your eardrums and pierces your very brain. The entire top half of the robot's head is torn away and ground between Heartbreaker's teeth. Sparks fly out of Heartbreaker's mouth, and twisted fragments of metal dribble down its chin.

The exposed circuitry of the robot's lower jaw sparks and hisses. The entire structure groans as the robot loses balance and slowly begins to swing backwards. You kick off the roof and run to where Noelle hangs from its hand. With two sword strokes, the cords holding her wrists are severed. You leap back to the roof with her in your arms just as the hand falls out of sight.

The crash from below is enough to shake the entire mansion, but even so, Noelle doesn't stir. You look down and see that she's fallen unconscious.

Spamton timidly creeps up behind you.

"I… I DID WHAT YOU [Wanted]," he says fearfully. "ARE YOU [Satisfaction Guaranteed] WITH ME?"

You turn your head and see him looking at you nervously. You nod, and he exhales.

"I DID MY [Best in Town!] I DID MY BEST TO PLEASE YOU…"

You look away from Spamton to the Fountain billowing at the distant edge of the roof. You're so close now.

Spamton follows your gaze. The shadows of the Fountain dance over his remaining lens.

"WHAT ARE [You] GONNA DO?" he asks fearfully. "ARE YOU [Going] TO THE FOUNTAIN?"

You lay Noelle on the roof and stand. Suddenly, Spamton grabs your arm.

"PLEASE DON'T GO! DON'T [Leave Me!]" he begs. "DON'T LEAVE ME ALL [Alone] IN THE [Dark]! I CAN'T LOSE YOUR [Holy Light]!"

Spamton sinks to his knees, still clutching your arm. He presses his forehead to it reverently.

"Please…" he whispers. "Please don't leave me…"

You look down at his bent head, frowning. Spamton is so powerful now, he would definitely be an asset going forward. But having to explain his presence, and his current attitude towards you, could complicate things for you.

You irritably shake him off your arm. He responds by throwing himself to the ground and grabbing your ankle.

"YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME! YOU CAN'T!" he sobs. "I CAN'T WAIT FOR ANOTHER [Miracle]! I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE [Silence]! I DID [Everything You Ever Wanted]! I MADE YOU PROUD, DIDN'T I?"

Suddenly, an idea strikes you. You assure Spamton that he did, but Spamton doesn't seem soothed.

"I MADE YOU PROUD, DIDN'T I?" he asks again. "I MADE YOU PROUD, DIDN'T I? I MADE YOU PROUD, DIDN'T I?" The question just keeps looping. Spamton's voice crackles like a corrupted audio file as he repeats himself endlessly.

"I MADE YOU PROUD, DIDN'T I?

"I MADE YOU PROUD, DIDN'T I?

"I MADE YOU—"

"I MADE YOU—"

"I MADE YOU—"

You press your hand to the top of Spamton's greasy hair to silence him. He lifts his face and looks up at you.

You reassure Spamton that you would never leave without him, and a look of instant relief washes over his face.

"OH…" he moans.

You pull him gently to his feet and tell him to hold still. He frowns in confusion.

"HOLD STILL? FOR WHAT?"

You wind back your arm and plunge your hand into Spamton's chest.

Spamton's body lurches as his cry of agony bubbles in his throat. Strong as you are, you break through the flimsy plastic of his chest easily and grab the heart ticking underneath. Your fingers tighten around the heart, and you pull. You see the yellow eyes of Heartbreaker gleam between your fingers as you wriggle it out of his chest. Heartbreaker remains small enough to clutch in your hand as you yank it out. You grasp the chain in your other hand and keep tugging, hand over hand, as Spamton writhes on the end of the line like a fish on a hook.

Heartbreaker may have shrunk for you, but the chain is just as long. Spamton jerks and gurgles as you pull...

And pull...

And pull...

Ralsei blinks in surprise as the door creaks open. Unlike all the others, Ralsei's room is empty, the walls blank. You suppose Queen didn't know Ralsei's preferences and simply left his room bare.

"Kris? Where'd you come from?" he asks.

Susie pushes her way into the doorframe. " 'Sup, nerd?" She grins. "You gonna come out of there or do we have to drag you out?"

You walk over to the control panel behind Ralsei's cage and thrust in your sword. Electricity crackles across the keys as the cage collapses.

Ralsei steps gingerly around the fallen components of the cage and leaves the room. You follow close behind.

Noelle smiles as she sees the two of you emerge.

"Great! That should be everyone!" she says.

"Noelle!" greets Ralsei. "You're out, too! What happened?"

"You're never gonna believe this!" says Susie as she pounds you on the arm. "This absolute beast beat Queen all by themselves!"

Ralsei looks at you in shock. "You… You did?! How in the world did you do that?!"

You tell Ralsei that the Queen surrendered after you convinced her that covering the world in darkness was a bad idea. Ralsei blinks in utter bewilderment.

"And that worked? But that's…"

Ralsei looks from you to Noelle to Susie before settling into a quiet smile.

"Well…I guess it doesn't matter how you did it. As long as everyone's safe."

Ralsei casts a look around the hall. "Wait! Where's Berdly?"

Susie jabs a thumb over her shoulder. "He went on ahead. He's sulking, but he'll get over it. Or maybe he won't. Who cares, right?"

Noelle casts her eyes down to the carpet. "That's not very nice, Susie…" she says, blushing.

"So, I'm not nice. What else is new?" Susie knocks her fist into Noelle's shoulder, much more gently than she did to you. Even so, a jolt runs up Noelle's entire frame.

"Alright, then. I guess all that's left is to seal the Fountain," says Ralsei.

"So let's go already!" says Susie impatiently. "C'mon, Noelle!"

"O-Okay…!" Susie strides away, with a blushing Noelle on her tail.

Ralsei begins to follow, but you put out a hand to stop him.

"Kris?" he asks. "What is it?"

You reach into your pocket and pull out the Puppet Scarf.

"Oh! Is that for me?" Ralsei's cheeks color as he looks down at it. "Where did you get it?"

You tell Ralsei that you bought it. You had to pay a hefty price for it.

"Well, thank you, Kris! I'll wear it with pride!"

Ralsei reaches out a hand to the scarf, but you ignore him and throw the scarf around his shoulders. The shade of pink in Ralsei's cheeks grows deeper.

"Oh, Kris? You're gonna put it on me?" Ralsei looks down to the floor in embarrassment. "That's awfully nice of you, Kris," he says.

You tie the scarf and push the knot up to his throat. Ralsei squirms and tugs at the scarf in discomfort.

"Um, Kris… It's a little too tight…"

With the knot tied, you turn and follow Susie and Noelle down the hall. Behind you, Ralsei continues to tug at the scarf, grimacing.

"It's itchy, too…" he mutters.

He scratches at his neck. Tiny grains come away on his fingers. His lifts his fingers to his eyes and squints. The tips of his fur glitter with white crystals.

"Salt…?"