Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Well, this certainly isn’t your room.

Lifting your face from the cold ground it’s laid on, you let your eyes adjust to your surroundings—and seeing how harshly green they are, this takes a moment to achieve. What even happened to land you here? Wracking your dazed brain, all you can remember is booting up a new game your friends insisted you play, saying it was free and well worth your time. You’d turned it on to let it load up, taking the time to get a snack, and by the time you got back to your room… everything seemed to be fuzzy from there.

As you move to stand up, an intense shiver runs down your spine, a sudden cold sensation stemming from the back of your neck knocking your senses back into order. You slowly reach a hand up to meet the base, but nothing’s there. It almost makes you shiver again. Freaky.

Hell, everything about this is freaky.

With nowhere else to go but forward, you swallow any better judgment and venture into the new world you found yourself in, not entirely sure that you truly are experiencing it.

Your first step makes you jerk your head down to look at your feet, suddenly clad by shoes you’ve never seen before. In fact, upon further inspection, your whole outfit isn’t anything you’ve worn in your life, far different from the lounge shirt and pants you had on before waking up here. It reminds you of a lead singer’s concert outfit with how eye-catching it feels, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. It feels almost… empowering, in an odd way. It gives you the drive to see what else this dream has to offer.

This is a dream, isn’t it? Everything seems to be incredibly advanced compared to what you’re used to, but funnily enough, there’s almost an air of familiarity to it all. Wherever your dream decided to take you this time, you weren’t complaining. It was a relaxing change of pace compared to the chaos they usually seem to create.

Something appears over the horizon, off to the side of the pathway you’ve been walking along. Upon further inspection, it’s a sign, saying your sleeping self has been strolling through the Cyber World. Suppose that explains some things, at least, you think to yourself as you continue along.

You hear a sound up ahead while your eyes are turned to the gridded sky above you, quickly turning your attention to it. It sounded like the rush of someone moving around, and you have plenty of questions to ask them. Quickening your pace, you jog over to meet them, but it seems as though your feet stop dead in their tracks just as fast as they’d started moving. Before you can process the dangling behemoth before you, it flies right at you and pulls you into another world.

A hand almost instinctively flies up to pull something nonexistent from behind your back, a brightly-colored guitar slinging around on the strap that definitely wasn’t around your neck two seconds before. The coldness from before comes back full-force and you’re able to catch what it’s from this time: the guitar’s amp cord is plugged into your skin.

You let out a horrified shriek as you realize this dream is more nightmarish—by a long shot—than you initially thought. Unable to process the sudden row of buttons before you, you slam a hand into the first one. It’s as if your body has a mind of its own once again, one hand holding the frets of the guitar and the other strumming a sound that almost made you calm down somewhat. The airwaves from the noise shoot toward the creature. You watch in stunned silence as they make contact… and it turns its covered face and makes the most hideous, staticky noise you’ve ever heard.

Something bright flies from your chest, and at this point, you’re so lost and confused that you bring your hand to roughly cover your eyes to avoid looking at what’s going on. The pain that follows feels scarily real; you need to take a moment to remind yourself that this is a dream, even as it knocks you to your knees. Hot tears coat the tips of your fingers before slamming against the first button again and playing your damn guitar to quite literally save your life. The creature lets out another guttural noise louder than the first, and when you wipe your eyes dry and look up again, it’s nowhere in sight.

Taking a moment to regain yourself, you stagger along the path, praying the pain will wake you up soon. You’re already sick of this twisted dream. You just want to get to your game, to forget all this and move on with your life.

A sparkle catches your eye eventually, and your dazed self reaches out to grab it, vision blurring the colors together. As soon as your hand makes contact, you feel just as good as you had before the encounter with the wired animal. You make a mental note of the sparkles and continue on, careful to dodge every other creature you come across. You’re not about to get your ass kicked any more.

More catches your eye now, including the destination you didn’t quite realize you were heading to: a grand city strewn with green lights, shining almost invitingly. If you want any confirmation that this is a dream, then at least someone there should be able to point you in the right direction, yeah? They should be just as welcoming as the cityscape itself. Sure, that’s not how any city you’ve been to works, but dreams are meant to deviate from the norm, you assume. Someone there’s got to give you some directions, at least.

This helps you relax a bit, almost enjoying the walk while no one else is around to chase you. The calm from your initial introduction to this realm washes over you, a small smile toying at your lips. Something about all this is beautiful, in an odd sort of way. Maybe you’ve just been spending too much time in front of a screen. Damn, no wonder why you’ve been warned about too much screen time before. It finally culminated into this.

Your mind had wandered long enough to land you in front of another sign, one that indicated that you made it to the city border. Smile growing a bit, you can’t help but speed along the path, eager to find someone to talk to.

Flying past an admittedly well dressed wired creature, you jab the button on the side of the road to cross the street, taking a second to process just how quickly everyone stopped for you. Did… any of their airbags go off from that? You slam the button once more after feeling a pair of eyes on your back and run across, hoping you’ll come across someone you can actually speak to soon.

With how many people you run into that charge at you like a school bully to their victim, you’re almost certain this is a nightmare. Is anyone here on your side? Why does every moving thing want your head on a platter so badly!? You’re getting sick of it again, tired from the constant pain they lay on you, as you duck behind a couple buildings to evade another flying… thing… but this time, luck seems to be in your favor.

An orange man smiles at you, a hand gesturing to something. You catch your breath for a moment and walk up to him, returning the smile happily. “Hello!” you call with a little huff, “Can you help me? This dream’s nuts! I really gotta wake up!”

“Dream?” the man asks curiously, shooting his hand into his pocket to dig around. “Having trouble with sleep? Well, today’s your lucky d-!” He cuts himself off, his seemingly closed eyes trained on you like a curious puppy. He perks up after a moment. “Ah, you’re a Lightner, aren’t you? I can paint your face around the city! I’m sure someone’ll give you a hand!”

Something about this offer forms an uneasy pit in your stomach. “A… I’m a what now?”

“A Lightner! I’ve never seen one around here before, but not to worry! With your face plastered on our walls, you’ll be back home in no time!”

Weird-ass thing for a dream to ask for, you think with a mental shrug of unsurety. You hope your voice doesn’t sound as strained as your throat feels. “Perfect! Thank you so much!”

“Of course! That’ll be $9.99.”

This stops you dead in your tracks. Taking a step back, your head whips around to make sure the walking syringe you saw earlier didn’t notice you, then looks back at the man trying to sell you your freedom. “...Oh. I, uh… don’t have anything on me,” you reply, reaching into your pockets and pulling out nothing to emphasize this. “Thanks anyway.”

He calls to you as you duck around the buildings again, something about insisting on selling his ads to ‘someone like you.’ It almost resonates with you, but your focus is quickly pulled back to finding someone else to help you.

You finally confirm with yourself that this is a nightmare when you run into an alleyway and slam your back against the wall, sliding down to the ground. You’re exhausted from all the running, from everything either trying to kill you or steal your money, and part of you wonders if it’s possible to fall asleep while already sleeping. After taking some time to catch your breath, bangs and bruises from a previous battle stinging, your eyes move along the length of the alley to make sure nothing else is around. No one seemed to follow you, and if anything came from the other direction, you could always duck behind the dumpster along the way until you’re safe.

Like you’re getting ready for a fight, you lean forward and pull your guitar from the air behind you, leaning your head against the wall to keep the plug from uncomfortably rubbing against it. All the monsters you’ve been faced with brought a song to your mind, one you know will help vent some emotions, so you start to strum. For a moment, you’re surprised you’re hitting all the notes without much issue, but you sink into the tune soon after and softly sing along to the words.

Once you sing the first chorus, you can hear a faint rustling coming from somewhere on the other side of the alley, but you’re too exhausted and engrossed in your song to care, especially since peeking your eyes open led to the same lifeless sight as before. Each time your fingers touch the strings, they feel pleasantly tingly, helping you keep your mind grounded in the here and now. Your voice drowns everything else out as it gradually grows louder, tears forming at the corners of your closed eyes again. A deep yet faint boom sounds from the same direction, your voice mostly overshadowing it.

By the time the song is over, you take a minute to breathe, tucking the guitar back into the sliver between your back and the wall. You’re much more level-headed now that you were able to vent like this, thankfully. Slowly opening your eyes, you look to your right, then your left-

-and nearly jump out of your skin at the sight of another creature looking directly at you.

The monochrome color shining from his face springs into an almost cheery yellow and pink as soon as you move. You can’t help but cry out in surprise, and the creature does the same, backing up against the side of the dumpster defensively. After scrambling to your feet, you do the same with the alley wall furthest from it. “What the fuck,” you murmur under your breath, clutching your chest.

“WHAT THE [@$!$] YOURSELF!” the guy says, sounding just as surprised as you are. The sudden grating glitching noise makes you cringe a bit, but you look at him through it and take in what you can.

He certainly isn’t like anything else you’ve seen while you’ve been here. Only a few inches shorter than you, from what you can tell, with what seems to be puppet limbs. Considering everything else you’ve come across, you wouldn’t be surprised if he actually was a living puppet. You could hear his mouth click shut with the end of his words. Very uncanny.

“...Lemme guess…” you start slowly, ungluing yourself from the wall to stand up straighter and prepare for a possible battle, “wanna take my money or something? That’s what everyone else seems to want.” Your hand rests on your opposite shoulder, ready to pull your guitar back out if you must, and you notice your body’s shaking slightly. “Sorry, I’m broke.”

“YOU’RE A LIGHT nER, AREN”T YOU?” he asks loudly. His voice reminds you of an old conman that’d try to sell you a piece of shit car back in the 90’s. It draws a snort out of you, to which he quickly steps closer to you with a grandiose gesture. “[[All Alone On A Late Night]], ARE WE? YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON G. SPAMTON HAS JUST THE THING YOU NEED!”

Oh dear Jesus, it’s another one of those ad assholes. You bring your hand down from your shoulder and onto your hip, giving him a bored glare. “Already heard that at least five times before. Sorry, it ain’t gonna work.”

As if you flipped a switch in him, he pauses his motions, the frames of his glasses filling with television static. That must’ve been the monochrome you saw earlier. He seems to be thinking of something. You can just barely make out a quiet noise coming from him, but his mouth isn’t open. Maybe this one’s broken. He already knows you have no money, anyway. To snap him out of his trance, you look off to the side. “What is a Lightner, anyway? You’re not the first one to mention them. Never heard of ‘em before.”

He’s suddenly back in action, glasses shining color on your face as he takes another step toward you. “YOU”RE FROM [More Deals On The Second Floor!], YES? THAT MAKES YOU A LIGHTN>ER!” Spamton—he said his name was Spamton, right?—pauses to look you up and down, and you curl in on yourself slightly. “YOU HAVE WHAT I [Need A Pick-Me-Up? Refreshments Available Now!].”

“...Need for… What?” You catch yourself asking this only after the words slip out of your mouth, mentally cursing your curiosity but breathing a sigh of relief when Spamton answers you by sliding back to the dumpster. When he kicks it, you squeak in shock.

“TO GET OUT OF THIS [[GODDAMN GARBAGE CAN??]]! TO BE [[BIG]]! [[BIGGER AND BETTER THAN EVER]]!”

Your heart sinks a little. Does he… live here? In the dump? You hope he’s only talking metaphorically as you lean back against the wall, propping a foot on it and crossing your arms. He just might be your best bet at figuring out what happened to you. You stay on your guard, of course, but you at least want to hear him out.

“If I’m gonna help you, then you’re gonna help me. Tell me where the hell I am and how to get out of here.”

He holds up a finger to stop you, a wicked grin on his smug face, suddenly far closer to you than he just was. “AH AH! [First Thing’s First], MY [[Wild Prizes]]!”

Spamton pulls you into that other world again, the one that makes you instinctively ready your guitar. By now, you vaguely know what the buttons before you are, so you quickly defend and hide as much as you can behind your weapon. The familiar tugging at your chest makes you hunch over, and you hear Spamton make a noise. “WHAT. WHERE THE [$*@!] IS YOUR [[HeartShapedObject]]?”

You look up. In front of you is something you never got a good look at before.

It faintly glows red, but the lines of binary and glitchy, bending form are enough to make you both go silent. His eyes tear from the sight to your face.

“WHAT ARE YOU??”

Hugging your guitar close, you look at your feet worriedly, the mass floating closer to you. “...That’s what I wanna know.”

Chapter Text

As quickly as you’d been pulled into the battle world, you’re tossed right back in your place by the alley wall, eyes locked on the spot where your… amalgamation just was. Guess the little conman didn’t want to bother with something as broken as it.

“Okay, talk,” you say after a moment, flicking your attention back to him. He seems to be lost in thought, static painting the alley gray. “What the hell was that? Is that what you wanted?”

“[No way, Jose],” Spamton glitches with a rigid shake of his head, focusing on you again. He grumbles something under his breath, and your suspicious look nearly makes him raise his voice, but he catches himself. Instead, he casually leans against the dumpster, a hand on his hip and an equally-suspicious smile on his face. “WELCOME TO CYBER CITY, PAL! IF YOU CAN [Fight or Flight], THEN YOU’VE [Got The Golden Ticket] OUTTA HERE!”

At least you can put a name to this nightmare, as on-the-nose as it is. You gingerly cross your arms over your chest as about a hundred more questions follow this first answer. “ How do I get out? Can you take me?”

Static again. You can just barely hear words streaming from Spamton’s open mouth, but none of them are loud enough to be discernible. He snaps back to attention when you clap your hands in front of his face from your spot, acting as if nothing just happened. “NO CAN DO, PAL, BUT YOU’LL BE ON [Easy Street] AFTER LENDIN’ ME A HAND!”

Eyes narrowing a bit, you hiss out a cautious “o… kay?” before jabbing a finger into your chest. “And that,” you grunt, “ thing . The hell was it? Does it appear every time something wants me dead?” He simply nods his head and hums in response, and you look at the spot in the air it had been just moments before once again. It’s pretty obvious that his dodging the real question meant bad news for you. “Lovely.”

The little game of twenty questions goes on for some time; so long, in fact, that each new thing you learn about Cyber City makes Spamton move about more, from tapping a foot to eventually pacing back and forth. For as equal as the deal seemed at first, he sure as hell wasn’t able to answer a whole lot for you, especially clueless as to how you wound up here. You open your mouth to ask about all the inhuman creatures you’d seen, including him, and he finally breaks.

“LISTEN, [Buddy],” he starts, his sleazy, quickdraw tone easily overpowering your frantic one, “I’VE TOLD YA ALL I KNOW! [Now It’s Your Turn] TO HOLD UP YOUR END OF THE [Bargain Bin]! I GOT WHAT YA NEED IN MY [Humble A-] SHOP! [Drop On By] WHEN YA GET THE CHANCE, IT’S [Right Down the Road] IN [Scenic Trash Zone]!” He points in the direction you came from and you follow with your eyes. When you turn back to him, he’s nowhere to be seen, but you can hear a faint laugh from around the far corner.

“Hey!” You run after him, but he’s completely gone by the time you poke your head down the pathway. Running a hand through your hair, you take a deep breath to ground yourself, trying desperately to ignore the putrid stench of the dumpster as you turn around and drag your feet back to the outskirts of the city.

That anger comes out in the form of frazzled growls at anyone who tries to fight you for the umpteenth time. As much as you want to, you can’t stay mad at Spamton for very long—he has given you some very useful information, after all, even if it wasn’t everything you wanted to know.

You duck back into the same nook you did before and catch the eye of the orange man, who hasn’t seemed to move from the spot since you last saw him. He visibly brightens at your appearance and gestures his hand to his shop just as he did before. “Hello again, Lightner! Change your mind about my offer?”

“Hell no,” you scoff, eyes glued to the path to wait for the coast to be clear and speaking in an almost rushed tone. “Meeting a guy in the ‘trash zone,’ he called it.” You make air quotes with a hand absentmindedly as you talk.

From the corner of your eye, you can just make out the man tensing up, and suddenly he has your undivided attention. It’s like his whole demeanor changed. “This wouldn’t happen to be a shop you’re meeting at, would it?”

You cock a brow at him and slowly nod. “...Yeah?”

“That man is nothing but a scam artist,” he accuses with a glare in the direction you were heading, “the embodiment of shady business. You’re best left ignoring him.”

A hand on your hip, you point an accusatory finger at him. “That’s rich coming from someone who tried to rip my broke ass off. Besides, the… whatever he wanted’s all broken, anyway.” You gesture to your chest to silently give the mass a name. “Not much else he can take.”

He’s clearly not overly invested in the specifics, but he does seem to relax slightly. “Just be wary, even if he’s not after your SOUL. I hesitate to call him an Addison, as much as he tries to sell himself.”

“Uh-huh.” You’re not too big on the specifics, either, and you take the chance to dip onto the path as you notice an opportunity to do so. The man calls something to you, but you can’t hear him through the buildings now separating you two.

The trip at least lets you recollect yourself once you get to the backwater part of the city outskirts, looking around for anything resembling a shop. It all seems so real that you almost believed it was more than a dream. Nothing catches your eye until you reach the end of the path, where a hole broken into the support of the unfinished ride above sends you further.

You cover your nose with your shirt in an attempt to filter some of the garbage scent from the place, and when you finally notice the literal door built into a pile of junk, you let out a sigh that almost makes you choke. Of course the shop had to be here, of all places. Steeling yourself with the notion that you need to pay the guy back somehow, you knock and open the door.

Roaches scatter across the floor of the dingy building—you’ll be nice enough to call it that—and a familiar voice beckons you in. “[Loyal Customer]! GLAD YOU FINALLY DECIDED TO JOIN ME, YOU [[Little Slime]]!”

As safe as it seems, you look down at the floor to make sure you don’t step on anything; you can’t help but wonder if there were any roaches at all with what little space there is. “Glad I found the place,” you reply, fixing your shirt. “You had something here you wanted me to pick up?”

“RIGHT [On The Money]!” An audience applause sounds from the puppet as he slaps something on the table. “THERE’S [[Specil] Someone] I NEED YOU TO GET FOR ME, AND THIS IS THE [KEY] TO DO IT!”

“Nice,” you joke, reaching out to grab it, but Spamton slaps your hand away. A screen pops up in your way of the item before you can retaliate, quick to catch your attention. The only thing you can assume it is from your list of options is the ‘KeyGen,’ eyes narrowing and shooting up to look at his manic face. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna make me pay for this fucking thing.”

“[[Insert Kromer]]!”

You ground yourself again. If anyone’s gonna take your money, whatever a kromer is compared to dark dollars, it should be the guy you owe, you guess. Not like it’ll matter when you wake up, anyway.

Examining the price tag on the key, you open your mouth to ask about the constant flow, but you shut yourself up when twenty bucks catches your eye. Still a bit much for a key, but it’s the lowest you saw, so you pull out your money and slap it on his desk, which somehow continues to stand under the intense pressure of your gesture.

Spamton immediately snatches the money and turns around, gleefully talking to himself. He sounds like he’s… eating it? You decide not to ask, reaching for the key once the screen disappears and allows you to do so. When he faces you again, your money’s gone. You can swear there’s a hint of green at the corner of his mouth.

“So I just gotta head to the big fountain thing to find a disk?” you ask as you pocket the key, to which Spamton nods his head like he’s vibrating.

“YES [Yes Yes]! IN THE BASEMENT OF [Nigerian Palace]! FIND IT!”

A snort sounds in response and you hold a hand up defensively. “Alright, buddy, deep breaths. It’ll take me some time, yeah?” Your eyes continue to take in the tiny shop as you speak, widening at the sight of something behind him. “Can I have your number incase I need a hand?”

He stiffens and his glasses switch to static before you even get the chance to blink. Clearly that struck a nerve, so you pull your phone out instead. “That’s fine, all good! I’ll give you mine. Got a pen?” You get no response, so you look around yourself, if only for a moment. Nothing catches your eye, prompting you to turn to the dirt by your feet.

You find your number and crouch down to write it with a finger for him, standing up straight again once you’re done. “There, I circled it for ya so you won’t step on it or anything. Call me whenever so I can add you as a contact, alright?” Again, no response. “Anything else I need before I ship off?”

This knocks him out of his stupor, leaning on his wobbly desk and hurriedly shooing you toward the door with a hand. “NO, [You’re Looking Fine],” the glitched commercial purrs, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Alright. Remember to call me!” you remind him, unable to see the returning static as you close the door behind you.

For the third time, you make your way through the same part of Cyber City, cursing your dumb luck when you’re forced to dip into the orange man’s—Addison’s?—shop entrance again. “How much did he take?” he asks, and for a moment you wonder if he’s able to see how much money you have on you.

You lean against the wall and humor him one last time. “Twenty bucks.”

He raises his brows at you in surprise. “Really? I would’ve expected something in the thousands!”

“For a key?” you ask with a pshh sound. “Try as he might, he isn’t getting any more out of me… ‘cept for a disk, I guess?”

His raised hand flies over his mouth, yet he quickly turns smug. “You did make a deal with him! So much for being careful.”

“I…” You cut yourself off as you finally think everything over, all the information you were able to get out of him.

You’d been dropped face-first into the Cyber World where creatures want to take the thing that hurts you every time you’re in battle, which was apparently your life force, because it’s stronger than the ones they already have, and you made a deal with the one most open about taking it before you knew exactly what that implied. Sure, he wouldn’t go for it now that he knew what it looked like, but that had clearly been his intention from the get-go.

You look the Addison straight in the eye and stride over to him. “Slap me.”

“What?” he asks, dropping his hand to his side.

“Everything I’ve heard has been fucking nuts since I got here, man. There’s no way I’m not dreaming at this point. I don’t even think anything’s hurt me outside of that thing yet.” You gesture to your chest almost angrily, failing to recall its name. “If I don’t wake up, then I’m fucked. Slap me. ”

He’d backed away while you were talking, and though he still seems a bit off-put by your request, he nevertheless raises a hand and slaps you rather hard across the face. The force flings your head to the side as your own hand reaches up to caress your burning cheek.

And the realization of the implication hits you harder than he had.

This isn’t a dream. Now, with definitive proof, you realize you’re helping a crazed homeless man steal from what you can only assume is royalty, and your only hope of getting out is in that same castle. You curse under your breath and shuffle to the wall to lean your weight against it, finally wrapping your head around everything.

You should just make a break for it. You should ignore Spamton and book it to the fountain to get back home. Thankfully, your overworked brain won’t let you think about how much you’d lose if you didn’t.

…But there’s another part of it nagging in the back. This is real, so these are real, breathing creatures. Spamton’s real and breathing and so desperate for your help. It would weigh heavily on your conscience if you don’t lend a hand. You briefly consider taking him with you through the fountain, but he barely even wanted to go anywhere near the mansion, so that’s out of the question… and the world wasn’t ready for such lifelike ventriloquism.

You know what you have to do, but you’re suddenly unsure if you can do it.

The Addison seems almost worried about you, watching your freakout from the corner of their eye. You catch this and nearly make a quip about him not sending you away in fear of driving away business, but you’re too caught up to do so.

If you don’t get this over with as soon as you can, the fear might eat you alive.

Letting out a deep sigh, you straighten up, looking the man in the eye again and introducing yourself. “If I don’t return in the next few days, assume I’m dead.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond before you march headfirst toward the castle.

Chapter Text

One fairly easy trek and a rather difficult maus puzzle later, you find yourself at the beginning of the red carpet. Just seeing the damn thing is enough to make you feel a little too important to be doing what you are. It stops you in your tracks and makes you think things over one more time, as if you hadn’t been contemplating just that the whole walk over. You can see the fountain quite clearly from here; all you have to do is walk through it and you can put all this behind you.

But the little nagging voice in your head cuts that thought off and replaces it with everything you’d seen since you arrived here, especially your poor dumpster buddy. Nothing would change if you just up and left, he’d still be begging for scraps in a store made of literal garbage. It breaks your heart to think about, even after everything he tried to do to you. You got to at least do something nice for someone before you go, and that someone has to be him.

The stroll to the mansion comes off as leisurely, but now your head’s swimming with what you need to do. Hopefully the entrance to the basement isn’t far from the front door, you don’t want to go too far into the place you’re about to rob. Would it be obvious when you did find it? How many doors will you need to poke your head through? You’re almost positive you’re not getting a call any time soon.

With some effort, you pull the front door to the mansion open, poking your head inside. Nobody’s in the grandiose lobby area, but the lower half of what you can only assume is a robot puts you more on-edge anyway. Just that’s almost enough to make you turn around, but you find your feet guiding you inside and your hands closing the door as quietly as possible regardless.

You look around at the other doors in the room, quickly ruling both of them out of your search, though the Color Café does tempt you. Maybe there’s someone inside you could casually ask about the basement? No, that’d be too obvious no matter how you word it. Your only other options are two tall staircases, so you try the one on the left first… and find yourself back in the lobby after a ten minute fruitless endeavor.

Going up the second flight, you catch yourself once again wanting desperately to just leave, to be done in this world and go home so you can play your damn game. It takes every bit of your willpower not to just search for the fountain while you check every nook and cranny for any clues on the basement, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want no progress on that front as well.

It takes much longer than you’d like to admit to get to the door, but you’re at least able to pat yourself on the back for getting this far. You even found a convenient little switch that opens back up into the lobby. At least you won’t need to traverse the mansion again to get out.

The basement is nothing compared to the building it’s buried under. Its cracked walls are dingy and overgrown, the entire place smelling like rotting plants and moisture. You scrunch your nose in disgust, but at least it isn’t as horrific as the trash had been.

Everything, and you do mean every little thing, in this place tests your patience—as if you weren’t already nearing the end of your rope. You can already feel the vertigo just looking at the teacup ride that rises from who knows how far down, and the ride back up leaves you bruised and battered, barely dragging your ass away from the chained creatures on the wall that hungrily bite at you. If it takes much more effort to find the disk, you might just snap.

The sympathetic part of you rejoices when it doesn’t. You’re a little worried about the machine you take the disk from, but you’re too desperate to leave to care all that much. After one more pit stop at the glow at the bottom of the stairs, you begin your long trek back to the Trash Zone, almost relieved enough to even be excited to see that Addison again.

How long has he been spacing out? He’s glad he hasn’t salvaged any clocks yet to be able to tell. The vibrations come back full-force at the sheer excitement that suddenly rushes to the forefront of his mind as he wonders if you found the disk yet. So close, he’s so tantalizingly close to his delicis [[Freedom]]…

…But as his gaze trails down from the door to the dirty floor, it nearly sends him into another fit.

He has to do something with your number. If he looks at it one more time, who knows how much time he’ll spend out of commission? There’s a shop that needs running, after all!

With a sharp inhale, Spamton digs around in a pile of trash beside his desk to find a pen and paper. In his daze, he’s hopeful he’ll find exactly what he’s looking for. Minutes go by until he settles for a blunt pencil and a used napkin.

Oh, sweet [[HEAVEN]], he has to stomach looking at it again. The poor little puppet nearly passes out cold as he scribbles your number down, just barely legible, before swiftly tossing it and the pencil back into the pile. He rushes over to the spot on the floor to scrape his shoes over your handwriting, as if he’s doing a dance. Only then does he finally take a breath and ease his tensed muscles.

Spamton turns his back to the door to look around for something to do, anything to keep him busy and his mind occupied. He has a lot to do for his shop, and if he doesn’t pick something up right now, he might lose his mind.

A glimmer stops him in his tracks. That dreaded glimmer from behind his desk. The [[$!$$]] rotary phone he set up so many years ago. He can’t think of anything he wants to see less right now, despite the faint hope that fills the pit in his stomach at the sight.

One second, he’s rushing to stand and wait beside it, but he’s able to catch himself before he gets in over his head. He’s already so close to his [Sweet Escape] that it grounds him. The phone’s rather heavy in his grip, but he drops it on the floor with ease, immediately covering it with as much garbage as he can hold.

Now he can really focus on his work. What to do, what to do…

You knock on the door to the shop, bracing yourself for the stronger stench before allowing yourself in.

But it never comes. If anything, the inside is a little nicer than before, albeit with clashing smells infiltrating your head. There’s strong pine, artificial strawberry, and that new car smell all rolled into one. From the spotlight above the desk, you can make out the faint shapes of car air fresheners littered around the shop.

Actually, the whole place looks significantly more organized than it had when you left. You purse your lips and nod your head in surprise, then look around for the man of the hour.

He pops his head out of a small pile of assorted trash in the corner of the room—he must not have heard you come in—and smiles widely at you. “WHY, WELCOME BACK, [[Esteem Customer]]! DID YOU SU-!”

“Riddle me this,” you cut him off, holding the disk up by your face and out of his reach. He scrambles out of the pile as soon as his eyes land on it and you bring it higher as he tries to reach it, holding a hand out to his forehead to keep him away. “What’s this for? I really don’t think you should be touching this thing.”

You may not have gotten a lot of information, but what the Addison had told you when you found yourself back at his shop didn’t make you confident in what you’d done. He’d taken some time to look the disk over and told you about a rumor that spread way back when about the machine in the basement. It’d been forgotten so long ago that he hadn’t initially realized just what you were doing; the sight of it seemed to drown him in his flooding memories.

There’s no way to know if the rumors were nothing more than hot gossip, though. You aren’t sure you want to test the waters.

Spamton looks at you like you just killed a man, backing away slightly at the weary yet stern look you shoot him. “WHA- WHA- WHAT!?” he stammers, voice box looping for a moment as he processes what’s going on. “THAT WASN’T THE [Deal or No Deal]!”

“Listen, I just… don’t want this putting anyone in danger, y’know?” You accentuate your point by waving the disk in the air. His head follows it like an obedient dog about to get a treat. “Just walk me through your plan first, that’s all I ask.”

He isn’t very slick, is he? Spamton makes it quite clear when he’s cutting corners as he spins a tale about basically downloading a new body, finally breaking the chains he’s been stuck in for so, so long. Some of the implications make you a little nervous, but the only ill will behind them seems to be aimed at one guy. He seems… almost desperate to get the name out of his mouth. Despite your reservations, this is obviously something he needs to do for his self-esteem; he certainly seems desperate to get the ball rolling.

Heaving out a sigh, you hold the disk in a vice grip, but lower it down toward him. “...Go ahead, man. Just… don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, if he even had any to begin with. If Spamton was vibrating before, he was audibly buzzing now, his hands immediately snatching the disk. “THANK YOU, [[#1Rated[Customer]1997]]!” His eyes beam up to you, his glasses burning your eyes as you do your best to not look away. “THIS PUPPY GOES RIGHT BACK. WHERE YOU GOT IT. [[Workout-Ready Body]], HERE I COME!”

Before you can even open your mouth to retaliate, groan at the sudden instruction, anything, Spamton’s body disappears bit by bit, leaving you alone with only the flickering spotlight to see the disk with. When you deadpan down to it, it seems to smile back at you.

You take a moment to breathe, process everything, before you head out once again.