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It started a few months into Spamton's stay at his new residence.
He tried his best to make it look welcoming. There was only so much you could do with absolutely nothing to your name– discarded like common trash. The pillow squished at the bottom was old and frayed, but it was something he found himself. It was hours and hours of swimming in trash, sifting through the filth, hoping for anything worthwhile. He found it, with his own two hands– nothing was ever going to take that feeling away from him.
This is why the little puppet was desperate to keep strangers out of his home. Despite his efforts, It never stopped citizens from dumping their trash into his dumpster. Though it wasn't all that bad. It just meant he had a fresh supply of whatever was in there, from half eaten lines of spaghetti code, to moldy circuit breads. Still, they were infringing upon his carefully laid out home.
Even if the grime sticking to the walls of the dumpster stained his plastic body, even when the smell was getting to be too much for him. He'd scrape his dulled claws across the inside, insisting he was fine.
It was just a bit of grime, he couldn't complain. He couldn’t ever complain, because he was never going to be thrown out again.
After he cleared out the newest trash bag, he gently laid it down on the floor to create a cushioning of hundreds of trash bags. It was enough– at least he wouldn't have to feel the cold floor of the dumpster.
It was a sloppy home, but it was his.
But occasionally he would receive unwanted company at the dead of night. Maus would always become surprise visitors, scouring his dumpster for his belongings and his food. Everything he worked so hard for.
The puppet couldn't help it. He had to defend what he had. The part of him that felt so threatened by their presence, it was almost animalistic. A violent desperation would consume his entire being. He'd claw at the ground on all fours, releasing a horrifically glitchy screech in their direction. An intimidation tactic to ward off the thieves.
His property, his livelihood, the last shred of dignity he liked to pretend he still had. It was always on the brink of collapse. It could be ripped away from him at any moment. The walls within his safest space felt like they were constantly closing in on him. Sometimes that was an odd comfort.
Recently he was receiving visits from someone he’s never seen before. They were a Lightner, he was sure. A human soul burned brightly whenever he was in their presence– they had blue skin, and thick bangs that always covered their eyes. It was maybe an attempt to cover up any obvious tells. But what the salesman couldn't read in their eyes, he could easily read in their body language.
They would lean against the dumpster, huddled against his home. Then they would hug their legs and rest their face on their knees. As if they were trying to look as small as possible. It was a remarkably timid image for someone who should be so, so powerful.
It was a particularly rough night when he came home to the kid lying down next to his dumpster. Cyber city's streets were being bombarded with a downpour of abandoned strings of code. Whatever the Lightner was doing there– he assumed that all self preservation went out the window for them.
But it opened up an opportunity for the little salesman. He had a clear view of the [Heart Shaped Object] attached to them, the object that made them human. It was something he constantly felt the lack of.
The puppet shrieked, clicking his teeth together loudly to scare them. They jumped, clearly startled at his interruption. But– they relaxed a bit afterwards. Spamton laughs, a broken sound that usually had potential customers running the other direction.
Not this one.
Even in this harsh weather, with his untimely interruption, they sat perfectly still like a statue. Through those thick bangs that clung to their forehead so closely, a dull and muddy red met his gaze.
"H EY HEY HEY ! LIGHT NER! YOU THINK TH1S IS A [[Free Show]]???" He says, gesturing to his house and then towards their obvious loitering.
That empty look doesn't change, but they do shift their eyes towards the ground. An almost guilty look, as they rub at their knees with their hands. They make a move to sit up, assuming they're not welcome. It was difficult to see at first, but now Spamton saw an accurate picture of how thin their limbs were. They seemed fragile, a silhouette which did little to indicate they were of good health. Like they could collapse at any moment.
Spamton looked down at his own plastic joints. Boney and thin, though for him, this would never change. But he wasn't born yesterday. He knew that a Lightner human such as this needed to eat. Just as much as an old, discarded puppet like himself. He knew the aches of starvation very very well.
His permanent grin somehow widens.
They were infringing upon his territory, but that didn't mean he couldn't get something out of this. His old salesman instincts spring him back into action. The kid just needed a bit of the old Big Shot charm.
"WAIT!!!!!!!! [Don't touch that dial-!]" He exclaims, face leaning towards the Lightner. The movement is sudden– disjointed, prompting them to flinch. He adjusts his glasses, a glint in his eye as his brain cooks up a scheme.
There's something he recognizes in those empty eyes.
"YOU R [[Stocks Plummeting]]? YOU'LL HAVE TO E4RN YOUR KEEP!" The puppet says. He taps the dumpster, emphasizing his ownership of it. Lightner or not, he wanted to make this worth his while. This disturbance upon his home had to be rectified. Though, a part of him couldn't contain just a bit of reverence for their presence– before he remembered their unsightly body.
He leans closer into their space, nose pointed towards them. Eyes bulging out of his sockets, he gets even closer. His plastic hands grip their shoulders tightly.
"I CAN OFFER YOU A DEAL."
Those eyes widen, the first show of true emotion on their face.
He observes the [Heart Shaped Object] that rests soundly within them, chimes barely audible. The sound made him clack his teeth together.
Unconsciously, Spamton places his own fragile hand over his chest. He had no heart to feel a pang, but it made him acutely aware of the numbness that plagued his existence. It was everything he could ever need.
His fingers press down on their shoulders.
"WORK FOR [Free] AND I CAN HELPED YOU ACHIEVE [[Heaven]]."
He elaborates at their blank stare.
“... AND YOU CAN HAVE THE [Left] SIDE OF THE DUMPSTER.”
The Lightner looked surprised for a moment. It was obvious in the way their shoulders rose ever so slightly– accompanied with a tilt of their head. They were considering it. He was grinding his teeth in nervous anticipation. He suddenly jumps, yelling. “BUT DON’T FORGET ! ! ! 1T’S A DEAL.”
Nervously, they nod. Their expression barely changes, but their mouth pulls slightly taut.
Spamton then smiles, something smug. He claps his plastic hands together. "THANK YOU, [Valued Customer]." He responds. With those tired eyes and concerningly thin body, the Lightner presses themself against the dumpster. They then use their hand to prop themself up, and finally stand. They were tall, but they didn't tower over him completely. Still, he felt a hint of irritation seep into his puppet body– leftovers from a version of himself that still found everyone's inches over him a bother.
They suddenly double over, clutching their stomach. The puppet could clearly hear the results of their starvation. There's something that clicks within him, probably his clenched plastic jaw. He doesn't think too hard about it. They need something– and he isn't about to let them receive it for free. It's not like he ever accepted handouts, either.
Spamton extends his arm for a handshake. A deal is a deal. He wanted to ensure it was binding, after all. He grins his signature million dollar smile, laying on the charm. As he gets closer once more, he can spot the dirt and grime on their gloves. Their armor– rusted and stained. Their teeth, visible for just a moment– yellow. His hand doesn't falter, and he snatches their gloves into his plastic fingers. They were slimy and unkempt.
But the puppet is reminded of a picture, a small Addison huddled in the corner of a shambling storefront. He's sweating bullets and hasn't felt clean in such a long time. He can still smell the odor that consistently follows him around.
He rapidly shakes the Lightners hand, getting a surprised and owlish look from their red eyes.
That's better.
"NOW, WHAT S YOUR NAME, NEW PARTNER?" He asks.
A partner, he said. Maybe in enough time, they could see him as a valuable asset.
Maybe it would be enough to keep him from–
Five long minutes stretch in between their answer. They shift their eyes, and brush those bangs out of their face. It was simple, really. Create camaraderie by putting a name to a face. It wasn't everyday that someone worked for free– it was a bond that had to be cherished. They had to feel valued. Wanted. Spamton's plastic jaw clicks in anticipation. Anything to not be left alone, abandoned by all they held dear.
"...Kris." They say. It’s a whisper, revealing a soft but raspy voice. The human rubs their throat, as if reluctant. Their gloved hand shakes.
The look in their eyes, hollow yet pleading for anyone to understand.
The way they shambled about, dancing on an invisible string. The Lightner never acknowledges it. He thinks maybe that they couldn’t see it. But he knew they could sure as hell feel it. Their limbs moved automatically, but with hesitance. Movements not quite their own, but still distinctly theirs , in a way that was difficult to describe.
Spamton's smile stays glued to his face, ever permanent. He bursts at the seams, tiny versions of himself explode all over the pavement, their excitement unable to be contained. Kris flinches as they watch the display, but they soon relax after they have shown not to be a threat. The small Spamtons gather around them, begging for Kromer– or whatever it is that they eat. He didn’t know.
He ends their handshake, and drags them back to the dumpster. They were welcome, so long as they fulfilled their end of the bargain.
They stumble into step behind him, like a lost duckling.
It looked like someone had thrown away a new wave of garbage for him to explore. But the pile was starting to overflow, unknown liquids and substances leaking into his home. A faint feeling of disgust washed over him– but it was quickly shoved away in favor of a fresh batch of goods. He couldn’t dwell on the stained pavement, or the sickening smell that filled the air. The child following behind him grimaces, wrinkling their nose.
The puppet wondered how strong their senses were. He could certainly hear, taste, and smell. But his body felt far away from him sometimes. The feeling of touch was a fleeting thing. He thinks it has something to do with his body, the plastic skin that seemed to numb each attempt at physical contact. He felt a vague sensation, remembering that he was holding Kris's hand. It was neither warm nor cold, just a featherly light touch. It made him hesitant in a way that he usually isn’t– the feeling is so foreign to him, after so long.
His puppet jaw continues to hang open, before he lets go quickly.
He rubs his hands together roughly, and gestures to the trash bags. “NOW GET TO I T, KRIS!!!!!!!!!! SO MANY [Precious] TREASURES! FOR [[A Limited Time Only]]!” He yells. The human flinches again. Spamton struggles to climb into the dumpster, but eventually pulls himself up. He carefully steps on the trash, before stopping at a bag sitting at the top. It’s almost inviting, how the glow of Cyber City’s lights surround it, like a spotlight. Maybe it was fate that brought such a precious gift to his home.
Those darkeners, they had all abandoned him. The ones from back then, when his body wasn’t made of this. Left to die and rot in the darkest corners of the city. But he was still able to catch a glimpse of his rise from the ashes, he’ll show them, he’ll show them all.
Kris approaches the dumpster, only needing to slightly lean over it to reach the garbage. They wrinkle their nose again, really taking in the smell. They then cover their mouth and nose, trembling. Spamton tilts his head in confusion, observing their odd behavior. They looked so eager before, what happened? They see his inquiring look, empty eyes boring into his. Coughing, they grab the nearest bag and tear it open.
Delighted, the puppet does so as well. He can feel those slimy unknown substances sticking to the contents. He pushed down a feeling of nausea, which shouldn't have even been possible with this body. But he was still somehow starving in the streets– his body working in new ways he could barely comprehend. Tearing through the plastic bag, wrappers of all kinds could be seen throughout. When he was searching through trash like this, there was always a small chance of something sealed and fresh being thrown out. It was very important that he got lucky.
He cracks his joints, and pushes his sleeves up.
As the determined salesman works, he glances over to the human.
Their movements were so much more delicate than his, thin fingers held a tenuous grip on a trash bag. Hesitantly, they use their long nails to tear into it, and carefully sort through its contents. Movements methodical, they sort the garbage into neat piles– and make sure they never mix packaged goods and plain trash. There was care put into the task that seemed to be more than he ever expected from them.
They’re my ticket out of this.
Spamton wasn't going to be taking his time. He was used to this sort of thing, but he was also hungry. The little salesman uses his puppet-like jaw to chomp down on whatever is in sight. He wasn't sure what it was– but it was hard. It slightly hurt, a vague feeling of pain washing over him before he was numb again. Anything to get something in his system. He picks up the bag to easily guzzle down every single little thing that was thrown away.
Nothing was going to waste.
He was aware of the Lightner watching him, those red eyes that always seemed to pierce him. It was scrutinizing, like they were trying to pick apart his actions. But he couldn't bring himself to care.
Spamton was used to scrutiny. Incredulous looks that seemed to split him open, praying for some kind of explanation. For some reason, for anything to make it all make sense. The salesman never minded it– he welcomed it, really. It meant there was something worth looking at after all.
He continues to consume the trash at an alarming rate, everything around him fading into the background, becoming static.
Then Kris is suddenly in his view, their bony hand grasping his wrist.
His joints creaked, creating sound even when he was sitting completely still.
The human stares into him, eyebrows pinched in slight concern.
Spamton gets a clear view of their wrists, fresh wounds that they must have gotten from digging through so much trash. They should really be more careful. Their body wasn't made of plastic, like his was. Kris leans forward, gently prying the bag away from him.
Normally the action would've set him off, (Stop touching me.), but their hands still firmly grasped his joints– he follows their slow movements as they reach for something.
He can feel how their hand starts to shake. A byte-sized muffin, fully sealed, is haphazardly shoved in his face. Spamton automatically takes it. The human then roughly lets go of him, and quickly turns back to their task. He tries to understand any of their actions, if there was guilt or pity in those muddy eyes. He wasn't a charity case– he was in control .
They were doing this because he made a deal with them.
He exhales with a nonexistent breath, turning the package around in his smaller hands. He leans towards the Lightner, jaw clicking. "THAT'S THE SPIRIT, YOU LITTLE ! [Congratulations.]" They didn’t face him in kind, but that was fine. The human's wound up body relaxed in response. It told him everything he needed to know.
Setting it aside for now, he continues the job.
The next few hours are spent clearing the dumpster of everything inside. Spamton twitches with excess energy, bouncing on top of Kris's head. He could feel his fingers getting caught in their hair as he inspected their handiwork.
They kind of made a good team together.
The puppet rapidly shakes his head– those kinds of thoughts weren't going to get him anywhere. The dumpster was cleaned out, and his home was finally visible again. The bottom of the container had various newspapers cushioning the floor, complete with the floral-patterned pillow he cherished so much. It was cozy, at least to him. A place to return to when his errands for the day inevitably went horribly wrong. Frightened faces, seething customers, everyone's overwhelming urge to avoid him as much as possible.
Spamton's grin is stretched as wide as usual.
If the Lightner was bothered by the fingers tightly gripping locks of their hair, they didn't indicate it.
Spamton releases his hold, and pats Kris's head rapidly, trying to get their full attention. He thinks he accidentally pinches their face, but they barely even wince. He dives towards the bin, settling nicely at the bottom. Surrounded by each piece of trash they sorted, he revels in everything being right in the world again. He begins to make little trash angels in the pile, excitement so palpable that he glitched his form into a sight near incomprehensible.
After a few moments of momentary bliss, he slams the lid shut. He waits a moment. There was no sign of any movement outside.
What were they waiting for?
The Lightner put more effort into his request than he ever thought they would. It was so familiar to him– to give so much of yourself for such little in return. Was it for companionship? Spamton hardly missed those delicate movements, those hands lingering for a bit too long on his own. It spoke of someone starving for attention.
Desperate for approval.
He opted to stop thinking about it.
Time passes ever so slowly, and the puppet begins to feel his eyelids droop. If the kid didn’t want to take the perfectly free spot next to the dumpster, so be it. He curls up, ready to fall into a deep sleep.
It’s then that he hears the creak of the lid.
He pops an eye open, watching familiar gloves push the lid upwards. Red eyes gaze down at him, watchful and curious. They climb into the dumpster– but it’s more like they fall into it. Spamton shrieks as they struggle to make room for themself, shoving trash bags out of the way. Kris slips slightly, metal boot shoving the little salesman towards the wall.
“[@&!%#]!?” He screams unintelligible garbage.
After a while of shoving and tangled limbs, the Lightner sits on the left side comfortably– a sizable gap between the two. Spamton rubs at his cheek, feeling a hint of pain as a small bruise forms there. Somehow in the worst moments, this unfeeling body could act as a proper imitation of skin and nerves. He grumbles, having never expected the action.
The kid has the decency to look guilty, and bites their lip. “Sorry.” They say, rasp suddenly loud and clear within the confines of the bin.
He had half a mind to start kicking them out, but something gives him pause.
It was their heart.
In the darkness of his home, it shined so brightly– it was blinding. He covers his eyes. A memory burns into his skull, when he saw it, WHEN HE WAS PROMISED [[ HEAVEN ]]–
Kris hovers their hands over his hands, slow and careful. There it was again, the hesitance. It was something that broke through their more assured movements. Distinctly theirs. Always unsure, like someone who has had to fight for control for so long, that when they can finally grasp it– It’s ripped away at a moment’s notice.
The puppet didn’t even realize he was whimpering. White noise played from his jaw.
Kris touches his hands, waiting a moment. Then, they slowly remove his hands from his eyes. The heart is gone, shrouding the both of them in pitch black once more. As his sockets adjust, he hears Kris let out a small breath of relief. It was difficult to make out, since any noise produced from them was so quiet.
Spamton snaps into a standing position, arms spreading at his sides. “HE Y! AREN’T YOU SUPPOS3D TO BE [[Soaking In The Sun]]??” He asks.
The kid is taken aback, most likely startled by his loud volume. They were rather jumpy, he found. Still, as nervous as they seem, they performed some actions with a degree of certainty. Or maybe someone did it for them, creating an illusion of greatness. It wasn’t real.
Stubbornly, they shake their head.
“It’s raining.” They say.
The salesman suddenly remembers their current predicament. Kris really just let themself in, like they’ve always lived here. They sank into the trash, looking comfortable for the first time since he met them– even in their position, legs tucked in so far he had to wonder if it hurt. They had to contort their body to even be able to lay down at all. Spamton pushes his face into his pillow.
Time passes, with nothing but the steady breathing of his companion filling the silence.
He shouldn’t allow himself to think in such a way. This deal was a means to an end– and if he had to keep up this charade of declaring them a friend to get it, he would. They listened to him, he had their full attention. Something he hasn’t had in so long.
Means to an end.
Letting out a frustrated glitchy sigh, he turns on his side and faces away from them. In front him is the pile of packaged foods, neatly arranged and stacked into some sort of pyramid. He sneakily glances back at the human. They’re still tucked in that uncomfortable position, hand resting on their stomach. Their malnourishment immediately comes to mind. The puppet remembers a hazy image, after he had been…
His plastic head– which shouldn’t feel anything– hurts.
But he knows this feeling. The emptiness in his stomach, the humiliation he felt begging for scraps. When he felt like a doll, used and discarded. Denied the very thing that would make him whole. TO BECOME NEO. The streets were cold then, and the pain he felt in his stomach was agonizing. Like a weight had settled within it, bringing his entire body down. Even now, he could feel a faint ache. He was used to this, but that didn’t mean they were.
Spamton clicks his teeth together.
Kris lets out a harsh breath, obviously in pain.
The puppet grabs a sealed donut, throwing it in their direction.
They’re silent, likely processing what just happened. Curious red eyes search the room, before settling on the treat. A rustle of plastic is heard, quick and eager. They tear into the donut, crumbs fall across the floor of the dumpster. The sounds were obnoxious, making it difficult to get any kind of meaningful rest. But those sounds were also a comfort. He ruffles the pillow, burying his face in it again. Just hearing each movement was a soothing balm to an emptied heart. Knowing there was a body nearby, knowing that someone was around.
It was jarring– in face of the isolation he was so used to. The salesman gently kicks their leg, getting their attention.
"KRIS!!!!!!!!! SLOW DOWN YOUR [PC], OR YOULL. !" He yells, voice echoing through the bin.
Kris had slowed their eating, starting to nibble on the remains of their small meal. They almost forgot to savor it. Good thing he was around to remind them– they really were new to living on the streets.
Although, he was usually a one man show.
He hears the rustling of plastic, like they were crumbling it into a ball. Silence then fills the dumpster, and for once Spamton feels like his brain is slammed shut to take it all in. It’s odd, the unfamiliarity of the situation, and the Lightner's actions. He had to wonder how long they’ve been in Cyber City, how they got here. Why did they choose to stay? He clicks his teeth, feeling a sudden chill. Suddenly turning, he sees Kris lifting the lid.
Shooting up, he grasps their glove.
“WHAT AR E YOU ???” He says frantically. The salesman is unsure what was so urgent, why he moved so fast. He just didn’t know what they were doing and he had to know.
The kid pauses, looking down at him. Their mouth is a perfectly straight line, giving nothing away. But their shoulders were slightly hunched in an awkward position, and they avoided direct eye contact with him. Uncharacteristically patient, he waits for any kind of response from them. They lick their lips, clearly nervous.
“...You don’t want me here.” They say, voice scratchy. Slightly rubbing at their throat, they slowly shut the lid again. Spamton is still tightly holding onto them. They sit down, giving him their full attention.
“KRIS!!!! WE MADE A [Deal].” He explains. “THERE IS NO [[Money Back Guarantee]]!! YOU ALR3ADY SOLD YO UR [Heart Shaped Object].”
They startle at the last bit of his response, visibly flinching. Slowly, they hold their hand close to their chest.
“REMEMBER? LEFT SIDE.” He adds.
Kris held his hand carefully, but they were shaking like they were terrified of something. It was difficult to tell what was from the kid themself or what came from the other thing that accompanied their movements. Trying to make the distinction made him dizzy, but there was nothing those eyes could hide. Their gaze was soft. He roughly pulls them back onto the trash bags behind them, causing them to yelp.
“YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME UNTIL WE FIND THAT EMPTY DISK!”
They sink into the trash, laying their limbs out in all directions. It was probably a cold comfort to them, but it was much better than staying outside in such bad weather. Spamton chews his fingers as he thinks about an Addison all alone in the rain.
Shakily, he hears the human finally reply. “O-Okay.” They let out a breath.
The salesman gets comfortable, clasping his hands together and laying on top of them with his favorite(only) pillow. Glad he got that sorted out. There was much to do– he was going to shoot for the skies, go for [HEAVEN]! He needed this. Only with his new partner would he be able to get anything done, and they’re clearly in need of some direction. He can show them everything he knows, and soon they’ll be ready to carry out the task he’s never been able to do alone.
This is what he always needed. He tilts his head slightly to get a better view of the body across from him. Fast asleep, the Lightner is still laying with their limbs splayed out. He watches them breathe, chest rising and falling.
After some silence passes, he closes his eyes.
It was easy to fall asleep to that rhythmic sound.