Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sir, you really need to go on vacation.”

“You take less days off than the amount of paid leave you give your employees. And that’s saying something.”

The weather duo had been hounding Tenna for the last 10 minutes about taking a break and were following him all around TV World as he did errands. His over-eager attitude was making almost every employee that came across the three uneasy.

“There’s no time! The audience could be back any moment! I’ve been plugged back in for the first time in years!” he exclaimed, breaking into a brisk walking pace. Elnina and Lanino could barely keep up and until he suddenly stopped in his tracks and put a gloved finger to where his temple would be. “Hold it! We’re on in five, folks!” He scooped up the startled weather phenomena and sprinted back to the set.

…

“Rolling!” The camera crew was in place. The lights were at their brightest. Everything was coming together. Tenna had done his makeup at light speed, and his years-old script was still as fresh in his mind as the day he read it. This was it. His big break after a hiatus. His everything. He was about to be useful, his position as a beloved family member restored. Rudy and Carol would come back. Kris and Noelle would be laughing and playing together, Asriel would be chatting with Dess, and Toriel and Asgore would be sitting side by side. He could feel it in his metal bones. They’d all look at him and he’d be a star again.

Tenna took a deep breath and waited to see them looking back at him. But all he saw was Toriel, standing alarmingly close. There was… a box? Next to her? Labelled… SPRING CLEANING? What was happening? Did the Dreemurrs finally tire of him? Was he about to get—

“Uh, boss? You’re on.”

Right. Right. Right! He had a job to do! If they just did this without a single mistake, maybe Toriel would reconsider. She had to, right?

Tenna cleared his throat. “Welcome back to–”

The screen went dark. Huh? Did she hit the off button by mistake? She was, she was going to turn the TV on again, right? Right? Was it his fault, his hesitation causing her to do this? How could she do this? He was family. He was a Dreemurr! He was new and improved! He was… what was he now? Junk. Trash. Useless and meaningless and about to be thrown out by the looks of it. The showman could feel himself starting to shrink. No! He couldn’t do this! Not in front of his employees! He looked up to the cameras, the lights, the sound systems, but everyone had already left.

Even with all his crews and right hand thems, he still felt alone. No one, not even the weather duo, felt like true friends. Mike didn’t even hold conversations if it wasn’t about business.This time he really shrunk, still standing there on that stupid stage. He hadn’t had a good day since that scammy rat bastard of a mailman deserted him 3 years ago. Maybe, maybe if it was all over he could take that vacation. A little relaxation before the inevitable execution date. Tenna took a deep breath, regained his height, and everything went dark.

…

He knew what this was. He knew this feeling all too well. When the family was going through rough patches, Tenna was unplugged and replugged often. Being exposed to this didn’t help him though. It wasn’t a nap or even time out. It was solitary confinement. Trapped in empty nothingness that stretched so far it almost looped back to being claustrophobic. Thankfully, consciousness was an option, and Tenna usually liked to sleep things out. If he didn’t, he started thinking instead. Thinking never went well for him.

It had only been a few days since his longest blackout, but Tenna had come to expect this kind of thing. After all, he wasn’t used much in what he could assume was the last few months. Time was a bit of an issue when stuck in a void that only emphasizes your meaningless, and Tenna had stopped asking how long he’d been out long ago. The best thing he could do for now was settle down and wait

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Tori, I don’t know if we can take it off your hands.” The bird-like librarian leaned down from the “librarby’s” top step to inspect the covered item in Toriel’s hands. It was quite large, with a blue tarp over it to protect it from the rain that poured down around them. “The only space we would have for it would be the computer room, and even that’s a stretch.”

“Can’t you do a favor for me this one time, Budge? I don’t want it to just collect dust in my own home.” The school teacher was in an appropriate purple raincoat with cute polka-dot yellow rainboots (the kind you would see a cartoon character in) on her feet.

Budger sighed. She had to admit, Toriel was the only one of her bookclub to actually contribute, while that Cattenheimer girl and Bratty usually argued and Carol was often absent. Why couldn’t she do this for Toriel? It’s not like this place could’ve functioned without her and Berdly’s help from time to time.

“Fine. But I’m setting a time limit for getting it out of here. This isn’t some flea market, you know. You have one month to find someone to take it, or it’s going to the dump.” The things she did for this woman.

“Thank you so much. I’ll make sure to bring a pie to your house later!” Toriel stepped through the doorway and out of the rain and Budger made way for her path into the library. She opened the computer room doors to the taller goat monster, and followed her in. There, Toriel set the mystery object on a table in the back. To the naked eye, the room itself didn’t look too cluttered, even with the new donation, but Budger was type who like ample space everywhere, and she had already started to feel a twinge more cramped

Toriel gently removed the tarp and stepped back so Budger could see what she had brought in. Realizing what it was, she let out a small gasp.

“You really want to give this away, Toriel?”

“Oh, we don’t use this old thing anymore since Asgore left. At least, not often enough for the amount of space it takes up, hah.” She knelt down to plug it in, and handed Budger a remote. “Just in case some bookworms want to use it. It would be a waste to let it sit here for a month without it doing anything.”

The green monster held the remote loosely between her feathers as Toriel strolled out of the room, stopping at the door.

“Do you need to lock up, or…?”

“I’m coming.” Budger set the remote down on the table and followed Toriel out of the library into the rain, picking up her umbrella on the way. Toriel readjusted her rainhood and set off in the direction of her own home. “See you around,” Budger called after her.

“You too, Budge. Take care of that CRT for me, will you?”

“Of course. And Toriel? Thanks for your generous donation.” Her voice was pricked with playful sarcasm, and in the moment that her friend didn’t respond, she hoped her joke came across.

“All right, all right, I get it.” Toriel chuckled and smiled a twinge. “Goodnight, Budge. And say hi to the kid for me, will ya?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tenna woke up standing on a sidewalk he didn’t recognize, covered in a blue jacket he didn’t put on, holding a suitcase he didn’t pack. What had happened while he was out? Water droplets were hanging on his new coat and his sleeves were wet. Did Toriel take him out into the rain? How could she be so careless? He brushed the thought aside for the moment, trying to focus on what he was carrying.

A quick examination had led to the conclusion that Mike and the weather duo had packed for him and had kicked him out of TV World for the passing moment. The CRT sat down to inspect the surprisingly pleasant contents of the bag. Everything he would’ve taken for himself was there, and there was even a note.

You blacked out, so we (Elnina, Lanino, Battat, Pluey, Jongler) packed for you. Hope we got everything right. Elnina’s friend has an empty apartment you can stay in while you’re gone. Here’s the key.

There were a few red arrows drawn in crayon pointing to a house key taped to the bottom of the letter with the address written next to it. There was also a tiny drawing of… Mike? Cat Mike to be specific, but still, it was a little unusual to just see it. Tenna smiled for a second seeing it, and didn’t think about what would happen to them when he was gone. At least, he told himself he wasn’t going to.

Tenna straightened his antennae, repacked and picked up his bag, and walked along the busy street. He looked around for clues to where he was until he saw a suspiciously familiar red carpet and massive blue palace. Was he in… CyberCity? How did he get here? But if Tenna was here, that meant that

He was here too

Maybe, just maybe he should make good on his broken relationship. If he was only going to “sit here for a month,”(where had he heard that?) maybe he should try to reconnect before he was gone for good. He didn’t want to—

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

“TV Guy Is That You I See Over There?”

Tenna turned and saw a blue monarch clad in faux leather and confidence. Queen.

“Uh, hey, Queen. It’s, uh, nice to be back in the big city after a while, yeah?” He re-re-regained his bearings, (it seemed like he was doing that a lot recently) and offered a handshake out to the woman in front of him. “Things seemed to have changed!” He could assume they changed. He hadn’t really seen much of the city yet, but that’s what the ‘internets’ was all about, right? Keeping up with the times?

“Oh It Really Is You I Was Just Saying That Lmao.” Queen shook his hand, albeit a bit stiffer than he remembered. “Okay Well Then I Guess I’ll See You Around.”

“Wait.”

Queen swiveled on her heel like a rolling chair and spun back around to face him.

“Do you… want to have lunch and catch up?”

Queen smiled and her visor lit up with bright red text that read ‘THINKING.’
“Sure Why Not Lol I Can Show My New Castle Rennies (That Is Short For Renovations).”

She sauntered down the cartoonishly long red carpet and through her palace doors, not even waiting for him to follow. At least the Queen's attitude was the same as ever. Tenna sighed and trailed behind her, waving to the unresponsive swatchlings at the gate as he passed through.

Chapter Text

“We Don’t Have Any Food Ready At The Moment So Just Like Hang Out For A While.” Queen led him to the first floor dining hall, which consisted of a few long tables and numerous chairs. “You Can Also Go Left To See My Rooms (They Are Great) And Solve Puzzles Of Color.” With that, Queen left the room, presumably to talk to Swatch or some other cook or chef.

Tenna set down his bag and jacket. Thankfully, the palace had been designed by Queen for Queen, meaning Tenna only had to downsize to about 9 feet tall to still be able to fit through doorways and sit down at tables. It was a bit uncomfy to shrink and grow if it wasn’t an emotional outburst, but he could do little bits at a time to fit in better.

Unsurprisingly, the castle was vastly different from what Tenna remembered, even if he could only see this small part. He struggled a bit with the puzzles, even leaving one to be solved later. He wasn’t a fan of twisting riddles or tricky solutions. It was just easier when quizzes were cut and dry. You could save the dillydallying and fooling around to minigames instead.

The (now smaller) darkner left the light puzzles behind and started toward the rooms. Queen hadn’t been specific, so he could only assume the rooms were where her tenants stayed. Wait. Didn’t Spamton say he was staying in the mansion? Maybe this would be Tenna’s chance to get an answer out of him. And apologize. That too.

The room of, well, rooms, was more of a long hallway with doors on each side. Every door was exactly the same. Tenna stopped to examine the first door on his right. There was a nametag on the front that read “Citizen 1”. Did Queen number her citizens? Weird. He put his hand on the knob, twisted it, and opened the door, but the whole area inside was empty. Why was it unlocked? Had Citizen 1 moved out? Tenna moved on to the next door.

Empty

Maybe the left side was luckier?

Empty

It was like nothing had been prepared or that these rooms were reserved for… someone else. Tenna finally reached the last door where the nametag was scratched out. That was different. If Spamton was living in the mansion, he would be here. He wasn’t a priority, simply another thing on the checklist to be completed before doomsday. Well, doomsday for Tenna. Everyone else would survive and live like he never existed. The thought chilled the CRT and he shook it out of his head. Just turn the handle. Just open the door. Just…

It was empty.

Of course it was empty. The nametag was even scratched out like no one had lived there. That just meant Spamton had made it bigger than Tenna had thought. Was he even in CyberCity still? Maybe he’d ask Queen about it. Maybe Spamton hadn’t ever even stayed in the mansion, growing big too fast. Tenna strolled back to the dining hall and waited for Queen to return.

It wasn’t more than a minute until Queen sauntered into the room, followed by Swatchlings brought out dishes of CD Bagels with Traffic Jam Warnings and Spaghetti Code. Queen sat down across from Tenna and lounged rather, uh, un-royally. One black leather boot was kicked up onto the table while the other was planted flat on the chair cushion, propping her knee up to eye-level.

“So TV Guy What Brings You To: CyberCityTM?”

That stopped whatever previous thoughts he had. What had brought him here? All he knew was that he was here for a limited time (a month?) and that everything had changed. Things were so different to the point that he didn’t even realize where he was until he saw Queen’s Mansion, and even then he might’ve still been a bit unsure. And what happened at home, with the spring cleaning box? That meant he was getting thrown out soon. He had served his purpose and wasn’t anything more than a piece of trash.

“Oh, you know. Just one of those vacations! Gotta get out somehow, hahah.”

Tenna was fiddling with the teacup full of hot chocolate that had been served. Thoughts of death and being left by the Dreemurr family flitted through his mind. He didn't think he would go out like this, stuck in some city he didn’t even know anymore, cut off from all his employees and friends. If anyone even considered him a friend. Tenna didn't get to say goodbye to Elnina or Lanino or Mike or even Ramb.

He didn’t say goodbye to me either.

The teacup in his hands was cracking and his chair felt a bit smaller and cramped. Maybe he should ask about…

“Your living quarters look nice! But you don’t have any tenants?”

Queen looked at him a little weird, but she was still smiling. Did he say something wrong?

“Oh Those Aren’t In Use Anymore Lmao. They’ve Been Empty For Years Since CyberCity Residents Are Now Banned From Living Here (I Banned Them).”

“Banned?”

“Yeah Pretty Much. That Weird Business Partner Of Yours ‘Moved Out’ (Lol) And Now The Rooms Are Reserved For Light Nerds.”

So he was right. Spamton had moved to greener pastures without him as Tenna faded into obscurity. Great. Still, maybe he could track down the slippery little mailman, get him to spill his secret, then Tenna wouldn’t have to take being thrown out. He could be a star again! All he needed to do was find Spamton and the rest was easy.

“Is Spamton still around in CyberCity?”

“Oh You’ll See Him Around.” Queen smirked and lifted an eyebrow. “Are You Guys Going To Get: Back Together?”

“NO! Nononononono! Not like that! I just…wanted to see where my, uh, old friend had gotten to after all these years! That’s all, folks!” Tenna was flailing his hands at the thought. No, now he had a plan to escape death, but it all hinged on a backstabbing, betrayal-ridden, rotten–

Queen was still smirking when she got up, even though they had both only sat down a few minutes ago. “OK Eating Time Is Done I’m Taking You Shopping TV Guy.”

“Huh? Oh. But we didn’t eat?” He wasn’t particularly hungry, but it was a weird ‘lunch’ that Tenna had invited himself to. Still, he had gotten valuable information.

“I Can’t Hear You I’ll Be Out Front Waiting In the Car,” Queen called after her exit. Tenna sighed and picked up his things. This could be a great opportunity to get more out of Queen. It would be smart to join her, even if Tenna personally didn’t understand the appeal of shopping.

…

Queen was one tough nut to crack. Usually she prattled on and on about gossip and the latest news, blowing everything wildly out of proportion, of course. Tenna guessed she figured out that he wanted details that she had, which meant she would never tell him.

“If you were a popular and successful businessman, well, businesswoman, where would you be living?” He knew he wasn’t even trying to be subtle at this point, but this plan was the only thing he could think about at the moment.

“Probably In The Trash Lol.” Queen hadn’t even turned to look at him as she perused the shoe options from the blue Addison who was eagerly standing nearby.

“Be serious, Queen!”

“I Am Being Serious TV Guy You Just Don’t Know What You’re Talking About. Oooh These Ones Are Pretty.” Queen picked up a pair of Divorce ShoesTM. “Do You Sell These In Lime Green?” she asked the Addison.

Wait. Didn’t Spamton say something about the Addisons on their last visit? Maybe they knew something!

Tenna pushed Queen aside and faced the blue Addison. “Were you and Spamton friends at any point?”

“There’s no one around here named that. I don't know what you’re talking about. Are there any further questions about the product?” The Addison smiled, but it felt more like a warning smile, not like something that would come from someone with good intentions. But maybe that’s just what customer service did to you.

“Uh Yeah I Asked If These Shoes Come In Lime Green To Match My Acid,” Queen said as she waved at the Addison from where Tenna had pushed her to.

“Of course! I’m sure we have another pair in the back. Let me go get it for you.” The store attendant walked through an ‘employees only’ door and disappeared. Queen turned to Tenna.

“If You Want More Info Maybe Go Ask Some Other Addisons That Aren’t This One He Seems Kinda Mad.” She raised her eyebrows and made a shooing motion with her hands towards the tea shop across the road. “Also You Are Ruining My Cool Shopping Vibes And You Need To Leave Now.”

…

Every Addison seemed to have the same kind of answer.

“Oh! You’re… who are you talking about? Never heard of them.”

“Mr. Tenna? We don’t… talk about him anymore.”

“Aren’t you…? Oh. I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Every time Tenna tried to dig deeper, he hit dirt instead of gold. No one seemed to want to talk about Spamton to a concerning degree. What did he do? Where was he? Tenna went back empty-handed to Queen without a teaspoon of information and found her on a bench smelling cotton candy from the last Addison he hadn’t talked to. The blue woman waved to him as he got closer.

“Hey TV Guy Get Any More Leads?” She handed him the sweet treat in her hands. “I Can’t Actually Eat This So Here Happy Birthday.”

“But you drink acid and eat the CD bagels?” Tenna questioned while he took the cotton candy from her and took a bite. It was sweet and airy, but it wasn’t enough to distract from the failures of the day. He was no closer to a solution, and no closer to finding that mailman. Everyone had been wildly unhelpful and Tenna was about to snap.

“Silly Old Man That’s Different.” Old? He clenched his fist and grew an inch in frustration. Deep breaths. He had to get his emotions under control. The CRT was already trying his best to ignore the comment as he tried to shift his focus. He looked around and… right. The last Addison. Tenna moved over to the pink Addison manning the stand.

“3.99 for cotton candy! Just give me a second.” The Addsion was dressed in a carnival-like outfit with a nametag that read “Article.” He was doing something under the counter, and hadn’t actually seen Tenna yet, despite the TV darkner’s stature. Tenna cleared his throat and ‘Article’ looked up and even opened his eyes in surprise, which didn’t happen often for an Addison. Then the pink advertisement put on his biggest award-selling smile.

“Hey! You’re the gameshow guy! You know, uh, TV Time! Did you come back for another business partner after that other guy quit? It’s been a while, you know! Haven’t seen your broadcasts in a hot minute, but hey! A new ad guy could change that!”

Was this guy… advertising himself to Tenna? Did Tenna want him to shut up for a second? The answer to both was a clear yes, but this TV was going to steer the conversation back to his own interest.

“I’m not looking for a new ad guy, I’m looking for a salesman who goes by the name Spamton G. Spamton.”

Article raised an eyebrow in surprise, but his eyes remained closed this time. “Seriously? You want that guy? Listen, Tenna, can I call you Tenna?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Tenna, that guy is old news. I bet you wouldn’t even recognize him since his little, ah, accident. I tell you what, Tenna, I’ll do the same job as him for only a 5% raise in salary, and I'll get you back in the headlines in no time! I’m a bit of a–”

“I don’t want you, I want him!” Tenna was shouting now. He had already dealt with enough people dancing around his questions; he needed specifics and he needed them now. The candy stand seemed substantially smaller when he slammed his fist down on it, causing the cheap metal cover to wrinkle around his hand. Tenna’s face was flat and displayed only static and a smile that was as forced as the friendliness in his next words. “I know you knew Spamton so just tell me. where. he is.”

Article backed away quickly from his work station. “Whoa! I didn’t know it was like that. I don’t know where he is, at least, not these days! I’m telling the truth! I haven’t seen him in years!” The pink pixelated darkner held up his hands in surrender.

“TV Guy Dear I Heard A Crash Is Everything Ok Over There?” Tenna turned to see Queen in the same spot she was in earlier, holding one of those cellular phones. The cell phone was making faint noises and Tenna could see different colored lights reflecting off of Queen’s visor. She hadn’t even looked up when she said that, but her saying something was enough to make Tenna realize what he’d just done.

The TV switched channels until his nose and friendlier mouth were planted back on his screen, and he lifted his fist off the table. “Ah, I’m so sorry! I must’ve gotten carried away, ha ha.” He looked down at the damage he’d done to the candy stand. Tenna pulled out the only thing he hadn’t left in Queen’s car: his wallet. Unfortunately, it was full of TV World points and not the common currency. “I’d pay for it, but embarrassingly enough, I don’t have any dark dollars on me,” he apologized. Tenna turned to the blue monarch behind him. “Um, Queen, could you…?”

“I’m Not Paying For This Go Find An ATM Or Something There’s Always One Around Here,” Queen said before she went back to the flashing lights and faint noises on her phone. Tenna looked around, found one, and hastily paid Article who was still a few feet away from his candy stand.

“Again, uh, sorry.” Tenna walked back to where Queen was, her phone now playing vertical videos. “Can you take me to the place I’m staying at? I think I’m, uh, done shopping for the day.” Queen gave him a thumbs up without turning her mobile device (did they still call them that?) off. She silently got up, grabbed her shopping bags with her non-occupied hand, and started leaving without checking if Tenna was behind her. It seemed like she did that pretty often. Tenna followed and eventually got into the passenger seat of the car when they reached it. A few stray thoughts flashed through his mind.

Was that pink Addison right? Tenna hadn’t seen any Spamton posters, billboards, or even his name on any products. The last time he had been here, almost all of CyberCity had been plastered with his face or name. And now, there was no trace of him. That… couldn’t be right though. Spamton had his secret. He had his phone. Even without it, Tenna doubted things would go that downhill for the little salesman.

“TV Guy I’m Gonna Need An Address If You Want Me To Take You Somewhere.” Right. They were just sitting in an unmoving car. Tenna grabbed his suitcase and rifled through it to take out his crew’s note, a pen, and a notepad. He wrote down the address, handed it to Queen, and watched as she punched the address into her cellphone. Tenna leaned a bit to the left to see a brightly colored map pop up with written directions at the bottom and a digital arrow to signify where they were. This was a thing?

Tenna pointed to Queen’s phone. “You can do that?” he asked, baffled.

“Yes Are You Living Under A Seastar’s House? This Has Been A Thing For Years.” Queen punctuated her response by stomping on the gas as hard as she could, making the car lurch forward and hit the vehicle in front of it. Then she backed up until she hit the car behind her. After the third time of repeating these two actions, and the fact that she was back to playing videos on her phone, occasionally swiping her finger upwards on the device’s screen, Tenna realized she was doing this on purpose.

“Can we actually get on the road, please? You’re making me nauseous.”

“Ok.” The laptop darkner then expertly pulled into the main road, switched the phone back to displaying the map, and looked towards Tenna. “Pretty Crazy Of You To Start Crashing Out About Your Ex Back There Huh.”

Tenna’s normally white screen turned beet red while he looked out the window on his right side to avoid eye contact. “I wasn’t–I didn’t–That’s not what happened!” he stuttered as he started fidgeting with his tie. Tenna moved his gaze to his feet and his screen returned to its normal color. “It’s not that easy to explain.” It was that easy to explain, Tenna just didn’t want to explain it to Queen.

“Hmm Ok Whatever You Say Man.” Sadly, Queen did not turn her eyes back to the road, though surprisingly, she was driving incredibly well and hadn’t made contact with any cars yet, per Tenna’s request. “So Do You Like Want To—”

“Stop!”

“Huh I Didn’t Finish”

“No, I meant stop as in BRAKE!”

Queen slammed on the brakes, throwing Tenna forward and somehow miraculously coming to a complete stop before hitting any of the cars that were stopped at the light.

“Is this big of a traffic jame normal?”

Queen ignored him, saying “Ok TV Guy I’ll Hold Down The Fort You Go Through That Very Suspicious Alley And Press The Walk Button.” With that, Queen unlocked Tenna’s door and hit an eject button on his seat, which launched him out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

“Queen, I–”

The door quickly closed and clicked into a locked position. Music began playing deafeningly to the point that it was loud even for Tenna, who was out of the car. He turned, and moved at a quick pace into the backstreet passage, hoping to get through it fast.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There were faint footsteps outside. Footsteps. Outside. His. Dumpster. Which only meant…

“LOYAL [customer satisfaction ] ! YOU [came crawling back] TO PORR OL D [number 1 rated salesman 1997] ?! YOU DO CA>RE 1!!” Spamton popped out of his trash bin as fast as he could, but nobody was there. He had sworn he had heard someone. Did they just run away, or was he going crazy again?

“Excuse me?” a voice asked from behind him. Spamton was facing the wrong way, like an idiot. He quickly turned around and was face to face with—

Him.

Him.

Him.

That damn CRT that left him to rot and wither a decade ago. The man who had started it all, with his contracts and sweet lies. Spamton was seething with anger until he realized that Tenna was here. Here. In CyberCity. Was Tenna here for… him? Something inside him took over. Something… that hadn’t surfaced in a while. He stepped towards the tall darkner. His glasses turned to static as he spoke, trying to claw his way into his own voicebox.

“... Ant? You came back…”

Voices suddenly grabbed at his mind, and the world went white. Pain seared through Spamton’s head like a hot iron when the light hit his eyes. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to see it again. The echoes of his benefactor’s voice rang loud and clear.

REMEMBER WHAT YOU ARE NOW.

“No, please don’t! Please don’t! Stop! I don’t want to–” the puppet screamed to no visible person. Then as quickly as the bright light appeared, it switched to darkness, and Spamton blacked out, plastic limbs clattering softly onto the hard concrete.

~~~~~~

What. The hell. Was that.

Tenna was still in shock when he looked at the doll-like figure that had collapsed. This thing had just jumped out of the garbage can, talked in Spamton’s voice, and fell to the floor. Did it know something? Was it dead? Why did it have his voice?

Tenna gingerly picked up the mystery mannequin. Was it even a darkner? It was now his biggest lead to where Spamton was though, and there was further proof still, as he spotted near the dumpster. One of Queen’s posters had been ripped halfway to reveal a Big Shot Autos one underneath. Considering this thing was the only other thing in the area, Tenna could only assume that it was the one who ripped it. Maybe Queen knew what to do, now that it looked like it had been powered off. Tenna made his way through the rest of the short alleyway, hit the walk sign, and waited.

It didn’t take long for Queen to pull up, her music still blasting through the car doors. The passenger side opened, and Tenna got in, still holding the dumpster in habitant.

“Oh Look You Found Him.”

“Found who?”

“Uhh The Salesman Guy You’ve Been Looking For All Afternoon? Like Honestly Kinda Surprised You Aren’t Happier Rn”

“Spamton? No way. This isn’t…” Tenna trailed off. Was it? ‘I bet you wouldn’t even recognize him since his little, ah, accident.’ Was that pink Addsion telling the truth? And Queen had said that she’d… be living in a garbage can if she was in his situation.

“Looks Like The Same Guy To Me Idk What’s You’re Saying Man” Queen started driving at an alarming speed again, but Tenna could tell it was with more care and precision than before, considering she was actually paying attention to the road this time.

He was about to go ballistic with the amount of information his head was taking in right now, but first he had to make sure Spamton was okay. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked as he lifted the ex-business partner up to Queen’s visor.

“He Just Bluescreened It’s Fine Just Wait For His To Reboot In An Hour Or Too,” Queen said professionally. “Are We Going To Start Driving Yet Or Are You Going To Stare Wistfully For A Full Minute Like Last Time?”

“Right, right. Just… take me to the apartment. Please.”

The drive was silent, save for Queen’s music, though it was at a much lower volume now. It only took a short time to arrive at the correct building. Tenna exited the car, thanked Queen for all her help, and took his things with him. He didn’t even notice he was still cradling Spamton’s body in one arm until he reached his door.

The apartment was completely undecorated, and even a little dusty. How long had it been since Elnina’s friend lived here? Setting his things and the mailman down on the couch, the CRT explored for a small amount of time while waiting for Spamton to reboot and wake up. Luckily, he had spied another ATM on his way up to the fifth floor, meaning that he could still use his points somehow. Tenna was briefly grateful for all the CyberCity darkners that visited TV World at some point, causing a need for the machines.

There were two bedrooms, which was good. One full bed and one king sized. Of course, he’d give the smaller one to Spamton, him… matching its size, and all. Furthermore, there was one bathroom, and a kitchenette by the main room. All in all, this place was really big for a free month-long stay. After figuring out where to put his things, changing into pajamas, and getting a glass of water, all he had to do was wait on the couch for a certain someone to wake.

He’d already waited years in unplugged purgatory for nothing to happen. Why couldn’t he donate a few more minutes for a chance at redemption? For this, he had all the time in the world.

Chapter Text

The phone was ringing. Its noise was ceaselessly bouncing from wall to wall when Spamton moved to pick it up. He felt… taller. Looking down, he could see that he was wearing a red suit and bright… yellow… bowtie…

No.

No.

Nononononononono NOT this dream again.

He tried backing away, but it made the scene worse. Everything was bent at the wrong angles, the stool holding the black rotary phone didn’t even look like it should be able to stand. The whole back half of the room where Tenna and his contract should have been was broken off, leaving only a dark void in its place. Spamton stepped towards the phone. There was only one way to end this dream in particular.

He picked up the receiver and held it loosely in his hand. His body was all pixels and code still. The last moment that he was all himself.

Garbage noise came through the phone. The dream was different from reality, because Spamton could still remember what was said to him that night as clearly as ever. But he didn’t have the chance to do anything after that.

3

2

1

Rebooting Sequence Complete. Powering On In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

Spamton woke up sitting on a couch he didn’t recognize, covered in a black coat jacket he did put on, in an apartment he also didn’t recognize. It wasn’t odd that he blacked out and was in a different place, it was odd that the different place was so… nice. Not big-shot nice, but Spamton’s standards had drastically lowered since then. Usually he ended up in a different dumpster or was left for dead in the middle of the road, but this place was actually furnished. Well, barely furnished. This living room had a couch, a single armchair, glass doors leading to a small balcony, and even a kitchenette in the back.

The question of how he got there was more pressing. His second examination of the room answered that question. A familiar TV-shaped silhouette could be seen through the glass doors. Had Tenna taken him to this place? If he had, Spamton bet it was to get at his secret. That’s what had started this whole thing in the first place.

The little doll hopped off the couch and made his way to the sliding doors. He opened them, and immediately noticed the balcony railing was insufferably high. Spamton looked up to see that Tenna was holding a pack of cigarettes, but not actually smoking any. He was wearing pink and white polka-dot pajamas, and was at least half his normal TV World height, coming to what Spamton would guess was about eight or nine feet. He seemed to be lost enough in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed Spamton next to him. Typical. The only time people noticed him was to throw garbage at him or yell “get out of their trash bin!” Whatever.

“PaSS M3 A [Smokin’ Hot Singles In Your] WIL ^L YOU,, [Cathode]?"

“A what?” Tenna didn’t even turn to look at him. Hurtful. Wasn’t this the guy who had supposedly brought Spamton back to his apartment?

“A [80-90% of smokers get lung cancer. Will you stop] .”

“Oh. A cigarette. Sure, I’m not using them anyways.” Tenna bent down to hand Spamton the small cardboard box, then stopped. Then blinked. Then yelped and threw the box at the puppet. The pack of cigarettes bounced harmlessly off of Spamton while he stood there with an annoyed expression, tapping his foot impatiently.

“You’re awake. You’re awake!!” The TV darkner was leaning back on the opposite side of the railing, with both hands holding it, attempting to brace himself from the shock. “How are you feeling? You sort of… bugged out in that alleyway.”

“Y0U THrEW A [pak] OF CIGARE/TTES AT [Me, myself, and I]..”

“Sorry about that,” Tenna said sheepishly. “I meant besides what I just did.”

Spamton flexed his fingers and wiggled his arms a bit. He felt like the day he got turned into this thing, which was to say, not good. But it was a normal amount of not good, compared to when he got his arm snapped off. Or when he broke his foot and had to find a replacement. Or when his ring finger cracked open. Or when

“I FEEL [I’m fine.].”

Tenna stood up straight and bent down again, his head hovering a few feet above Spamton’s.

“You’re sure you’re fine? 100%? You’re raring to go?”

What was this guy on? Suddenly he cares about everything after leaving Spamton to decay and die in a dumpster ten years ago. The world’s a strange place indeed.

“YES. SURE. I’’ M [Greater deals than ever!].”

Tenna grinned the way he did when he was about to fire someone. This couldn’t be good.

“That’s great! Awesome! Amazing, in fact. That means I can do this!” The CRT suddenly seized the collar of his ex-business partner’s jacket, lifted him up, and dangled him over the railing. Uh oh. Spamton was right. This was definitely not good. The apartment was at least four or five floors up, and a fall from the balcony could mean a lot of bad things for him, maybe even decommissioning.

“HEY He-Y HEY T-T-T[rash Heap]!! PUT M3e DO .>WN R1GHT ! NOW!”

Tenna leaned in close enough for the Spamton to see the fangs that he didn’t file down before he got to CyberCity. It was a lot harder to be intimidated by a guy wearing polka-dot pajamas, but it worked in that guy’s favor when he was over double your own size.

“You know, there’s a lot of evidence pointing you out to be Spamton G. Spamton. The famous business man. Queen even said it herself. But I’m not convinced. So!” He snapped with his free hand. “I’m going to hold a little test. If you answer my three questions correctly, I’ll believe you.”

“WHAT ARE Y; oU, [[The Puzzler Makes His Appearance]] !?/”

“Is that a yes?”

Was there even anything Spamton could gain from telling Tenna he was himself? The only thing he could do would be get pity points for how awful his life had been so far. He could make Tenna feel bad about all those years apart, being left alone in the garbage. He might even be able to guilt Tenna into helping him get the… Nevermind, winning this quiz would be a great idea!

“YEsS.”

“All right folks, looks like we have an exclusive episode on our hands today! So glad to have another STAR contestant!” The TV straightened his spine. “Question number one: what was the very first commercial done by Spamton G. Spamton that was aired through TV Time?”

The very first commercial? It was the tires, no, the juice. That promotion had been a mess, literally. Everything had spilled, and they had to refilm it at least five times. It was the first actual infomercial and performance that he ever did. Tenna had loved to tease him about it and…

Stop thinking about the past

Stay in the now

“ITt WAS [[Turn up the ! Turn up the !]] JU>ICE. TH E JUICE.”

Tenna put his hand loosely over his mouth and looked away. He was muttering to himself about how else Spamton would’ve known it otherwise. Spamton even said the first version of the commercial, before they reshot it for the second promotion three months later.

“[Cathode] ?”

The darkner snapped back to attention. “Yes, that’s… that’s correct.” He cleared his throat. “Yes! That’s RIGHT! Congratulations, you get to move on to the next question!” Tenna grinned. He was having way too much fun with this. “Ahem! Question number two: when did Spamton G. Spamton receive his matching golden email pin?”

Really? These questions were laughably easy.

“YOU ‘’RE [[Happie Birthday To ]].”

His partner had given him the pin not on Spamton’s birthday, but his own. It had been a weird exchange that included Tenna feeling bad about forgetting Spamton’s birthday the year prior.

The CRT raised an “eyebrow.” Yes, yes! Be skeptical. Believe! It’s me! Feel awful like the trash you are that you left me!

“Okay. O-Kay! Fantastic answer! You are correct-o-mundo!” The arm that was holding Spamton was getting shaky and making him nervous. “Final question! This one’s a doozy, folks! Are you ready?”

“[Hop to] , I:T [BoobTube].”

“You heard the man, folks, right here! The last question is…” Tenna’s screen went dark, leaving only static and a grin with no good intentions behind it. His voice dropped the showman act and was just louder than a whisper.

“Why did you leave?”

Shit.

Shitshitshit WHY did he ask that? Spamton knew he couldn’t tell the truth even if he wanted to, unless he wanted a repeat of what happened in the alleyway the day before. Maybe it wasn’t worth it to convince Tenna that he was himself. Was it too late to bail? To run away and never look back? Would he survive the fall if Tenna decided to drop him?

Spamton raised his hands and feigned defeat. “YO u GOT M>e [[Aunt]] .. I’’M N0T [[Number 1 rated Salesman 1997]]. PL 3ASE LETT mE G(O) [Buy now!].” He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact of the concrete on his body.

But he realized that the darkner had moved him from over the sidewalk to the floor of the balcony. Really fast. In a throwing motion. The puppet’s little plastic body hit the ground, and his left arm joint popped out.

“Nice try! I’ve confirmed who you are now! You can’t lie to me anymore!” Tenna was yelling wildly now, but at least his nose and bright glow were back. Spamton snatched up his arm before checking his glasses. Miraculously, they didn’t have a scratch on them, but his attention was drawn back to Tenna when the TV started… shrinking?

“Was I that bad of a partner…? Was I, was I the reason you left?” Tenna’s voice had dropped back to a whisper and tears were leaking out of the bottom of his screen. “You won’t even tell me why you leave, and you come back all… distorted, and-and weird.” Tenna was smaller than Spamton now, but showed no signs of stopping the shrinkage. “You don’t, snff, look like you, or sound like you. You don’t even act like you! And-and,and I, and I don’t even know what, know what to…”

Tenna trailed off into full on sobbing while Spamton slowly got up and moved back into the apartment. He had been around for some low points in his partner’s career, but this was the worst he’d seen. Not by too much, but still, the worst. He held his gaze on the rapidly shrinking darkner. He told himself this was fair. That this is what Tenna deserved, leaving Spamton for dead. This was his well-earned punishment for his treatment of his own business partner. He even just dislodged Spamton’s arm thirty seconds ago, for the angel’s sake! He gave one last look back at the CRT until he had closed the door behind him.

Before running back outside carrying a glass of water. Sure, Spamton was crude and mean, but he wasn’t heartless. It helped that Tenna wasn’t banned from Queen’s mansion (specifically her basement), but that fun little fact was in no way, shape, or form, affecting Spamton’s decision to comfort the tiny darkner. At all. Not a bit.

“[Rise and shine] ! [Cathode] I BR >OuGHT YOU; [Kool and Refreshing] !!!”

Tenna sniffled and blew his nose with a small handkerchief that he had for some reason. “Spamton? I-I-I’m sor-so-sorry about your arm. I-I th-thought you, thought you left.” The again of that phrase hung in the air, unspoken.

“YE aH ,, YEAH [whatevs]. PULL [[yourshelf]] TTttOGETHER !!” Spamton used his remaining hand to dump the glass of water on Tenna’s head. Only it didn’t actually hit him, because he had bolted to the right to avoid it.

“What the hell, mailman!? You know what happens when my head gets wet!” Self-pity quickly flipped to anger as the TV grew, but only about a foot taller than the other balcony occupant now.

Spamton chuckled to himself before pouring the last drops that clung to the cup into his own mouth. He had hoped that Tenna would at least corrode or burn out a little bit as payback for the arm thing, but one could only dream. “JUST [chexing] YO;UR REF L3XeS !! HAEHEAHAHAHEAHAEH.”

“Nevermind what I said earlier. You do act the same, with those stupid ‘pranks.’” Tenna was back to his normal height now. “Goodnight, Spamton,” he huffed. “You get the empty room, but now I’m considering revoking it. Oh, and take a shower or something before you get in bed. I don’t want to have to explain the smell to Elnina’s friend." He turned to the door and left the balcony.

“[[Goodnight, Moon.]] .” Spamton called after him. He could see Tenna walking to one of the bedrooms through the glass doors. Spamton sat there for a second, then remembered his arm that he had put on the couch inside. He made sure to close the door behind him before scrambling to the sofa.

The break was incredibly clean. So clean, in fact, that it wasn’t a break. The ball joint of Spamton’s arm had just popped out completely. Unfortunately, it was hard to pop back in, and it hurt. If he didn’t have enough reason to hate Tenna before, he had now. Thankfully, the arm was back in after a few good tries, but it hung loosely, like it would fall off any second. However, it was the best he could do, given the circumstances, and he had to move on from it. Now to find that bathroom.

One shower later, and Spamton was thinking about the last time he actually felt clean. Had it been… the day of his eviction? Ten whole years living in grime and dirt, huh. With all the stains and spots washed away, he could see how banged up his body was. The fake skin didn’t heal like flesh, and the little angels Spamton learned he could make only helped with the pain. No, the surface of the plastic had to be repeatedly hit and bent back into shape if he still wanted to look humanoid-presenting. There were scratches and bumps everywhere, from his shoulders to the crinkle above his ankle-joint. Visions of what happened on eviction day flashed through his headband he tore his eyes away from his own form.

When he got out of the bathroom, Spamton found that there were blue pajamas on the bed in his size. They didn’t have a silly pattern like Tenna’s, but they were still good quality, and hell, they were soft. Was he going to have things again? Was he going to have nice things again? As he put on the little pieces of cloth, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

If you go through with this plan, you won’t even need things. You can have all the freedom you want.

Right. Yes. He needed to get on Tenna’s good side, because if he was there, he was in the basement. And if he was in the basement, he was free. But… getting back to where they were in order to ask Tenna seemed time consuming. Maybe all he needed was a deal. Just one last deal to get him where he needed to go. Spamton crawled into bed, and powered off for the night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tenna couldn’t sleep. Not literally, the CRT could switch to ‘sleep mode’ like any normal electronic darkner, but all the thoughts swarming in his head made him not want to. Everything that had happened that night had confirmed that the doll was his old business partner, but even then, he still couldn’t believe it. Spamton had been so proud of everything he did. His work was flawless. How did it come to this? How long has he been… plastic? Tenna should have come back years earlier. He should’ve ran out after Spamton instead of checking that stupid phone. If he just didn’t get jealous, all of this could’ve been avoided. But he had been selfish, and maybe he still was, with thoughts of getting the little mailman’s secret out of him flitting by.

What was Spamton’s deal, anyways? He should be grateful that Tenna brought him back to the apartment instead of letting him sleep on old cans and moldy food. So what if he had threatened the mailman’s livelihood and broke his arm?

Maybe Tenna could take Spamton back to TV World if Toriel opted out of trashing him. The email darkner wouldn’t have to live in the trash anymore, and Tenna could have someone to talk to that wasn’t Mike. Was he being too optimistic? He’d need that secret either way.

What was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he been more sorry about literally taking off Spamton’s arm? He almost killed him, the man who he had spent years growing a relationship with. He was a horrible person who deserved getting thrown out by Toriel.

Opposing thoughts rolled back and forth in Tenna’s head until he finally decided to just power off, and deal with it in the morning.

…

Tenna got up later than usual. The previous day had been such a whirlwind; he could barely remember what happened. Tenna walked to the kitchen to see if there was anything to be had, and unsurprisingly, there was almost nothing. Two scoops of instant coffee left in a generic brand tub, and a single packet of rain-flavored tea. Guess he needed to go shopping if he was here for a whole month. He filled a kettle with water. put it on one of the stove burners, and readied two mugs for when the water was boiled.

It wasn’t long before Spamton shuffled onto the scene, wearing the little blue pajamas Tenna left on his bed. They weren’t originally little, Tenna had had to put them on, shrink to a guesstimate of Spamton's size, then take them off, but it looked like he eyeballed it pretty well. The bottoms were looking more like pants than shorts, so he had been wrong there, but you can’t win ‘em all.

The more notable thing about his small ex-partner was that he was holding his left arm in his right hand. Also, the shoulder shape was a bit more bumped and out of place, like a joint too big had been forced into it for a time. Tenna had forgotten that it was his doing and felt bad enough to shrink a few inches, but now wasn’t the time for self-pity.

“Good morning, Spamton! How’s the–”

“THeE [armed and ready!] WAS dOI >NG [No! It’s too much!] BETTER B3FORe YOU [What a rip-off!] . [Aye, aye, captain!] TRIED TWO [[Fix all your problems with] IT,, BUT .”

“Oh. Well, I, uh, I’m…” Tenna hesitated. Was ‘sorry’ enough? The arm was out either way, and a second apology wasn’t doing anything. “I’m helping you put it back in. Stand still!”

“WHAT !1!! [stop it]! I DoN “T NE3D YORR [[Reapairs and Maintenance]] !!/!” Spamton tried to back away but Tenna had already lunged for him and managed to grab him in one hand. The mailman struggled for a few seconds, but eventually gave up and went completely slack, which may have just made things harder. Tenna picked up the arm, rolled up Spamton’s sleeve, and examined the damage.

The ball joint of the arm had popped out of its socket. It was an easy enough fix, if you had someone else doing it. Tenna had seen all the times Kris broke Asriel’s or their own toys to know how this would work. All he had to do was apply the right amount of pressure at the right points and with a soft polp, the arm was back in its rightful place.

Tenna unrolled the pajama sleeve and brought up his other hand to give the email a better seat. “See? Not so hard!” Not to mention this was the first time in five years that they had actually made semi-skin to semi-skin contact, but still, everything felt wrong. Spamton had no heartbeat, no breath in his lungs. He was simply a fake, masquerading as a thing filled with life, covering it up with big words and aggressive actions.

They both stood like that for a second, just wondering what had happened to the other.

Then the kettle started to whistle, and Spamton said “[enuff]!! [[Now’s your chance to]] PUTt ME DOW>% N!!! !”

Tenna quickly complied, returning Spamton to where he had picked him up. The doll wriggled his arm for a while until he was satisfied that it would stay in this time. Tenna moved to grab the kettle and poured the hot water equally into the prepared mugs. He grabbed the handles and turned to Spamton who was now sitting in the lone armchair.

“Tea or coffee? They aren’t super flavorful, but there wasn’t a lot to work with, so, what can you do?” The mailman eyed him suspiciously to the point that Tenna added “They aren’t poisoned, hahah.”

“YOU ‘’R LEtT1NG Me3 [[Make your choice]]/?”

Tenna laughed nervously. “Of course! You’re the guest here after all! Well, I suppose both of us are the guest, but you’re the guest’s guest! How about that?” Spamton was silent again for a moment.

“[Coffee for ?] ..”

“Alrighty then! One coffee coming up!” Tenna strolled on by and handed over the mug with the coffee in it. Spamton held onto it for a second and eyed the TV like he was going to suddenly snatch it from him. Then he took a sip and immediately spat it back out.

“I [March, April, May] H4vE BE AN [livin’] IN A GODDAMN GARBAGE CAN [[Trash Heap]] ,,, BUT [eye] STIL>/L HAVE [stand]ArDS !!” He splashed the contents of the mug onto Tenna’s lower body.

“Are you kidding me?! You can’t act like a normal person for a single second?!” Tenna wrung the bottom of his pajama shirt out before running to put down his own mug and grab the hand towel by the sink to mop up the mess on the hardwood floor.

Great. He tries to be nice and this is what happens? What was he doing wrong? This was the second time something like this had happened in less than a day. Maybe Spamton was a lost cause. Tenna sighed. But he was >Tenna’s lost cause, the one who had asked if he came back, and come hell or high water, he was going to do his best to help him. He felt like he could still reach the real Spamton that was poking through the cracks of this fake one, the one who called out to him in that alleyway.

After the mess was cleaned and he had changed into new clothes, he found Spamton still sitting in the armchair, though he wasn’t doing anything, just staring. This might be a chance to get some results. Tenna moved to the couch and sat down.

“You never answered my question, you know. Why did you leave?”

“I DIDn; T [mean] TOO.”

That was maddeningly cryptic. Spamton had clearly run out of the room himself. It wasn’t like he was kidnapped or something, so what did he mean? Or was he trying to blame someone else?

“But did you want to?”

The mannequin paused and thought for a second.

“N O. I WAN<;TED TO $STtAY.”

“But you didn’t answer my calls. All those hours on that damn phone, and you still didn’t answer. my calls.”

At that, Spamton started to laugh maniacally. “EAHEHAHEHAHE !! CALLs?/? FR0*M [[Yours Truly]] !?? YOUR [stabbing] my [heart shaped object] R!1GHT NOW., [[Pleese Stop]]. I [never, ever, ever!] GOT ANY [Ring, ring!] FROM YUOU,; [Trash Heap] !!”

“Don’t lie just to make yourself feel better. I called you daily for a week! Weekly for a month! You never picked up, not a single time! You “didn’t want to leave”? Maybe you should’ve told me that! I would’ve brought you back home, but that prideful, little, ego-filled head of yours can’t even admit when you make a MISTAKE!” Tenna was breathing hard now. He was learning that this guy was such a thorn in his side that he could get him riled up over anything.

As usual, Spamton was quiet again. Always the silence, never the answers.

“YOU [actully] C4LL LE};D?” There was this twinge of hope in his voice that made Tenna feel bad all over again. Ugh. This “vacation” was going to be a mess if every day was a roller coaster of emotions like today.

“[[eye]] LefT BE C4US,E . BE C4US,E . BE C4US,E . BE C4US,E . BE C4US,E .” Spamton was repeating his message and sharply slapped the side of his head to stop from replaying. “BE C4US,E .”

His glasses went static again.

“[[Hyperlink Blocked]].”

Then his glasses went dark, and his body went limp.

Chapter Text

“Spamton? Hey!” Tenna rushed from the couch to the armchair though it was only a few feet away. He shook the puppet once, then paused. He had… what did Queen call it? “bluescreen”ed again. Which gave Tenna two hours. Two hours to think about their conversation without getting answers. No. It didn’t matter. What mattered at this point was…

Wait. What was the goal anymore? It had only been a single day since arriving in CyberCity and so much had happened. He knew he still wanted the secret, but he also wanted to help Spamton. Was there a way he could do both? There was no chance in hell he’d get Spamton’s secret willingly, but without it, Tenna would be in the dumpster in a month. And he couldn’t help Spamton without knowing what happened though, so those answers did matter.There were too many things to do and everything was getting complicated. What had he gotten himself into?

Tenna got up and walked to his room to get dressed for the day. Might as well do something while waiting for Spamton to wake up. The suit was nice, but the whole red coat was for work days. He still liked to have flair, be a little dressed up though, so Tenna wore the dress shirt, tie, and belt. He exchanged the pants and shoes for something more comfortable, it was a vacation after all. A watch was necessary today too, if he wanted to time two hours.

He made sure that Spamton was still out before going into the other bedroom. Maybe he had brought clues with him? Unfortunately, a quick search showed that Spamton had brought nothing but the glasses he wore and the raggedy, ripped clothing on his back, the latter he found on the floor. Well, there were some bits of trash like a few old bowties and small vials of… something in the jacket pockets, but that could hardly count as anything. The jacket itself was similar to the ones Tenna had seen the Addisons wearing, but it was more tattered, stained, and patched together. How long had it been since Spamton had had a change of clothing? Did he own anything that wasn’t garbage?

Tenna kept looking, but it was hopeless. The only things left in this room or the communal bathroom were some near-empty soap bottles. He would get nothing until Spamton was conscious again, and there was diddly-squat to do around the apartment. He couldn’t leave, either, unless he wanted to risk Spamton waking up before he got back. All he could do was sit around and wait.

Thaumpth Thaump

Someone was at the door. He could see Queen though the peephole, and she looked like she was talking to someone. And she was holding a bottle of acid? Tenna opened the door to peek out into the hall.

“Hello? Queen, what are you doing here?”

“Oh Just A Routine Inspection. You Don’t Mind If I Look Around Right TV Guy?”

“What?”

“That Means Yes Right?”

“Means yes?”

“He Said Yes Get Over Here!” Two Swatchlings from the end of the hall darted over, wrenched open the door from his hands, and pushed Tenna aside. They immediately began to look under things, open cabinets, and misplace cushions.

“What! What is this!? Stop!” Tenna bolted from the door to the main room as one of the Swatchlings reached for Spamton’s unconscious body, and knocked them out of the way. He quickly scooped up the doll before any of the intruders could touch him. Both ignored his actions and each ran to a bedroom and locked the doors. Tenna tried to follow the one that went into his own room, but they left him pounding his free fist on the door.

“That’s my stuff in there! Don’t touch any of it!” The door and lock remained unaffected by his words, so he redirected his frustration and confusion at Queen who was now standing by the kitchenette.

“What the heck is going on here?” He rearranged the couch cushions before placing Spamton down before glancing at what she was holding. “And what is that?”

Queen placed the bottle of acid on the counter. “Housewarming Gift. It Will Literally Warm The Inside Of Your House Because It Is Radioactive.”

“That doesn’t explain the rest of–” Tenna gestured around him. “Of this! What are you doing?”

“Oh Lol I Remembered That Your Ex Took Something On His Way Out And I Needed It Not In His Grubby Hands.” She moved towards the cushionless armchair and sat down on it. “I Thought That He Might Have Brought It Here And Also Wanted To See Where You Were Staying.”

“Oh. What was it?”

“So Sorry But That’s Classified.” Queen picked up the mug that Spamton had used to douse him in coffee off the chair’s armrest. Had he forgotten to pick it up? This was probably one of the most unpresentable places in all of CyberCity, besides the trash cans. “What’s Thi–”

“SORRY, I forgot to clean up! I didn’t know we would have guests!” Tenna interrupted frantically. Sure, Queen had busted in uninvited, but he couldn’t let her think he lived unprofessionally and like a slob! He snatched the cup out of Queen’s hand and made the brisk walk over to the kitchenette sink before washing it and placing it in the dishwasher. After he dried his hands, he turned back to Queen.

“You know, you could’ve just asked to come over.”

“Yeah But This Way I Get To Do Two (2) Things At A Time.” She crossed her legs and propped her hands up on her knee. “So Watch Any Good Movies Lately? Also Why Is He Doing That?” Queen pointed to Spamton’s body on the far side of the couch.

“I don’t actually know. He was talking fine, and then he just… stopped. And “bluescreen”ed again.” He paused, unsure. “That’s what you called it yesterday, right?”

“Huh That’s Weird. Did He Tell You About How He Got Evicted Yet?” Her voice was giddy, like she was sharing school gossip and not the downfall of a man Tenna used to know. Behind her, one of the Swatchlings exited Spamton’s room and entered the bathroom before locking that door, too.

“He got evicted?!” Tenna’s hand slipped on the counter he was leaning on in shock, and he almost fell.

“Oh Yeah Did I Not Mention That?” Queen lifted a hand to cover her mouth as she laughed regally and continued. “He Also Tried To Sneak Back In A Bunch. Like 206.5 Times A Bunch. He Thought He Could Disguise As Swatch Lmao.”

Tenna looked over at the couch. It made sense that Spamton had gotten evicted, otherwise why else would he be sleeping in a dumpster? But sneaking back into the mansion? Impersonating someone they both knew somewhat well? What kind of things did Spamton do while Tenna was gone?

“He’s Kinda the Reason I Banned Darkners From Living In The Mansion. It Was Too Hard To Deal With One Of Him So Like What Would Happen If We Let More People Live There?” The Swatchling that went into Tenna’s room came outside with the one in the bathroom leaving shortly after. They both went and stood by the front door, waiting for Queen to finish. “Actually We Haven’t Seen Him At The Mansion Recently Lmao Thought He Died.” She got up from the chair.

“Wait! When did he–”

“We Can Chat Later,” she said as she waved off his words. The two Swatchlings leaned in one at a time to tell Queen their findings, Tenna assumed.

“But–”

“This Use Is Currently Offline.” She walked out the door, followed by the Swatchlings, and it slammed behind her.

…

At least he had gotten some information. Spamton had been evicted and had then made it everyone else’s problem too, but that was all he expected from the salesman. He looked at his watch. Had it only been an hour since Spamton passed out? There was nothing else Tenna could think of doing. He could clean up the mess Queen left behind, but that wouldn’t take long. The Swatchlings had only moved things, and there really only were things in his own room. And there would still be time to kill, but maybe he could…

He looked back to Spamton, still wearing the pajamas Tenna had given him.

Yes, this would be enough to occupy himself for a while.

…

Tenna was nervously standing over the unconscious darkner. Had he timed things wrong? What if Spamton never woke up?

Rebooting Sequence Complete. Powering On In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

Spamton’s glasses flickered back to pink and yellow and raised his head.

“WH4T Ar3 [you, you, you!] DOi!NG [[Idiot Box]]?! NEVAR SE,> EN A [guy] [Passing out?] ADN [[Wakey, Wakey!]] ?!” He tried to get up and stumbled.

“Whoa! You just woke up. Try to take it slow.” Tenna knelt to be eye-level with Spamton. Was his voice worse than two hours ago? Queen had said reboots were supposed to fix him, but it didn’t seem like this one did anything but amp up the ads and interruptions. Tenna put out his arm to try to help him, but Spamton ignored it and held onto the armrest instead. The mailman took a shuddering breath, and sat down again, but he seemed more stable now.

“Are you going to tell me why you left yet? You’ve been egging me on for a while now, hah.”

Spamton gave him a blank stare. “I. I. I. I. I. I.” His voice box was doing that thing again where it skipped and repeated like a record player. He hit the back of his head again to make it stop, and Tenna could hear something rattle around inside it.

“I C4n;/> ;%3?*--” He slapped his head again. Tenna wished he’d stop doing that.

“I. [Recycle your cans!]. N0 Tttttt. [Aye] CAn’’T . >”

“Nothing? Nothing at all? You can’t try?”

Spamton opened his puppet-like jaw slightly, but the only thing that was audible was
“[Hyperlink Blocked]”

Tenna’s hand found its way to the armrest and started tapping frenziedly. How was he supposed to put together this whole puzzle when the person with the picture pieces couldn’t give them to him? All he had right now were the ones that were all the same shape and color. Crap. Maybe it was just this one thing?

“Can you tell me what happened? Physically, I mean. You look… different. You’re a whole foot shorter anyhow, and you weren’t this, uh, plastic last time.”

“[Hyperlink Blocked].”

“Is there anything you can tell me about this five-year gap in our lives? Anything at all?” Spamton looked confused for a second. Had Tenna said something wrong? He took his hand off the armrest and scooted back a few inches. The salesman was still silent, or maybe he couldn’t speak. Tenna added threatening Spamton’s life about something that he literally couldn’t do onto the list of things to feel bad about. Maybe if other people could talk about the things it made them safe?

“Queen told me you got evicted from the mansion. How long have you–”

Spamton immediately stood up on the couch. “YUOU [[chitted and chatted]] W!1>:ITH [Queen of Spades] TOoD4Y ?!”

“Calm down! She just popped in and searched the apartment.” Saying it out loud made what had just transpired an hour ago seem surreal. Time was not wasted in this place, at least for Tenna, it wasn’t.

“SH3 W@?,,< ;/0’%&--” Spamton shook his head vigorously instead of hitting it, which almost looked worse. “sHE WA$s [Here Now!] ?!?!”

“Listen, I didn’t let them search you, okay? But they did go into all the rooms, search under the cushions, and dig into my suitcase. But! Queen brought a bottle of acid! I know it was your favorite, so I…” Tenna trailed off as he looked toward what Spamton’s now-visible pupils were resting on, which was the bottle. “I’ll, uh, get some for us.”

He got up, grabbed the bottle and two water glasses, (the pantries had no special cups for alcohol) and returned to the couch where Spamton was. The little darkner suddenly yanked the bottle out of Tenna's grip before hopping off the couch and rushing over to the balcony.

“What the heck are you doing now, mailman?!” Tenna scrambled after him, but for his height, Spamton was surprisingly swift. He only just managed to get a second foot on the balcony floor before he saw the puppet launch the bottle off of the railing, shouting:

“N0 moRE [[Espionage]] !!! TH1;> S IS 2O2X [not] [1984]!!” They both looked over the railing to see the bottle thankfully shatter on an empty sidewalk below instead of bean some poor civilian in the head.

“What was that for?!” He should have expected this. The new Spamton loved to throw things, especially in destructive ways. Tenna also ignored that the mailman had said the wrong year, chalking it up to a glitch or mistake in his speech.

“SH3;;S [All eyes are watching] mEE !!! 1 TO0k. TO0k. TO0k. TO0k. iTT FROME H ER ADN N:<>OW SHE’’S [Smile for the camera] .” He rushed back inside and stood on the couch. Guess he liked having eye-to-eye conversations more. Tenna went back in as well, and plopped on the floor where he was kneeling earlier, but with a sort of frustration this time.

“You sound insane! Queen is not putting cameras in our apartment through a bottle of liquor. At some point we’d empty it and it would get thrown out. Trashed. It wouldn’t… be used anymore.” He was still thinking about the one-month deadline. Anyone would, right? If someone told you there was a good chance you’ll be abandoned at a landfill in a month, you would be thinking about it constantly.

Tenna sighed. “Anyways, you didn’t react like this the last time I brought up Queen, so what’s going on? I haven’t heard about this ‘mystery item’ that you stole until now, so why are you all worried all of a sudden?”

“[I’m fine] !!!! IM N0t [[don’t worry]]!!!” He said that, but Spamton was visibly scanning the main room for secret spies and cameras from his perch on the couch. His head and assumed gaze (it was hard to tell because the glasses he wore were almost completely opaque) finally landed back on Tenna's screen.

“What did you even take?”

“[none] OF Y0U “RE [It’s just good business].” It was probably the name of some new-fangled tech that Spamton had stolen on one of his two hundred and whatever break ins. Something expensive that Queen wanted back. Why was it relevant now, though? Had the reboot reminded Spamton of something, or was it like being unplugged for Tenna? Did he get dreams when he bluescreened?

“So you can tell me this time, you’re just not choosing too,” Tenna mused.

“[[Aisle]] T3eLL YO>;/U IF [You! Yes, you!] dO ME [a] [[Solid, liquid, gas]] ..”

“You’re asking me for a favor?”

Spamton nodded excitedly.

“How far are we going with this? You aren’t going to ask me to blow something up, right?”

“JjjjUST A [Itsy Bitsy] FAV.*;>?% $*!&/!! [[Lemin Squeezy]] !!!” No, his voice was 110% worse now. Tenna wanted to ask about it, but Spamton himself was ignoring it, and he hadn’t even corrected himself this time.

“Wh4T DOo YU<”:/? OU SAYe, [Cathode]?!”

“Just a small favor?” What could Spamton possibly ask for that was small? Tenna’s word meant a lot to him, but he didn’t live by it like Spamton did. Like Spamton used to. He could always just say no if it was too much to ask. Plus, it couldn’t be as bad as an impending doom of sorrow and loneliness, right?

“Deal.” he extended his hand and Spamton shook it before, to Tenna’s intrigue and horror, pulling down the bottom portion of his hinged jaw, reaching down, and pulling a cartoony yellow key out.

“[KeyGen] .. ITt [[open and shut]]S TH3 BASE MENT [inside] QU3EeN ;;S MANSION.” He grinned and proudly displayed it to Tenna, holding it out for him to see better. Tenna raised an “eyebrow.”

’“And why do you need this?”

Spamton pointed at him. “IM’ [cash] IN MYe FAV OR NOW. Y0OU 4RE GOinG T2O [Get it hot!] ME 1iN THErE !!”

“You want me. To sneak you into Queen’s Basement.” Spamton nodded and nodded again. “Are you out of your mind?! She told me you were banned, and for good reasons! I am not going to help you skitter around somewhere you’re not supposed to be! No!” He started to get up from his spot, but the salesman waved his non-key-holding hand in protest.

“WA1T!!! [Something’s in the ] BASEmENTT THAT [[eye]] NE3D !! I NEEd T0 B”:/E [Big] AGA IN.”

Again? He would… be how he used to be. Was this a solution? A way out for Tenna’s old partner? They’d both be better for it. Spamton may be more willing to part with information if he was going to be more stable.

Tenna sat back down and looked Spamton in… well, not the eyes, but the glasses. “Are you saying you’d be fixed? Back to the way you were?”

“[[Bigger and better!]] !!!”

“And that’s it, right? I get you in, you get fixed and we go home?”

“I’’’LL EV3N [toss] IN S0ME [[Extra Frogiveness]] FOUR YOU [Ray Tubes]!! BUT wE H4vE TOO GET [Going, going, gone!] NOW.”

“Are you going to be able to tell me what happened after we do all this?”

“I’LL B3 [abe]LE TO D0 ANyTH!>;*( >?!@#*;%;--” Spamton started glitching again and raised his fist, but Tenna quickly grabbed it before it made impact with his head.

“Don’t want you breaking before we get you all fixed up, now would we?” The mailman stared back at him, voice box still bugging out for a few seconds until it went silent. Tenna hastily released the other darkner’s hand and nervously glanced around the empty room until he saw what he had done while waiting for Spamton to wake up. “I do have a little surprise for you, you know.”

“THERe;S [no] TIMe !!!”

“I just want you to see this real quick!” In a jiffy, Tenna got up and grabbed the small pile of clothes on the armchair and handed them to Spamton. “Your proportions are a little different than mine, so shrinking down didn’t fix everything, but I think I got pretty close!”

It was one of Tenna’s spare suit sets, with brown pants instead of black, silly shoes included. The sleeves and pant legs were too long, but Tenna assumed that Spamton could just roll them up.

“There haven’t been any bowties around since you left, sorry. And I didn’t bring white pants or your shoes because I, uh, kind of didn’t pack myself, and I didn’t know we’d even get this far. And I didn't know you would be here.” Spamton stared blankly at what he was holding. The silence was making Tenna uncomfortable.

“It was going to be a gift for when you apologized for everything and admitted that all of this was your fault, but seeing what state we’re both in, and with the deal and all, I–”

Spamton’s glasses went clear and Tenna could see his eyes, his real eyes that were somehow still the same, full of drive and the need to be better.

“...This is for me? I…”

His glasses suddenly artifacted and returned to the standard pink-and-gold. “I DOn”T H4VE [a broken clock is right twice a !] FOR TH IS. We NEEeD T2>” O [get gone!] [[Lord of the ]] !!”

“Lord? Very funny. But I will find some way to get you in. Maybe not today, though? Can’t we–”

“WE HaVE T><: “%*O D0 ItT [[ASAP]].”

“We’ll figure it out.” Tenna was smiling a little. This time it was no mistake. The old Spamton was still here, beneath all the broken pieces and rubble that was the puppet on the couch. He’d recognize that voice and those eyes from anywhere, and he was going to get him out. Even if it took this crazy break-in plan, Tenna would fix everything. He had to.

Chapter Text

The suitcase was bigger than Spamton’s whole body, but this still didn’t seem like a good idea. Spamton could feel every bump and chip in Queen’s tile floors as Tenna rolled their incredibly conspicuous “disguise” around the Mansion. He didn’t need to breathe or get claustrophobic, but it was more about the humility of being stuffed into a storage bag like a piece of clothing.

The taxi ride over had been torture, rattling him around like some sort of sick maraca after his suitcase had been thrown in the trunk by Tenna, or maybe the taxi driver. Spamton wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter to him. All this irritation, all these little frustrated moments would be outshined by what the end goal was.

The body.

His body.

It was his true calling, his meaning. The prophecy had only helped him get so far, now it was up to him.

Oh. The prophecy. He had almost let that one slip earlier. Great job, “[[Lord of the ]].” Normally, the intolerable curse of knowledge was a little more tolerable, but after that last bluescreen, the passages were echoing in his head again. Especially the one reminding him of his ex-partner’s fate.

THE LORD OF SCREENS CLEAVED RED BY BLADE.

The message that had haunted him throughout his years working at TV Time. The one that singlehandedly prevented him from getting too close to Tenna. He knew that he would have to cut his losses eventually, and a businessman should never mess with what was already gone.

That fateful phone call had been the push off the edge. It was more the two-ton anvil that broke the camel’s back than a straw, but a push is a push.

He didn’t need to worry about it now. There were no blades to cleave in all of Queen’s Mansion, including the basement. Spamton would get that body one way or another, dead Tenna or not, though he currently preferred him alive to be his help, his arms and legs.

When Spamton got it, he’d be on top of the world, looking down at everyone below. Powerful enough to disintegrate and eviscerate and inflict all sorts of pain onto any person that had ever wronged him. The Addisons. Swatch and all the Swatchlings. Queen.

And although Tenna had been the one who ruined his life, took his sales, and thrived in a lavish, unbroken world where the CRT ruled all, not giving a second thought to his old partner, he’d go easy on him. Tenna would be the reason Spamton got all that in the first place, even if it had been his expert negotiating tactics and speech skills that had convinced the TV darkner to do it in the first place. Just because he was going to die didn’t mean Spamton had to be the one to do it.

And who cares? Victory was in the air, though he could hear a new sound from outside the bag.

Wait. He knew those footsteps. The ones that always caught him rooting around the mansion. The ones that had a specific enough rhythm for Spamton to memorize and avoid. Usually. He was still caught from time to time, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Spamton was well aware who this was.

Swatch.

He knew this was a dumb idea. Swatch always made sure to check everything that came in and out of Queen’s Mansion, especially after Spamton himself had been caught sneaking in with a shipment of battery acid for the pool.

“Hey there, Swatch! I haven’t seen you in a second, huh?” Tenna’s voice was muffled from Spamton’s position, but he could still hear the eerie faux-cheerfulness that he was using. This variant of Tenna’s voice was most often heard in meetings or conversations he didn’t want to be in, and no matter how rare it was, Spamton made sure he knew what it sounded like, just in case Tenna tried to use it with him.

“Hello, Mr. Tenna.”

“Oh, just Tenna’s fine! You don’t have to be so formal all the time! Say, whatever happened to the…” He must have been making a motion with his hands or something, but whatever it was, Spamton couldn’t hear it.

“No, I made the executive decision to change to something more… refined.”

“No, this does look better with the whole outfit, How’s it been?” Could this asshole stop chatting for a second and actually do the thing he agreed to do? Not to mention the fact that if they didn’t get out of here quick, Spamton would be figured out in a millisecond!

“Yes, it’s been fine enough. However, I do need to check your bag. Some people think it funny to bring in contraband or try to sneak in certain, ah, things.”

Angel’s heaven, did they know? Was Tenna doing something to indicate that Spamton was here, or was Swatch just making an off-handed jab like they usually do?

“Of course! Makes perfect sense where you’re coming from!” Spamton felt disoriented and like a weight had just been pressed into him. He assumed Tenna had moved the suitcase to its side in order to open. Tenna selling him out. That tricky washed-up TV was probably itching for an excuse to dump him kindly back into the dumpster just like everyone else. He waited for the bright, unforgiving lights of the mansion to hit his face, to be seized by Swatch and thrown out, for Tenna to say something about how glad he was that Spamton would be gone now.

But there was nothing. The weight on top of him shifted around for a while, then the zipper loudly closed the case.

And that was it.

No aha! moment for Swatch.

No being escorted outside by a Swatchling henchman.

Nothing.

Could this really work? He was genuinely going to achieve all of his dreams. Spamton knew even if they got through this interaction there would still be the matter of getting to the basement and the security systems down there, but getting away from this unscathed seemed unearthly.

“And what are you doing with this, exactly? I must be able to prioritize Our Lady Grace’s safety over your own comfort.”

“Oh, I was just going to, uh, ask Queen? About… some of these outfits. I just wanted a reason to hang out with her! You know, uh, spend some face-to-face quality time? She said that I, uh, could.” Holy hell, for being such a good actor, Tenna was the world’s worst liar when it came to improvisation. You could think that his performative ad-libbing skills would come into play, but no. Simply no. Spamton was expecting Tenna himself to get thrown out even after they had already passed the bag check.

“I suppose if Queen herself approved this, then I have no other say in the matter. She did mention that you may be visiting soon for tea and your suitcase is clear, so you may enter.”

There was the audible shuffling of feet, the weight being taken off of Spamton, re-orientation, wheels skipping on uneven flooring, and a small “Bye!” from Tenna.

Spamton let out a shaky breath that he didn’t fully know was stored somewhere. That little interaction was more stressful than being dangled over an open balcony the night before.

They traveled silently for a little while. The mansion was… quieter than he remembered. There used to be the chatter of Swatchlings and Tasques that were so loud they could be heard a floor up. Even if he couldn’t actually see the mansion, it still felt empty to him. Where was everyone?

The wheels came to a rolling halt. The zipper opened, and this time, the light flooded into Spamton’s eyes. The familiar background of the basement entrance was visible, and there wasn’t a single other darkner, Queen’s employee or not, in sight.

“Are you okay? I didn't think they’d handle the suitcase that roughly.” Tenna was crouching down as much as he could to try to get to eye-level. Good. It always felt unfair the way his partner always towered over him and everyone else. Weren’t they supposed to be equals? It didn’t feel very equal when every time they needed to talk, Spamton had to crane his neck up to the clouds to get a single word heard.

“H[ow!] D1D YO U DOO ThAT [[Boob Tube]]?!”

Tenna furrowed his brow . “First off, don’t call me that again. Second, do you want to see a magic trick?”

“.,,.. NO.”

“Fine, fine.” Tenna sighed and moved toward a pile of… something on the ground. When he picked it up, Spamton saw that they were… clothes?

“It’s a trick suitcase. It works like a real one, but it has a secret back compartment. I used it for that magic show, remember?” He gently lifted the businessman out of the suitcase and rearranged what he was holding inside. “See? Looks just like a normal suitcase!”

“...”

“What, you don’t like it? I think it’s neat.”

“[lettuce] GET. GET. GET. GET. GET. GET–” This stupid voice box didn’t let him say what he wanted and now he couldn’t say things at all. The stuttering and scrambles were never this bad, but after the last reboot they had started to become unbearable. Spamton wondered if anything close to 65 percent of what he meant even got through the language gap. He instinctively raised a fist.

And Tenna caught it again, like back at the apartment. Sure, blunt force to the head hurt a LOT, but it was faster and easier than any other method, and Spamton couldn’t waste time waiting for it to stop. He had to just DO things. It was like it was programmed into him that he couldn’t stand around and let life pass him by. It was a need to grab life and scream his significance into existence. If he didn’t, how else would he become known, become… happy? And Tenna was stopping him from achieving everything. Seconds were precious.

“Please don’t. We’re almost there.”

The replay of his last word finally stopped.

“L3T”S GEtT GO;* ING,,, THAN [[trash heep]].”

Tenna motioned for the KeyGen. He had given it back to Spamton on the assumption that he would keep it safer than himself, which made sense. Swatch probably searched him anyway. Spamton reached into his mouth and pulled it out before handing it to Tenna, who then wiped it on his pants, though the KeyGen was completely dry. He tapped it onto the coded lock and both disintegrated into bright green 1’s and 0’s before dissipating into the air.

“You know that name’s not any better.” Tenna stood up. “This is the basement, huh? Are you sure this is what you want? It seems a little… spooky.”

“WHaT, GETTTING [Frozen ] FE3T ?!” Spamton ran through the doorway, not waiting for Tenna to follow. He had just gotten to the top of the stairs before the CRT and his unfairly-sized strides already caught up to him. Suddenly, he snatched up Spamton and held the salesman in one arm.

“It’ll be faster if I do this. I move more in less steps. Just tell me where to go to get you fixed up.”

Spamton grumbled, signaled to the staircase and they descended.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The basement was un-lit and damp. The floor and walls were cracked and covered with overgrown greenery. To Tenna, this seemed like an awful place, but the mailman he was carrying had already settled in and was humming ad jingles happily.

It felt like… like old times. Bringing Spamton back to his room after one of the few nights out of partying, or him climbing on Tenna’s shoulders to get a better view of the new sets, or when they would take naps between shots and Spam would curl up like a cat on his chest and–

And they could get back to that now. If he was telling the truth about being fixed. They wouldn’t have much time, but Spamton didn’t have to know that. It was better not telling him about the deadline anyways. He didn’t need more things to worry about in his life, with all that Tenna inferred to happen in the five years he was gone.

Spamton was tapping his arm incessantly. “[[Go left!]] !!” He was shouting and pointing excitedly.

Tenna took a few steps forward until an electric blue barrier stopped him. The thought of touching it struck him, but he had to stay focused.

“Do you know how to get rid of this?”

The doll chuckled to himself before answering. “THEYY [porbably] ADD3D IT AFtER M[eye] LAST BREa^>’’: &^@#!%$--”

Tenna jolted like the scrambling and glitching noises were a sleeper agent and hastily pinned down Spamton’s arms with a single hand. They both waited for it to stop as Tenna walked towards the other entrance on the right.

“We’ll just go the other way, okay? Does this way loop around to where we need to be?”

“[[No, no, no!]] BU T THeRE’’S [Sercure your home with ] CONTR0L$s OV3R THER!!”

“Secuity… controls? And you know this… how, exactly?”

Spamton only grinned with his un-close-able mouth in response. Tenna sighed. He ducked through the carved-out hole of a doorway right before a bright blue Wall Plug lunged forward, its chain stopping it just in front of the pair, leaving its jaws snapping for a bite of TV.

Tenna jumped back in surprise, and almost dropped Spamton in the process. “What the heck was that!?”

Spamton smiled the slyest he could with the large teeth fixed to his mouth. That’s funny. His chipped tooth had transferred to this form, too. He might’ve just kept staring at the small doll if he didn’t open his mouth and answer Tenna’s question.

“JUST WaLK [throo] L1KE NOR>”; MAL.. THEyy”RE [Slow internet? Try ]!!”

“You aren’t lying, right? You realize that if I get chomped, you’re going down with me, right?”

“GO,, [@$$!] HOLE !!!”

The Wall Plug retracted, and he scurried to the other end of the hall as fast as he could while still holding on to Spamton. He passed another Wall Plug and two doorways that he deemed unimportant. Tenna looked back while catching his breath to see the first dog-like “guard” still gnashing its teeth at the doorway. They really were slow.

At the end of the moderately dangerous hallway was a door cracked ajar. Yes, an actual door, not just a shape or opening in the wall.

“In here?”

“[Uh-huh!].”

Tenna cautiously pushed the door fully open and peeked in, just in case there was another Wall Plug or some other thing with teeth inside. The room was empty, except for an enormous hole off to the left. He padded in, still examining his surroundings.

“What was that back there? I mean, I know they were Wall Plugs, but what were they doing down here?”

“XTRA [Protect your loved ones] .. THEEY DON;T LIKE ME D0WN HEre.”

Tenna looked around the area again to make sure he didn’t miss anything, but no. There was nothing there.

“Are you sure–”

Spamton slapped his arm and shushed him. “[Wait at the light] !!1”

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick

A massive screw with three… teacups on it? rotated upwards into view.

“What the hell is this.”

The little salesman wriggled free and fell a few feet to the floor, leaving Tenna to struggle to catch him before he made contact with the ground. His body rattled and the surface scuffed as hard plastic met a stone floor. Tenna winced in response.

“Don’t do that! You could hurt yourself!”

“DON:;T [[Act]] LIKe YUOU C4RE NOW!!” Now? NOW!? As if he hadn’t been caring all through the past few days! As if everything he had tried to do to help didn’t count! He thought they had been getting along, but it seemed the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“Now you listen here, I have been caring for so long! You just don’t appreciate it!”

Spamton waved him off. “WHA?/TEVER,.., [whee!] N3EeD TWO KEEP MOV!1NG.”

“Why are you in such a rush? Settle down for a single second.”

At that, Spamton got angry. “[eye] WILL N()T [[take a chill pill]]!!!! I H%AVE BEAN L!!iVING In THI$s [ChooChoo!] WRECK OVE A [Body ?] F0UR A [[decade anniversary!]] !! TH!S CANnoT WA>:% &IT MUCH LONJER!!”

Hold on. A decade? That was twice the amount of time that they’d been separated. He must’ve glitched out and said the wrong amount of time, like when he said the wrong year back at the apartment. Was there something up with Spamton that made him think five whole years in the future? Every time he opened his mouth, a new horrible discovery wavered out into Tenna’s mind.

“Okay, then how do we keep moving?”

Spamton sighed and gestured to the new machine in the room. “[by this… this thing..?] G0ES TOO A D1FFEREnT ROOM. THeIR ALL OV3R [Top 10 COOLEST Mansions!]..”

Two of the cups were broken and rusted over. “There’s only one operational seat.”

The doll started anxiously shuffling towards the contraption.

“ItT WON’T [take] L0NG.”

“Don’t leave me. Please.”

“[[Don’t forget]] I ST!ILL NEEDe YUO 4 SOM<(*ETHING. I [When there’s a will ] BEe BACK.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

With that little stamp of approval from Tenna, Spamton climbed into the one teacup that wasn’t in disrepair.

“If you don’t come back in five minutes, I’m leaving and locking the door behind me!” the CRT called after the descending teacup ride. He didn’t really mean it, but maybe if there was some sort of threat over him, Spamton would be more likely to come back. Tenna would do anything not to be left again, and he was hoping and praying there wasn’t a way out from where the cups were now.

He checked his watch right after the room had been left in silence. He could still time Spamton even if he wasn’t going to go through with his ‘promise.’

He strolled around the room, examining the walls and floors. They were the same as the other ones found in the basement, ruined and overrun by rampant weeds. He checked his watch. One minute.

Tenna paced back and forth, measuring how long the room was in his footsteps while he was at varying heights. He checked his watch. Two minutes.

He thought about what they would do if they ever got back to TV World. Maybe they’d start a new game show or film a movie. It was incredibly wishful thinking, but who knows? He checked his watch. Three minutes.

Would he even ever get back home? He had still been thinking about getting the secret out of Spamton, but after enough time, he started to dig deeper in his own logic. His colleague had had it, but was in the worst state he had ever seen, on or off TV. Was it because of the secret? He checked his watch. Four minutes.

What if his watch was wrong, and it had really been more time? It felt like more time, like an hour at least. How had it only been four minutes? What if Spamton was lying about needing him, and had bolted the moment he got away? He had already gotten to the basement and probably planned out the rest of his scheme. He checked his watch. Five minutes.

Tenna rushed to where the teacup ride should’ve been by now. And checked his watch. Five minutes, ten seconds. Maybe something had happened? Five minutes, twenty seconds. Was he just being played for a fool? Five and a half minutes. Tenna’s foot was impulsively taptaptapping away and he was starting to shrink until there was a noise that faintly got closer and closer.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick

Tenna got up and peeped over the edge, expecting all the cups to be empty as they twirled into his sightline. 1… no one. 2… no one. 3…

Spamton sprang out of the last teacup, knocking the equally-sized Tenna back in surprise.

“HAEHAEAHEAEEHAEHA!!!! YoU [shood have] SE3N YORR–”

“You came back!” He grew back to CyberCity-normal height and pulled the other darkner into a hug.

“&1*% 3!@ 9:{> 2?>%# 3 LEETTTTTtttt M#$( E GO !!1!”

Oops. Tenna hadn’t realized how hard he had been holding on. He swiftly put him down and coughed. “You were thirty seconds late.”

“I [thunk] YOU WErR LE4VING.”

“I… changed my mind. What happened down there?”

Spamton looked at the wall and Tenna noticed that the little red splotches on his cheeks were gone. Huh. Tenna was noticing a lot more stuff lately compared to their first night. Well, their second first night. Like how Spamton was more tumbledown than before the ride, with a few more scuffs and scratches on his exposed plastic.

“NO THING. I P[stressed?] A BUtT0N. THEe BARRI3R [shood] BE [Hyperlink Blocked].”

He frowned as much as he could in his condition (no lips, unable to close mouth) and tried again. “ThE BAR>?* RIER [shoulder] BE [Hyperlink Blocked].”

“Are you okay? Do you need to reboot again?”

Spamton took a step backward. His body language didn’t show any nervousness, but the panic was all over his face. “NO! NO REeBO0Ts!!! IT$S [Hyperlink Blocked]. D0Nn “T [[worreigh]] ..”

It was like someone was trying to silence him. What he could communicate through all the rickets and jagged edges of his voice was still too much. Whatever was doing this wanted him on mute.

“Don’t panic. Just… act it out. Is the barrier… down?”

Spamton nodded profusely.

“So we’re good to go?”

He nodded again. Tenna went to pick him up again out of habit, but the moment his gloved fingers made contact, the little man glitched and artifacted before falling to the floor.

“Whoa! Do you need any help?”

“@1*% 8!( 7%/> 2?<%# 5DDddddddONT’ TOUcH [Hyperlink Blocked].,” He pushed himself back up with his hands shakily and brushed himself off. The doll made its way through the still-open doorway and shambled past the ineffective Wall Plugs. Queen didn’t seem to be the best at non-Swatch security. Tenna pursued and easily got across the hallway without issue.

When they both reached the first room, the barrier was down, meaning that Spamton had been right and had done something when he was gone.

“You need to stop running off. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Spamton was silent and continued into the now-available entrance.

After another long hallway, (Queen must love these) The two came to a sort of train track. There were three rails, but they were smaller, as if fit for rollercoaster carts or a carnival ride. With this and the teacups… was this an abandoned amusement park, or were these things not connected?

Spamton scampered down the tracks, ignoring the opening that was right in front of the end of the hallway.

“Hey! What did I say about ditching me?!” Tenna hurried after him, following him into a side area that seemed to be older than the rest of the structures. It was more dilapidated and the mauve of the brick walls were more faded. Deeper into the room was some sort of… robot body? It was about as big as Tenna was currently and it was strung up in vines like a puppet. There was a shining compact disk that was peeking through the layers of rusted metal. Spamton was on his knees, in front of it. Was he… praying? Tenna didn’t know he was religious. He didn’t even know that darkners had religion outside of lightners.

He stood there silently until his ex-partner was done and got to his feet.

“This is what you needed? This is what… fixes you?”

Spamton nodded once and pointed to the holographic object lodged in the broken figure.

“I NE#; $ED TH>E [Hyperlink Blocked].” Tenna obliged and handed the CD to the smaller darkner, who stared at it for a second. Spamton took a deep breath, and the lines of his code started transferring into the disk until he was all gone, and it clattered to the floor.

Tenna picked up the CD gingerly. Was he in here now? Could either side hear the other? He turned toward the machine and inserted the disk with as much care as possible.

Nothing happened. He tapped the mechanism. He shook it gently. Nothing happened. Maybe he just had to wait. Waiting again.

He was always waiting. Waiting to go live. Waiting to be watched. Waiting to be Plugged back in. Even here, on this ‘vacation,’ he was still waiting. For Spamton to wake up. For him to come back. Waiting to die. And now for this thing to make everything okay again.

But he wouldn’t leave Spamton. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes as last time, running to the phone first instead of out the door after him. He would wait and wait as long as he needed to. For himself and for Spamton.

Tenna sat down on the floor in front of the old robot, and waited.

Chapter Text

Laughter echoed in the empty halls of the studio. Two figures stumbled into a changing room that was more of a personal lounge. One had had a few drinks too many, and the other was supporting him until they both flopped lazily onto a bright red couch.

“So then, I, hic, I said…” It was impossibly hard to understand the white Addision through his cigarette drags and drunken rambling. The larger darkner grasped his co-star’s shoulder.

“Calm– hahahah, calm down!” They were both still snickering through their words. “I need–I need to, hah!” Ant took a deep breath in before doubling over into laughter again. The little grace breaths he took never worked, but it seemed to be a habit for him. “Okay, okay, I have one!”

“Have one what?”

Ant threw his hand up into the air like it was obvious. The CRT may have had less alcohol than his partner, but he was almost as euphorically delirious. “An idea!” He pulled Spamton closer to make sure he was listening. “How about, how about we seal the deal?”

“Aw, c’mon Ant! You don’t mean tying the–”

Ant interrupted him by getting up and snapping up a paper from a nearby cabinet drawer, the simple action whirling Spamton back to reality. How long had he been waiting to pitch this?

“I mean signing on permanently, Spam! Making it bigger and better! Don’t you want to be here longer? You should stay. Right here!”

He handed the sheet to Spamton, who stared at it blankly. He pulled his glasses out of his coat pocket and put them on to read the text. What was this about… giving up his trade secret?! Contracts shouldn’t be able to be this specific. And, he couldn’t give it up if he wanted to. He might lose it altogether.

“Ant, I–”

“I know the viewership has been declining for a while, but! With this contract, we’d be back on the tippy top! Not just top ten, but first place! Think about it, Big Shot!”

“No, Ant, I just… it’s a lot right now. Can’t you let me sober up first?”

The TV shrunk down a good five feet and his antennae were drooping when he turned away from Spamton.

“No, haha, I get it. You can just… think about it. It’s uh, it’s nothing. Actually, just forget about it.”

The businessman sighed and rolled his eyes. This guy was a guilt-tripper first, everything else second. But Spamton really considered it for a second. He had gotten the whole prophecy already, what more was his caller going to provide? Maybe he could extend this knowledge temporarily to Ant.

Everything was… temporary to Ant.

Spamton didn’t like to admit it, but it was the simple truth. And who said he couldn’t make the most of the time they got together? Ant’s death was… only a bump in the road. A pitstop. He wasn’t that close to him. He was using him! For the advertisement, the big name in lights, the respect around his own image! He would keep going just like he always did.

Eyes behind rounded glasses glanced back over to the self pity-soaked performer and he remembered the nights they spent together, just like this one. The little things, like the moments between shots, trying on new clothes, practicing new scripts together…

He wouldn’t mourn.

He wouldn’t stop.

He couldn’t afford to.

Gone so far and still so far behind. It didn’t matter how famous or revered he was, it was never enough. He wouldn’t have the freedom he needed. But maybe…

Maybe he could slow down and wait. If he made this choice for himself, he could break from the bonds and shackles that his caller had imposed around him. All the criticisms about the way he walked, the way he performed his lines, what he said at work parties, would no longer matter.

“You know what, Tens? Deal.”

And maybe he’d spend a little more time with Ant. He was the only one that actively tried to talk to Spamton. No one had done that since the Addisons, and they abandoned him the moment he crawled out of his hell-hole failure of a life. Not to be rude, but this guy seemed a little too codependent to leave on his own. They could even try to work around the prophecy. Avoid any ‘blades’ that could ‘cleave.’

Spamton reached over to stub out his cigarette and left it on the ashtray. He watched Ant as what he said was slowly processed and he grew back his normal cartoonishly-tall size.

“Oh, you will?! Oh, you thrill!!” He pulled the advertisement into a hug. “You won’t regret this!!” Ant planted a kiss on Spamton’s forehead, ignoring the lingering stage makeup that came off of his face.

“I’m already regretting this! You’re breaking my spine!” He flailed around helplessly until the TV darkner sat him back down.

“Ah! Sorry, you’re so small!” Ant bounded off the couch and started rifling through the drawers of the wardrobes and vanities until he pulled out a TV Time branded pen and handed it to Spamton.

His face was still hot from the kiss, his skin beaming with red, even though he didn’t have any blood. But, he took the pen and uncrumpled the contract in his hand. He’d be damning himself if he did this. Or maybe he’d be freeing himself. Free from the want of freedom, from the burden of knowledge. One way or another, he’d never go back to the past. He didn’t want to. The only things that lay in the past were broken friendships and the ruins of failed attempts.

Hands shaking, pen met paper. Ink met form. All he had to do was sign and–

Brrring! Brrring!

The phone.

They knew. His caller knew what he was doing. But he couldn’t let it ring without an answer. The results of a phone left on hold were still fresh in his mind, although it happened years ago.

Brrring! Brrring!

Spamton slowly got up and walked to the small, round table that held the phone.

“Whoa there! The phone can wait, you know. Just sign it first.” Ant was being difficult and Spamton knew that he couldn’t keep them waiting. Something bad was going to happen, he just knew it.

“I can’t. I’m… sorry about this. About all of this.”

Brrring! Brrring!

He timidly picked up the receiver and put it to his ear.

[YOU HAVE] [[violated]] [THE CONFINES OF OUR] [AGREEMENT]. [[PLEASE]] [Stand by As] [CONSEQUENCES] [[are delivered]].

It wasn’t even his caller’s voice, just some sort of sick, automated message pieced together through existing noise blurbs. What, they couldn’t even bother to tell him his doom themselves?

The line went dead. Maybe he got off easy.

Agony suddenly shot through the back of Spamton’s neck like a bullet to the heart. He tried to cry out in pain, but his voice was strangled and beaten down. His first few vertebrae painstakingly ripped through his skin and gauged under it, then clamped around what remained of his throat, the bones molding and melding into an inorganic structure. The plastic stabbed into the surrounding surface of his flesh and rooted itself there, leaking blood-like code down his chest and arms, pooling in a small puddle on the floor accompanied by the ribbon of pixelated skin that had once been around his neck as it fell down beside it.

He almost passed out from the pain. Spamton tried to move, tried to take a step, and staggered, having to prop himself up on that Angel-forsaken phone. What the everloving fuck had happened to him? He gagged and choked, coughing up carefully threaded one and zeros and looked down to see his signature suit faintly laced with the stuff.

He needed to get out of there. They would find him and kill him or do things much worse. He needed to leave. NOW.

“Are you doing okay over there? I know you told me not to bother you while you were on the phone but…”

Shit. Ant was still here. Of course he was still here. It wasn’t like he left in the minutes his punishment had been delivered. Did he see what happened? He could not let him know. If merely thinking about signing that contract had gotten him this deep in the rabbit hole, showing Ant what had just occurred would be so much worse.

Spamton bolted out of the room and down the hallway, expecting Ant to give chase. When he didn’t, Spamton was… hurt? No, he was grateful. Better to have lost Ant in the midst of it all than to drag him down with him.

When he got to the front door of the studio, he took a breather and heard the faint, squeaky door of the changing room open. There was no way to avoid the glances and questions that would be provoked if he stayed. He needed to get out of TV World all together.

With wobbling breaths, he treaded towards the singular subway train to CyberCity. It was getting demolished soon, too, meaning Ant wouldn’t be able to find him, to follow him, to try to leech off of Spamton’s success.

What the hell? Where did that last thought come from? Ant wasn’t… like that, was he? They only wanted the best for each other. Well, Ant wanted the best for him. Right?

He’d unpack that later, when he wasn’t on the run. He had to worry about himself right now. All other ideas could wait.

…

The ride was rickety and very clearly underfunded. Spamton could see why Queen wanted to tear it down soon. He looked around. Luckily, there were no other occupants that night besides the operator, and he had been able to flip up his collar high enough to hide, well, everything from her.

He tentatively brushed his fingers over where his skin met his new modification. The code was dripping at a much slower pace now. The space was still raw and tender. Flesh and bone. Real.

The plastic, however, was not. It wasn’t even covering his neck, it had replaced it. He hadn’t been able to speak when the Plugboy (shouldn’t it be Pluggirl?) asked for his destination, only point on the map.

“Kkkkssshhhhhhhhhh. KkkkkkkSSSSHhhh.” Still nothing but static sounds. He tapped on his throat even though it hurt to, just to see if anything would happen. He clawed at it. Maybe he could get it off, go back, apologize. He dug into the skin around it and let out another silent cry of pain. FUCK, that hurt. The reality of the situation was starting to get to him. This was permanent.

DO NOT TAMPER WITH YOUR CONDITION.

A familiar voice etched its way into Spamton’s mind. What the hell? They could reach him outside of the phone now. He had known that his caller could see him, but now they could contact him directly, dealing out punishments whenever they pleased, instead of only after answering a call.

Something tightened in his throat, and it wasn’t because of panic or hurt feelings. Spamton’s vocal cords contorted and twisted, he didn’t know how he knew, but this was happening. They were transforming into something more… malleable. Something more easily controlled.

A voice box.

Like a little pull-the-pin talking toy, he had a plastic, factory-grade voice box.

He couldn’t even handle the sudden gravity of the change because the train was slowing down to a halt. The operator said some words into the intercom that Spamton didn’t hear, but he still stood up from his seat and walked to a door. The Plugboy stopped him before he left.

“Have a nice night.”

He stepped onto the platform before turning back to smile and wave.

“[[You too.]]”

…

Within a day, all of his furniture and belongings were moved into Queen’s mansion. One day. That’s all it took to erase every bit of work he did with Ant in TV World. One day. Maybe it meant that the Swatchlings were good at their job, or maybe it meant that nothing good was ever permanent for Spamton. His friendships. His jobs. And now, even at this point, his own body and words.

When he ran to her last night, asking for a place to stay, he was surprised Queen actually said yes. They weren’t good friends, but there was probably some way she was benefitting from it. Someone always wanted something, even Ant, it turned out.

He truly did not want to live there, though it hadn’t been him who wanted a room. It seemed his caller still wanted him to keep up appearances as the successful big shot who was always at the top. If he was being honest with himself, what he really wanted was to go back to the studio. To act like nothing happened and waltz into open arms and a beaming co-star. But that would never happen. He couldn’t go back, whether it be because of fear for himself, Ant, or the truth that his benefactor would not physically let him.

When he had walked through the halls of the palace that night, he was, to say the least, surprised. No one had even noticed yet or hadn’t cared enough to speak up. His voice and the cadence of his speech were wrong, and the new, plastic band around his throat was horribly visible, but not a single person said anything out loud.

Brrring! Brrring!

Just hearing the sound made Spamton’s heart plummet into the deepest depths of his soul. It was probably some new deal or promotion.

Brrring! Brrring!

With shaky hands and knees, he drifted over to the phone stand. But what if it was them?

Brrring! Brrring!

Laid his hand on the phone. What if it was Ant?

Brrring! Brrring!

Picked it up and listened.

“Hey! Heard you were back in town for a while! Any chance you’re going to come back to work in person? Now that, uh, the thing with TV Time is done? It’s fine if you want to keep working from away, but your office is still here if you need it!”

Spamton breathed a silent sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to face anything hard. It was just Big Shot Autos asking about his job. News traveled fast in CyberCity, but that was the internet for you. In any case, his name wasn’t totally stamped through the mud, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.

“Ah-ha! Don’t worry about it! [[I won’t need my office.]]”

It happened again. He opened his mouth and a voice too void of feeling stated words in a polite tone that wasn’t his. He hadn’t meant to say that last part. If anything, he wanted to maybe see a few friendlier faces, but the choice had been made for him. On the bright side, he had been able to get a few words out before he was briefly possessed.

The Big Shot Autos employee on the other end said something, but Spamton was no longer listening. When the Plugboy finally stopped, he set the phone down to end the call.

Nothing was his now. Either of his jobs. Where he lived, who he talked with, what he said. He didn’t own any of it. He could only move his body, but without words to explain what he did, he would look crazy, and for his own sanity, he had to keep up appearances. At least for now.

…

“Hey… Tens. Just wanted to call, to say, that, uh, I’m sorry I ran out on you last Tuesday night. I had to deal with something, but I’ll be back soon! I promise…”

Spamton didn’t know if his benefactor was letting him drone on and on into the phone receiver because no one would hear it, or if he would occasionally get to say things without being silenced.

“Big Shot! Hey-hey, hey! Well, this whole thing is going to take a little longer than I thought. I don’t think I’ll be able to leave CyberCity for a while, because of work…”

A month passed. The phone was quiet other than what he said into it himself. No more calls, no more talking, no more connection. No more Ant. He worked from his room. He wasn’t ready to see the real world yet. The big bulky computer setup was enough for him to more professionally get his ads out there. Sure, he could do without it, but it was faster, easier, and it made him look a lot better, too.

“Ya know, it’s not nice to keep a guy waiting! You could at least respond if you’re hearing these. Or if you’re not, well, then, I…”

It made him feel a little nostalgic as well. He hadn’t been in the email game since the Addison days. He hadn’t been this deep in shit since the Addison days either, though this time it was much worse than a few unpaid debts or a loan left out too long. He wasn’t a worrier, though, he was a doer. He didn’t have the luxury to wait around and think about all the horrible things that his benefactor would inflict on him, he had to work. To get his hands moving.

“Listen, Ant. I don’t know if you’re doing this to spite me, but if you’re getting this, if you’re getting any of this, I want you to know I’ll be waiting for a response. And I know you’re getting this, because I wouldn’t be talking right now if you weren’t.”

Maybe if his caller made him this way, they could undo it. If he just got on their good side again, did everything they asked, he could still have his chance for freedom again.

Except…

It wouldn’t involve Ant anymore. He was too curious, too needy when it came to Spamton’s secret. He knew that the voice would never let him back in that studio, or at any rate, in good condition. He’d have to carve a different path away from TV World, and Spamton wasn’t sure that he wanted that. However, if it was this life versus a more flashy, famous one, he’d take the latter any day of the week. He wasn’t going to see Tenna again anyways, and he was going to need to accept that.

Accepting it wasn’t easy though. Years of his life building trust and forming a bond with his co-host were lost in a single night. There were moments when he’d think about what they could’ve had if Tenna hadn’t surprised him with that contract, but knowing Tenna, it was inevitable. He would’ve just kept pushing until he got what he wanted, and Spamton couldn’t have said no forever. It was bound to happen.

And his calls were being ignored. He didn’t expect this to happen. Even if he was angry, he had hoped that Tenna would answer or acknowledge his attempts at apologies.

ISN’T THIS ALL HIS FAULT?

No! It was…it was… who was responsible for this? Besides the caller, of course. It wasn’t… his own fault, he was just trying to get out of a tight spot! To make it big! It was in his nature, Spamton didn’t do this.

HE MADE YOU SIGN THE CONTRACT.

He… he did. Ant was being pretty pushy that night. He wanted to be permanent partners. No. Tenna had wanted the secret and was trying to get it any way he could.

HE WANTED TO TAKE EVERYTHING FOR HIMSELF AND LEAVE YOU IN THE DUST.

This wasn’t… making sense. His mind was reeling and felt like it would split. Why would Tenna want to drag him down? Sure, all the contracts and deals had more fine print than books in a library, but…

He was going to use the momentum to push himself back up to the top. Steal Spamton’s ticket to freedom and profit off it. That was his goal all those nights ago, wasn’t it?

It didn’t matter who’s fault it was. He would just build back up and stand tall like he always did. The work Spamton had done over the last few weeks was already boosting him skyward, even though he had done it almost completely isolated, only leaving the mansion to go jogging or something from time to time. He still had to keep a healthy physique in case they put more than a headshot on a product, you know. He should probably get back out there if he was going to recover from this.

Spamton itched to make one last call, but it wouldn't do anything. He knew that Tenna wasn’t responding already, so what was the point? Even if his words were actually heard and the phone wasn’t just off the receiver, the other side wouldn’t bother answering. He had to try to start moving past this, at the minimum. He couldn’t stay stuck in the past forever.

He tabbed in and out of the numerous dinner inquiries Queen had made. Spamton wasn’t quite sure why she sent them, but this might be a good start to getting out of this seclusion. She had sent an earlier request for his presence in a few hours. Perhaps now was the moment to get more in-person advertising. It was what he specialized in.

Maybe she even had some information about his caller now that they were being an active detriment. Queen always seemed to know things. She was constantly on top of the latest gossip and rumors, and even though nothing she said was fact-checked, they could still be leads.

Spamton turned off the computer and cleaned himself up with a plan in mind.

…

A comically long table was laid out with untouched food and two glasses of battery acid, one half-empty and the other depleted. Queen was lounging lazily at the end opposing Spamton. She had been essentially talking to herself for half of the ‘meal’ (neither had eaten anything).

“So Like I Was Thinking You Could Like Endorse My Mansion As A Nice Place To Live Right?”

He didn’t answer. If he tried to speak, he might say the wrong thing without it actually being him who said it. But if he didn’t talk, Queen would get suspicious.

“I Am Suspicious. Of You I Mean Lmao. Was The Break Up That Bad Because You’re Like. Not Talking.” Queen snickered. “And You Talk Like A Lot A Lot.”

“It wasn’t a breakup!” Spamton slammed his hands down on the table before slapping his hands to cover his mouth. He had been able to get out a full sentence without interference. At someone he knew was listening. The interruptions had only been temporary.

He tried again. “It wasn’t a breakup. It was more a… deal gone wrong.”

Queen raised an eyebrow. “So It’s Not Over?”

“What? No, it is over, just, hm, we’re better for it now. Well–hahah–I’m better for it. I don’t know about the other guy, but he was only dragging me down! You have to cut off the weak links, you know!”

“Uh Huh And How Are You Doing Now?”

Well…

“I’m doing fiiiiine! I just need a bit of a rebound! Still the number one rated salesman!”

He resisted the urge to scratch at his neck.

“Ok Sure Whatever. So Are You…” She continued to drone on to herself as Spamton refocused his mind elsewhere. He needed to get her to tell him something. An idea sparked in his mind. If he was able to get out of his deal with his benefactor, he would be free to do anything he wanted! He might be able to hold the fact that it was Tenna’s fault over him and trick him into another deal (one that benefitted him this time) and, hell, maybe this stupid plastic thing would be gone too! He just needed to know how to rid himself of the caller’s control…

“Queen.”

She stopped. “Yes Email Boy?”

“Do you know anything about…” He paused. About what? A voice, and phone caller, someone who was making things seem better? Someone who was giving out freedom for the price of your own life?

“About?”

“A… a person who–” Spamton’s voice cut off. But it wasn’t him who stopped speaking. Someone else had done it for him.

DO NOT STRUGGLE

A familiar nauseating feeling washed over him.

“Email Boy You Have To Start Finishing Sentences This Is Ridiculous.”

The plastic shackle around his neck tightened.

“[[It doesn’t matter.]]” It was getting harder to breathe. His hands were shaking erratically and he gripped the tablecloth to stop himself from knocking something over. “[[I’ll be taking my leave.]]”

“Great Dinner We Had Come Back Sometime.” Queen absentmindedly gestured for a Swatchling to come over and began to talk to them instead.

Spamton moved away from the table and walked as calmly as he could out of the dining area. He made sure he was out of sight and earshot, before dashing back to his room. He shut and locked the door tight.

Fuck. Shit. Hell. Every other expletive and cuss he knew.

They had known. They had known about what he was trying to do. Could his caller see all his thoughts, or just the ones directed at them? They wouldn’t let him do a single thing on his own now, would they? He would just be their walking, talking puppet, tamed by a shock collar and the threat of something worse.

Spamton’s thoughts were cut short by a sever in the pixels on his hands followed by a small river of code.

It started at his fingertips, ripping out his nails by the roots and letting them fall to the ground. Spamton had already keeled over at that point, but it wasn’t even close to over. Skin peeled to reveal an artificial version. And the plastic itself was brittle and couldn’t move, so ball joints and sockets formed, forcing their way through the already established material to form bendable digits. The transformation crept up to his palms, digging out of unnecessary flesh and replacing it before stopping at the palms.

It was torture. Pain split him through again and again and again. He couldn’t think about anything else and passed out.

…

Spamton regained consciousness lying in a mess of code, tears, and scraps of skin. His hands and wrists ached and pinched his arms, making the feeling something more miserable than uncomfortable. He glanced up and the clock on his desk.

1 AM

Hours had gone by while he was passed out. He considered everything he knew now.

No, he didn’t have enough energy for that now. He needed to clean up the floor and what remained of his hands.

His hands.

Spamton looked down. They looked like something you would use as a drawing reference. He flexed his fingers, or at least tried to. The joints were incredibly hard to move, and only slowly clicked into the places he wanted them to be in. He could see under all the code that the plastic was a dull white. It wasn’t softly glowing like his pixelated skin was. Did. It wasn’t glowing now, the pain had stamped out the light, but when he was better, it would return and make the changes even more apparent.

This was going to be a recurring punishment. A repeating nightmare that would visit if he didn’t tread the tightrope that had been laid out for him.

“GET UP.”

There was something here. In the room with him. That could speak. Spamton scanned the room for a body, eyes, head, anything, but only saw his phone with the receiver off the hook. A weirdly distinct voice echoed out of it again.

“GET UP

The voice was his caller’s, but through the medium of the phone, it seemed more… forgiving. It was right, of course. He needed to get up, but his pain receptors–the only thing his benefactor had let him keep–were burning red hot with suffering every time he tried to force his body into an upright position. It took him a few tries, wincing harshly after every failed attempt, but he managed to sit up, then get to his feet.

He stumbled toward the phone and picked up the receiver, biting back pain as his hands came in contact with the object.

“Hello…?” he said weakly. His voice was strained from the silent cries for help and mercy only a few hours before.

“HEAL YOURSELF.”

“I–I can’t. I don’t know any spells.”

“TRY.”

The caller was being ridiculous. You couldn’t just learn a spell like that, it took at least a few months to do anything. But, Spamton’s mind was clouded with hurt and drifting thoughts of torment.

He focused his desire for the release from the plastic exteriors into his hands. That’s all magic was, right? Simply the will for something to happen, will so strong it would make it happen.

A softly glowing green orb faded into view on his palms. Was it really this easy to do magic? Or maybe it was just the hellish things he had gone through making it more effortless. The ball of magic shifted and shuddered until the light dulled to reveal something.

It was a tiny ugly doll with wings. What the hell was this? The thing had a disproportionally long nose, red cheeks, a creepy smile, and ragged clothing. Did he do something wrong?

The little something patted his hands with its own, and the hurt toned down. Not much, but anything was appreciated. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it dissipated into green dust and left.

He had just done magic. Magic. Without even knowing how to do it before. Did the voice do this? Give him this ability?

Or was it simply his inane hunger for everything to stop after all that had happened?

Spamton gently picked up the listening end of the phone, trying to minimize the lasting pangs in his hands that hadn’t been quelled by the amateur spell.

There was nothing but garbage noise. The other end had hung up.

He couldn’t worry about these things right now. Spamton needed rest and sleep and an actual break. He shambled to his bed and collapsed into sleep the moment he hit the covers, hands still throbbing with insurmountable pain.

…

It happened again the next week.

Coded bones cast and sculpted themselves right through his forearms and more sockets formed at the wrists.

Because he had asked Swatch about his hands when they had had coffee that morning.

It only took a few days for the upper arms to follow when he made the off-handed comment to Tasque Manager about his voice.

Shoulders.

The line he couldn’t cross became harder and harder to see.

Back. Chest. Abdomen.

It seemed like even talking to someone warranted a continuation of the torment.

Thank the Angel that his floor was tiled because almost every night it was carpeted with pixels and anguish.

He was slowly being skinned alive, piece by piece, line by line, inch by inch.

And it wasn’t just that. The control over his voice spread to his plasticized limbs as well. The hidden notches where strings would be tied were pulled taut and maneuvered without his authority. He started saying the wrong things on deals, the wrong script on commercial voice-overs, to leave situations prematurely with his feet walking for him. If there was some conflict of interest between him and his benefactor, he would always lose and be forced to give in to the voice’s whims.

But hey! On the bright side, he was adjusting to the pain, bit by bit. He didn’t even pass out anymore by the time it reached his knees. He just lay there until it stopped. And, he was vastly improving on his healing spells! Though it hurt during the process, some of the pain would be gone after he summoned one of the weird dolls.

The monotonous motions of his daily work were being broken up as well. Less companies were asking for promotions. Big Shot Autos started cutting his pay. Big Shot Autos. The place he put on the map! The thing that he branded!

Spamton’s life was crumbling around him, and all he could do was watch.

He was almost starting to lose hope for achieving freedom. Nothing seemed to go right after the fateful night in TV World.

He started to blame Tenna with every unwanted addition to his body. It was that CRT’s stupid contract that got him here in the first place! And now with all of the press and drama that Spamton created for him by quitting, he even bet that TV Time was back to topping the charts. He started avoiding any advertisements that were for TV or TV shows. He wasn’t making that mistake again.

The clock ticked, reminding Spamton of his schedule. He wandered across halls, up and down stairs until he arrived at his destination.

The basement.

Almost being the emphasis on the previous thought about losing hope. Because there was something new. The voice that had helped him the night he lost his hands told him of what lay inside days ago. What it could do for him, now that his sales stopped making the cut. What he could do with it.

The lightner’s dream was his own. A new body, gorgeous in its own way. Sure, it was dusty, and a little old, but it would be his. Not to mention it was tall, which was always a bonus. Spamton was still a bit bitter from being teased for his un-Addison-like height by both his colleagues and his friends, so it would be nice to be able to tower over them for a change.

The machine was constructed in a sort of angelic way, with wings and the strength to get him what he wanted. He had started to pray to, to revere this creation from the moment he saw it. This was something made by a god-like being. This was something that he could use.

Spamton avoided eye contact with every person he passed when he walked back to his room. It was becoming a habit that he didn’t use to have. Normally, he would’ve looked a stranger in the eye until they relented and kept moving forward, but now it seemed like any sort of connection could spark conversation. And conversation was dangerous.

Ever since coming to CyberCity, he had been isolated. First he was afraid to speak for what he wouldn’t say, and now he was afraid to speak for what he would say. It was vastly different from the widely-social big shot that he had been before all this happened.

And yet no one said a word.

No one said a word when he shut himself up in his room and never came out.

No one said a word when he was a whole foot shorter due to his benefactor taking too much off the top when it came to his legs.

No one said a word when he lost what little was left of himself neck-down to a late-night drunken rant at Swatch.

People’s eyes widened now, and it was clear they took notice, but not a single person offered him help. He was just another unlucky face in the crowd to them.

Spamton started spending days in the basement at a time. He wouldn’t have to see people then, and his job was in the back of his mind now as he uttered words he hoped were holy. He didn’t even leave to eat, he would just pray.

Mercy, redemption, saving graces.

Retribution against those who wronged him.

The more and more frequent stays and visits to a certain place that Queen didn’t want tenants in brought the whole situation to her attention. Which was resolved by her locking the door.

It didn’t matter to Spamton. He was resourceful, and had learned enough lockpicking from his odd jobs in the early days, before even the original caller. What he had not learned was to be stealthy, and on his first try to break back into the lower level of the mansion, he was apprehended and thrown out. Not too harshly, but Swatchlings enjoyed using force when it came to carrying out tasks, and they almost dislodged his arm.

Things only got worse the day he was caught when he saw a familiar blue glow chatting up Swatch. Black v-neck jacket, lime green pants, and the fakest grin in around for miles.

Display.
The blue Addison.

What the everloving fuck was he doing here? The last time Spamton saw him was when the rest of the Addisons collectively decided to ditch him at the Cyber Grill and subsequently stopped all contact with him. It hadn’t mattered then, though, and it wouldn’t matter now. Now that he had a new goal in mind.

Regrettably, the betrayal was still fresh in his mind like the day it happened, which meant Spamton was still livid. Brimming with enough rage to stomp over to the oblivious, gossiping, blue asshole and yank him down and out of his chair, ignoring the Swatchlings that had just ‘kindly escorted’ him out of the basement.

“What the hell are you doing here? Don’t you know these are my grounds?!” Spamton seized the opposing advertisement’s lapels and shook him fiercely. “What do you want!?”

DISENGAGE.

Display put up his hands in surrender and panic was clearly setting in on his face. “Hey-hey-hey hey-WHOA!! I’m just here on a business trip!” Spamton stopped shaking him, but held on tight to the jacket fabric. “Listen, Spam, I’m sorry about what happened those years ago, okay? But we’ve all moved on, haven’t we? You got your dream, didn’t you? There’s no need to be mad, right?”

He had gotten what he wanted, but at a price. Freedom for freedom. A not-so-equal exchange that left Spamton a marionette on a wire. This whole ordeal was all Tenna and the Addisons’ faults, too, and he has the nerve to say that there’s no need to be mad?

“You don’t get to call me that. Not after what you did!” he practically growled. Addisons were so selfish, they couldn’t take the blame even for the smallest things! It was never their fault, just some grumpy customer, or the usual scapegoat in an earlier era, which happened to be Spamton.

The waste-of-energy ad’s eyes widened when he set them on Spamton’s hands. “What’s wrong with you?”

DISENGAGE.

Hell. The little white Addison laughed nervously. Someone was talking about his modifications, and that meant that it would be happening later. He had to stop this.

“That’s nothing! It’s fine, don’t worry! Go back to your business or something.” He quickly let go of Display and shoved his hands in his pockets.

For some weird reason, this bucket of pixels had said something about the thing that every other person was ignoring to the point that it was obvious they knew. Why was he acting differently? Him of all people?

“No, it’s not fine. Why are your hands like that?” The blue figure stood back up but was glancing down worriedly at Spamton.

“It’s okay! Jus&%^$ >:2 4[[leave me be. I have work to do.]]” The strings pulled tight around Spamton. His body moved without him, exiting the room without another word.

And just like Tenna, Display didn’t follow. Didn’t ask any questions or even try to help. Typical.

…

Spamton’s legs carried him to the acid pool deck where no one would be and planted him there. He wouldn’t be let off easy, right?

This was happening. And what else was there left to lose?

INSUBORDINATION WILL HAVE CONSEQUENCES.

The back of his head was carefully split open as his skull reached out and became visible. It clawed its way into his head and surrounded it, letting his whole face drop noiselessly to the ground.

It gauged out his eyes and they fell by his ears, nose, and scalp before creating new, synthetic replacements in their stead.

Phantom hands ripped a hole into his covered mouth and wrenched his jaw down to elongate it. Two rows of teeth were locked into place and his mouth was forced into a fake smile with full cheeks to match. A panel was etched into his chin that let him have a single motor function on his entire face.

His nose and hair were relatively left alone, although the latter came back as polyester, and the once-temporary dye in it was now a permanent color. The former was redone in shining artificiality.

And those were the features he was left with. No eyebrows, lips, tongue or ears. A design simple enough.

And the pain was excruciating. The other times hadn’t been like this, Spamton wanted to jump into the acid right then and there to make it all stop. There were volcanic eruptions of pain spreading all over his head, his mouth in particular. He tried to cast his healing spell as many times as he could to numb himself. Fake angels fluttered around him, but it wasn’t enough. The hurt and agony were still there on the front page.

After an hour or maybe more of being paralyzed in pain, he finally cultivated the courage to try to feel out his features. There were no mirrors nearby, and the acid didn’t reflect anything, so he had to go by touch.

Spamton’s whole face was one piece of plastic, seamless and “perfect.” Nothing felt the same. His ears had been replaced by little holes, like a snake. The only thing he could move was his smile, it turned out, and that was only opening and closing it. Not his mouth, but his smile. There were no other joints besides the added function on his chin, afterall.

His thoughts and inspections came to a halt when he heard the screeching and scraping noises of wood on tile floors.

Spamton staggered into the hallways the best he could in his current state to see Swatch and their henchmen transporting furniture from one of the rooms that were occupiable for non-employees. His room.

They were moving his stuff.

“Hey-hey hey!! Wh-what the hell is go-going on here!?” His voice box was stuttering and tripping over his new mouth but his tone was strong and directed enough that it didn’t change the interpretation. Swatch turned around in surprise but didn’t bat an eye at what Spamton looked like.

They just responded: “Our Lady Grace disapproves of your sales performance as of…” they checked the e-clipboard they were holding. “As of now. It is certainly impressive that you drop to zero in only a few hours.”

Zero? Zero!? That couldn’t be right!

“Le-let me see that!” Spamton jumped up and snatched the electronic device out of Swatch’s hands. He looked down, and sure enough, everything was gone. Bank account, upcoming promotions, he had even been fired from Big Shot Autos in that last hour! “What the [[ ]]?! When did you get the order to do this?”

“Approximately five minutes ago. I would suggest checking the eviction notice at your door and exiting the building. Wearing that silly mask will not help you.” They grabbed the clipboard out of his hands and gestured to the place he used to live.

The paper taped to the wooden door read EVICTION NOTICE in big bold letters. Underneath, the details and reasons for his eviction were written, but Spamton ignored them to survey the damage done to his room.

It was completely empty, save for

The phone.

They hadn't taken it, he could still get out of this! Spamton stumbled towards his last shot at freedom.

“YOU DISOBEYED ORDERS AGAIN.”

“I didn’t mean to! It was just–” His voice box stopped skipping, but that didn’t affect his mood.

“YOU ARE BEYOND HELP.”

The forgiving nature he thought was there all those weeks ago was gone now.

“Please, I need it! You don’t underst[[ ]].” His voice cut out and the other end of the phone turned to garbled static.

Abandoned. Again. By the Addisons. By Tenna. By the one who started it all.

Muffled orders through the walls were just barely audible. A Swatchling burst through the door and grabbed him before dragging him out of the room.

“You are being requested to vacate the area. Please visit again soon,” they said. He tried to struggle, to demand they put him down, but he was completely silenced. Spamton was carried through the main room of the mansion where all eyes were on him as he was thrown into the street.

He pushed himself up on his feet and cast another healing spell for good measure. Murmurs from the surrounding crowd outside caught his ears.

“What is that thing?”

“Didn’t you hear? It’s…”

“What's going on?”

He tried to protest, to say something to turn the tables, but his voice box was still locked up and not a single sound escaped from his mind. People were taking pictures and looking at recently-updated newspapers in a way that was not favorable. This was not the kind of publicity he wanted. Not all press was good press, and this might’ve been the worst that Spamton could think of. He sped out of there and kept running until he reached one of the back alleys by a hospital.

He was just kicked out of Queen’s Mansion. Him. Evicted. By the woman who wanted his advertisement only weeks ago. What the hell was going on?

He tried to speak again.

Nothing.

Again.

Silence.

Spamton reached down his own throat with the insane idea that maybe he could reach his own voice box. He didn’t expect it to work.

It was a small blue heart, plastic just like everything else in him. Just holding it made him angry.

Spamton smashed it on the ground. He pulled the wires out and reoriented them. Maybe he could fix this problem himself, even if he couldn’t fix anything else. He could put all of those maintenance days he did on Tenna to good use, afterall. He reconnected metal bits and cracked the whole thing in half, not even caring about the possible viruses that could sneak in.
Spamton finished “fixing” his voice box before popping it back in and testing it.

“TESTING, TESTING, [[1, 2, 3!]]” He stopped. What was that last part?

“[Buy one, get one free!], TWO THREE.” There were ads in his speech. And his voice was different. Maybe he should have been more careful when he was handling something so pivotal. It was better than no voice, though.

And he still hadn’t been able to check his reflection. Was there a puddle or something nearby? Spamton scrambled to find something, and settled on the broken hand mirror in one of the trashcans.

Deep-set eyes, large teeth (still with that stupid chip), cheeks red with fake happiness. He looked like a caricature of himself. Like… one of the healing spells. Was this planned? Predetermined? It hadn’t been mentioned in the prophecy.

…In the parts that the voice told him. What if they had been keeping secrets from him by not telling him the whole story? He knew that he eventually reached some sort of freedom, but it didn’t seem like he was getting closer at all. If anything, he was getting further away.

Maybe he had been looking at freedom from the wrong angle. Maybe he was never going to get it the way he was headed. Or maybe all of this was a personal hell, created just for him. Thoughts were swirling.

All of his stuff was gone. His hard work, his physical things, his relationships, and even his home. He needed a new place to stay.

Spamton set up camp in that alleyway, sort of like old times before his big shot days. It hadn’t been as bad as now, but if he survived living paycheck to paycheck, he could survive this. Especially with this new thing he held in his hands.

While Spamton had been rooting around in the little machine, he found something that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there. It was a little black crystal that reflected only darkness. It felt… important. Like he should hold onto it. Like it would make a future for him. Just picking it up made the thoughts of the lightner’s dream race through his mind. If he didn’t have anything, he still had that. And he would stop at nothing to get it.

Chapter Text

And he opened his eyes. There was no boot-up sequence or even some kind of process, Spamton was simply awake.

He stood up without wobbling, though it felt weird. His proportions were all different from his puppet ones. His legs were lengthier in comparison, and examining the rest of his body, he even had… wings? And he felt strong. Like he would be able to do anything as soon as he got out of this dump.

And that’s what this basement was. It was no longer housing a thing of importance now that Spamton had gotten it. He had become NEO. Or what he could assume was named NEO. The three solitary letters were etched into the upper left of the body–his body’s chestplate.

Spamton tested out the limits of his new body. He bent his joints and stretched his being until he was certain of its limitations. The machine was still a little rusty, and wasn’t the most flexible thing in the toy store, but it was better than what he had before this.

It was then that Spamton realized that he was in this room by himself. Tenna was gone, or at least out of the room at the moment, but Spamton was 54.26% sure that he would come back. That TV had started making up for that night, letting him stay in the apartment and even getting him here, but there was always the doubt in the back of his mind that Tenna would suddenly decide to leave again.

He stalked outside of his awakening room to find Tenna in similar stretching positions. He was reaching his arms up and around himself, rotating his neck and other sorts of activities as the soft popping of metal joints could be heard. The man seemed to be preoccupied and didn’t notice Spamton’s approach until he was nearly on top of him.

With the way Tenna jumped back, he wondered how he looked.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spamton looked amazing.

The plating on the robot was uneven and layered over itself. Wires that were connected to his limbs and the ceiling moved and swayed as he stood. Two large wings flared out from behind it, each modeled differently from the other. No cohesive color scheme and a lack of striking height (this new version was about as tall as Tenna’s own CyberCity stature) but he was still… incredible.

This thought was punctuated by a color bar blush that unconsciously grew across the CRT’s screen.

He didn’t look like Spamton, though. Other than his head, the thing before him didn’t resemble his old partner, puppet or not. Really one of the only reasons he knew it was Spamton was the fact that no other person had gotten into the basement from any of the visible doorways.

“Oh! You’re awake! I just, uh, left to stretch, haha. The ceiling in there’s a bit low!”

“HOW LONG WAS I [Three Strikes, You’re Out!]?”

“Hey, you sound a lot better! And it was only about ten minutes, so not too much time was lost!” They had been ten minutes that Tenna could’ve made use of. The clock was still ticking, no matter how far away the end was, and time loss was starting to worry him. “You, uh, you seem better, too!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He felt a lot better. Spamton flexed his fingers again, and the joints didn’t even squeak. The whole body moved like a dream, despite the years of decay it had suffered in the dark rooms of this mansion’s lower levels.

Tenna stepped closer and tapped on his shoulder. Unfortunately, this new improvement still wasn’t enough to put him taller than his current companion. Spamton quickly grabbed the gloved hand at the wrist before it could possibly mess up anything still setting up.

“DON”T TOUCH. [[Not your average ]] yET!!”

Tenna ignored his comment, but didn’t move his hand. “So… when do you get fixed?”

Spamton blinked, and blinked again. Fixed? This was ‘fixed.’ What, was Tenna not happy with the upgrades?

“I’M [[neo]]. I AM FIX3D..”

The TV laughed nervously in response. “Of course! I’m just saying that, uh, you don’t really look–you aren’t–you…” He tailed off for a second before refocusing. “You aren’t… you. This ‘NEO’ thing isn’t you. It’s some other… thing.”

Hearing that, Spamton squeezed Tenna’s wrist to the point that he yelped and hastily pulled his arm out of the machine’s grip.

NEO wasn’t ‘some other thing,’ it was him. He was it. This was the most ‘fixed’ that he would be after what happened a decade ago. Tenna just wanted him to be small again. He wanted to be able to manipulate him again, use his feelings against him again. Well, Spamton wasn’t going to let that happen.

“THIS THE [best deal in years!] YOUR’E GONnA GET, [[Cathode]]!! NOT MY FALLT YOU [miscommunication]ED WHAT FIXE;D MEANT .”

“There isn’t any other way to get back to what you were? This isn’t what I wanted for–”

“WHAT Y^OU WANTED !?/! THiS WAS NEAVER [about] [[CRT Screens]]!!! YOU W4NT ME [Coffee too weak? Try ]!! YOU WANT TO [used] M3!!!”

“I never–”

Spamton cut him off again. “WHAT ABOUT THe [Sign here!]!? YOU KNOW THEY W#RE [[Bad To The ]]!!”

“That was different! I didn’t mean to–”

“I DON”’T NEED [You can do it!]!! YOU;VE [servitude] YOURE [[porpoise]]!!”

Spamton lifted his arm to shove Tenna out of the way but his hand stopped short before he actually touched the darkner.

Because it was restricted

By

Wires.

By

Strings.

After everything he had gone through to get here, he was still a puppet. He still couldn’t do what he wanted. Even with NEO, he was still too broken for freedom. And then it dawned on him.

Power wasn’t about strength, it was about control.

Strung up like a marionette once more. But this time, the threads that bound him were tangible. Able to be held, broken. He ripped the wires out of both arms, left and right.

Moments before a feeling of invasion spread over his mind and eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tenna slowly backed away from the stationary machine. He had said that he didn’t need Tenna anymore. That his role was over, he was getting recast and wasn’t necessary. The same kind of feeling that Toriel must have felt the day she removed him from the family. The same kind of feeling he probably felt himself when he ran off into the night all those years ago.

And was he so naive to think that ‘fixing’ meant restoring Spamton to his original form? That ‘fixing’ would mean making everything better? Getting in a giant mech suit wasn’t ‘fixed.’ Screaming and yelling like the first night he woke up in the apartment wasn’t ‘fixed.’ Becoming violent, trying to hit Tenna, then going motionless with static filling his glasses was possibly the farthest from ‘fixed’ you could get.

The breaking of the cords hit a nerve, too.

It was too similar to the times he had been unplugged himself, and to see Spamton dismantling his own body felt… horrible. Even if this time around Spamton had been able to choose for himself whether to slice the cord or not, it still hurt Tenna to see. It looked to him like he was already destroying this new vessel mere minutes after he had been transferred into it.

It was too similar to how he would soon be unplugged for the last time.

The business of his mind almost caused Tenna to miss what was happening right in front of him. Just like the days on set after…

He noticed the cords snaking into his ex-partner’s head, lifting and turning it until the lenses of Spamton’s glasses returned to pink and yellow, this time with the colors swapped. The whole thing shuddered as he sluggishly and deliberately moved towards Tenna.

“[[scratch.mit.edu]] THAT. YOU dO HAVE [somethhing] I NE3D.”

The voice wasn't like anything Tenna had heard before out of his ex-TV star. It was lower and rougher, laced with venom and contempt. Spamton’s face broke into the biggest smile he could manage, horse-shoe-like teeth clamping tightly together, cheeks bright red.

“Y0UR [HeartShapedObject].”

What was he talking about? Tenna didn’t have a heart, or any organ at that. Only a self-sustaining battery that almost all mechanically functioning or electronic darkners had. Even Queen had one, though hers was more sophisticated. But still, no heart. “My… what?”

The lightner’s creation took a step to try and close the distance between them. “SOUL.”

Those wires were definitely messing with Spamton’s mind. Darkners didn’t have souls. They weren’t like lightner monsters or humans. They weren’t able to close fountains or make new ones. They weren’t… real. Or ‘real’ in a sense compared to the light world. Just objects to be used and eventually… thrown out.

Tenna laughed forcefully. “HAHahah, you know we don’t have souls, mailman!” He took a few paces back in an attempt to discreetly get to the door, but Spamton kept advancing, eyes glinting with some sort of intent.

“YES. WE [dont]. BUT YO”URE [Unfeeling Robot]. YOU HAV3 a [[energy processing unit]] ADN THAT:S JUST AS GOOD>.”

“But that’d be killing me! And you don’t want to do that! …Right?”

Spamton only took another stomp, getting dangerously close. “I;M WILLING TWO [[Risk It For The !]].”

Tenna’s fight or flight kicked in when he weaved out of the way where Spamton slammed his fist into the empty air where the TV used to be. He scrambled to the other end of the room.

“I C@NT ‘ LEAVE THIS [dump.ost] WITH0UTt IT<,” the metallic beast sing-songed after him. There was more savagery creeping into his voice. Why was this ‘vacation’ turning into the next horror film showing?!

“We can find some other way! Or you can get out of that body and we can just go!”

The robot transitioned his other hand in a sci-fi-esque way to a gun-barrel-blaster-thing before firing off a few weird bullets at Tenna. He ducked and dodged out of the way, but the threat of a real injury or even death became more and more apparent. This wasn’t some little ‘joke’ or ‘prank’ like the water cup had been. He was shooting to kill.

“I*M [[knot]] GOInG TO L3T YUO [weekend] ME!!”

Tenna frantically scoured the room for something he could possibly use to defend himself, but this area was completely devoid of anything helpful besides a few vines or pebbles. He had also run to the side opposite of an escape route. The idea of fighting his way out crossed his circuits, but that was ridiculous!

“Okay, so no to getting you out of the body. I could… leave and come back with some sort of battery? Or maybe something else that could power you?”

NEO swiftly executed a punch to where Tenna had stood a second before. The wall he hit cracked, and mini fault lines expanded across the surface.

“[[incorrectbuzzer.soundbite]] !!! YOU WOODN’’’T COME B4CK!!”

How the heck was he supposed to get out of this? Tenna was an entertainment system! He wasn’t meant for fighting real battles, or at least taking hits himself! Being in CyberCity had seriously downgraded him as well. He held no command over anything here, that was Queen’s realm. And if that steel creature landed a single hit, he’d be seriously decommissioned.

“YOU [taked] EVERYTHING FR0M mE!! ADN Y0U CAN”T G?)IVE ME THIS [[He’s the one!]] THI NG?!”

“As if you didn’t do the same to me!”

NEO laughed bitterly. “YOU STIiLL HAD YOUR [working class], YOURE [[Tell your friends and ]], YOUR [Live, Laugh, Love]!!! I DIDN’T T@KE ANY$*7 THING!!”

“Well, YOU were everything! Or close to it, at least!”

Spamton froze in his tracks and tilted his head slightly, like he was listening more intently. “WHAT.”

Was there still the possibility of talking his way out? Tenna kept going. “When you… left, I started to get unplugged more and more often, and, well, all that time to think made me, uh, think that I didn’t value what… we… had…? I mean, losing the family’s love made me think about other… lost… love…”

Spamton stared back blankly.

“What I’m trying to say is… every star eventually fades, and, I, uh…” Tenna sighed. “TV Time was going downhill, and you leaving just made the slope steeper. I… You…” How was he supposed to say this? “Being taken off air is inevitable. I didn’t want to say it, but it is. I mean, I’m here now, and this is much worse than what I thought it would be. But if it was going to happen to me, then, well, I guess I would’ve rather had my best partner by my side than be all alone.”

Spamton looked down at his hands and back to Tenna.

“Spamton?”

“THEN Y0U SHOOD HAV3e [[tryed]] HARDER .:”

He charged up a Super Smashing Fighters-type move and fired strange blasts of light from his unhinged jaw.

Tenna nabbed a few rocks from the ground and hurled them at NEO after staggering out of the way of the barrages. Strangely enough, the machine shielded his chestplate and let the stones hit his face, babbling about all the things Tenna did wrong all the while.

Weird. Did it have a weak spot there, like all the video game bosses Kris and Asriel had beaten? But that was… where he had inserted the disk. If Tenna could just pull out that disk, they’d both be fine! Sure, Spamton might be a little more than mad, but it was better than Tenna being dead! Or dead prematurely, at least.

Unluckily, NEO was protecting his front too carefully. Tenna would need to get close, to throw him off guard, and that would be even riskier than trying to escape.

He evaded the next swing aimed at his head. If he was battling anyone else in any other instance, he wouldn’t have worried about hurting them too much, but Tenna had no idea what kind of damage breaking the NEO body could do to the real Spamton.

A strike got too close for comfort. The robot was still going off about freedom and other things of the sort, but Tenna had stopped listening and was focused on getting out of that basement alive. He felt stupid and vulnerable for only being able to dodge and weave, but it wasn’t like there were any other good ideas crossing his mind. He couldn’t even focus on altering his size purposely, and the fear of the situation only made him want to shrink, which was definitely NOT a good idea.

NEO suddenly slung a right hook towards the TV’s chest, causing him to bob left.

Straight into the mechanical puppet’s other hand.

He snagged the joint of Tenna’s left arm, right in the joint at the shoulder, wrenching it off of his body. Split wires and electronics sparked as NEO chortled to himself.

“WHO NEE DS [Blades] TH@T CLEAVE W#ITH [[Hands]] LIKE THESe!?!”

The machine unfurled his wings to the fullest, effectively cornering the CRT where he stood. Tenna’s back was against the wall. In between a rock and a hard place. He could only talk his way out, and it didn’t seem like Spamton was keen on persuasion at the moment.

“You don’t have to do this. We can still fix this!”

His arm was in agony. It had just been ripped clean off. There one moment and gone the next. Was it still attachable? His pain receptors weren’t super sensitive, thank goodness, but they still hurt like hell on earth! <>And the snapped wires were still spurting embers that stung as a fun little bonus feature to all the ‘normal’ pain. If Tenna wasn’t so scared or PG-rated, he might’ve sworn!

“[their] IS N0 FIXING M>e. I NEED TH1!S>.”

“We can try–”

“STOP T4LKiNG. NO MORe [[tryeing]]. YOU [Out Of Commission] ANYW,,AY$..”

Tenna shut up. What? Was Spamton aware of his deadline?

“[EYE] KNOUW ABOUT YOURE [[Expiration Date]],, [Idiot Box].” The artificial monster leaned in close. “SO DONAtE A LI?:TTLE [[genorisity]] AND GIVE IT. TO. ME.”

NEO chuckled again. “THERE;S NO. WAY. 0UT.”

He struck his hand down hard, just shy of Tenna’s head.

And a snap was heard. One of the cords had been severed by accident, and the CRT screen flickered between channels wildly.

“--3 points on the boar–”

“--ouds coming in on the west coas–”

“--Buy now and sa–”

Back and forth and back again until NEO sharply knocked the screen in an attempt to get it to stop. And it did.

On a recording instead of a broadcast or public channel.

And from the first audio cue, Tenna knew what it was. It didn’t matter that the tape was playing in his own mind simultaneously. He had watched it, reminiscing, too many times to count, trying to drown himself in the past.

It was a shaky video of a room with two long vanities only separated by a changing curtain. There was an old familiar TV star in the center of the screen with his hands covering his eyes.

“Now what, Tens?” The friendly lilt of the voice halted Spamton in his tracks.

“Just keep your eyes closed! Trust me.”

Neither voice was miked, but you could still hear the eagerness in the second’s through the crackly recorder audio.

White gloves brought a little red box into the frame and presented them to the younger Spamton.

“Oooo-kayy, you can open your eyes now!”

The smaller of the two took the gift and untied the small yellow ribbon around it, laughing a familiar laugh that echoed with malice present-day only seconds before.

“It’s your birthday, you know! I should be the one getting you something!” He cracked open the lid and gingerly picked up a golden pin in the shape of an envelope.

“You’re a mailman, right? Soooo… I thought it was fitting! I already have my own TV pin, and now that you’re an official temporary member of the crew, I just thought you might want to fit in a little more.”

Past Spamton was clearly still starstruck by the gesture and remained silent, turning the pin over in his hands and admiring it from all different angles.

“You like it, don’t you?” Tenna sounded confident in his choices, more confident than the Tenna in the now that had suffered the consequences of problems he may not have caused, but made worse.

“I… I love it.”

The camera shifted and tipped close to Spamton’s face. Two large hands placed themselves on his shoulders. “Whoa there! That didn’t sound quite right, did it?”

The salesman rolled his eyes. “You aren’t gonna make me do this, are you?”

“Do what?” Tenna asked with faux innocence.

Spamton sighed. “I. Love. T. V.”

“YES, you do!!” the television idol cried happily. The camera was rapidly shaken around as the little deal-making mailman was pulled into a large hug and squeezed tight until the video cut out.

And a new one started to play.

It was one of the times Spamton was on maintenance duty. Really, Spamton was the only one ever on maintenance duty, but still.

“--is good?” The whole screen was dark, but the audio seemed about on par with the last tape.

“Yeah, you just have to (*&%$#$%^&” The sound cut out to static for a second before returning.

“Whoops! I think it's recording.”

“Just plug in that red on and–”

The screen flipped to the next video. NEO seemed distracted enough by them that Tenna decided it was his chance. He reached for the disk slot as slowly as he could without bringing attention to himself. His fingertips lightly brushed the old metal exterior and he sucked in an uneasy breath.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Something had just touched him. Spamton snapped to attention and seized the TV darkner’s neck with his left hand and wedged his fingers through Tenna’s remaining shoulder with his right. The videos faltered and the normal ‘nosed’ face returned.

“YOU DON^%T [Wanted:] TO DO TH1iS.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He could feel the cold material inching its way under his plating and tap at the inner workings of his arm. The older model of his body could only handle so much, and the full removal of another limb definitely counted as ‘so much.’

He was going to die.

But he wasn’t just going to sit there and let it happen. He was going to do his best to make things better. The NEO suit had clearly caused Spamton to crack. He wouldn’t have done this otherwise, right? Even if it really was what Spamton wanted, to break Tenna and leave him in a battered state, he hadn’t made a move until now, which meant something had changed. Which meant Tenna just had to get him out.

He grit his teeth with determination and smiled sadly.

“I have to try.”

Tenna pierced the center seam in the scale-like sheets of NEO’s chestplate with his already-outstretched hand and reached as far as he could into the deep, dark, nothingness.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spamton grasped at the wires underneath all the inner details of Tenna’s joint. Grabbing his adversary’s neck instead of his hand had been a foolish move, but Spamton could still win. He just to bring this all to a close, then he would get at that power source, that battery, the thing he needed to be free from his strings. He’d resurface in CyberCity and be revered, but not out of respect this time, out of fear. He’d punish those who wronged him.

Because when someone fears something, they let it control them. Just like he had let that damned phone control him.

He just had to do one last thing, and this would all be over.

Spamton’s fingers grazed the cords and found their way to them.

And he pulled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tenna’s fingers grazed the disk and found their way to it.

And he pulled.

…

The CD lurched out of the NEO body right as the mechanical monster ripped, slashed, and tore through Tenna’s surviving arm.

Lenses and screen go dark.

Bodies topple over each other, void of life.

And everything came to an end.

Chapter Text

The disk made contact ground and glitched into Spamton’s old shape on the second hit. He rolled to a stop only a few feet away from the catastrophe. A small black shard of… something fell on the lower body’s chest.

Spamton stood on his feet and his gaze swiveled over to the piled corpses. Corpse singular. NEO wasn’t dead, just inoperational.

But Tenna was, or close to it.

Pure instinct shot through Spamton as he scrabbled up the broken body of his co-star, ignoring the foreign object still placed where he sat. Ex-co-star. Freezing up and going still didn’t always mean you were dead, right?

He held the screen and tapped it. Shook the sides gently. Knocked and hit and kicked it.

“Get up.” His voice was firm, but the desperation in it echoed through the empty hallway.

It didn’t matter. The glass was dimmed and cracked. The light was gone.

And it was his fault.

Oh angel above, he killed Tenna.

Spamton looked down at shaking hands. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he do it? For some stupid “power source”? It would have never been worth this. This thing he did. And he had done it. There was no other excuse. Even if NEO had made him irrational or crazy, Spamton had still been conscious during the whole ordeal.

And he hadn’t stopped it.

He hadn’t fought it.

He hadn’t tried to quit.

It was over. All in ten minutes.

A single phone call’s time to wreck his relationship. One day to move his furniture and cement his cowardice. Two months to turn into a puppet. One minute to be erased and evicted.

And now it had only taken about ten more minutes to slaughter his old partner for spare parts. The clock ticked down, but really it had been in the short periods that he had fallen and failed and ruined everything, over and over and over.

Emotion welled up inside him. All that work, all those years in the dump, then on top and then in the dump again amounted to this? All the deals, the calls answered, the odd jobs, and still it came out to this. Betrayal and sorrow and mistakes he couldn’t undo, days and words he couldn't take back.

People he couldn’t see again.

Spamton wanted to cry. He wanted to shout, to beg forgiveness from the carnage of the man in front of him, to turn back the time and forget it all, to leave this horrible, broken place and just go back to when it was better. But most of all he wanted to apologize. Escaping NEO has cleared his mind more than anything else in the last ten years, and now he saw everything he accomplished in a different light.

Tenna doesn’t deserve this.

Didn’t.

Past-tense.

Spamton sobbed into his hands. His voice pierced the silence again, but no matter how hard he tried, no tears dropped. Tear ducts weren’t one of his features after all. All he could do was yell until his voice was hoarse and yell again. How was it possible to feel this much grief over something he did without hesitation mere minutes ago?

NEO was supposed to fix him. It was supposed to boost him up to that highest point, but it had only made everything worse. And he knew that he had been crazy before, but to this extent? This lightner’s dream was a darkner’s nightmare. And how much of it could he blame on the sudden upgrades? His distaste and loathing for Tenna had only grown with the years, and even if he had ignored some of it in the past few days, it must’ve been unearthed by the machine and made him snap.

His eyes hovered around the wreckage as if looking for an excuse. There. It was that… that thing. The crystal. That thing was what probably made his mood shift. Or maybe it was the overhead wires that raided his mind when he tried to shove Tenna that first time as NEO, or the years he spent degrading in the trash. Spamton didn’t know. He just didn’t want it to be him. He didn’t want to think that it was him and only him acting.

He picked up the shard to try to examine it, but the moment his plastic fingers grazed the surface, the voices and whispers of insanity came flooding back.

YOU DID WHAT YOU HAD TO.

Spamton instinctually flung the thing away from him when the sound pierced his brain. It dropped soundlessly to the floor, not far away from Tenna’s body. Something was wrong with it. Something was wrong with him. Why did it do that? It hadn’t done that when he found it the first time. Whatever it was, it was probably a bad omen. He could get back to it later, but Spamton had to focus on what mattered.

Tenna.

It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t just leave him alone, now that he had finally come to his senses all too slowly. Sure, it was a selfish thought, but that’s all Spamton was now. That’s what got him here. Selfishness and greed and ambition. He brought his fist down on the metal plates of Tenna’s chest, right below the knot of that stupid yellow tie he always wore.

Something jolted. Something fizzled or crackled in accordance with the blow.

For a split second, the screen flickered a bright white.

He whacked the same spot again, and the glass filled with light before fogging up again. It wasn’t a fluke. Something was still in there. There was a glimmer of life, and that was enough to spark hope in Spamton’s empty heart.

He climbed down and began the slow process of pulling the NEO body off of Tenna’s. The empty shell wasn’t the heaviest thing on the block, but it was still pretty damn weighted, at least for Spamton’s current size. The mess of wires and armor had started to fall apart in the few moments it had been without Spamton piloting it, so thankfully there were smaller pieces that were easier to move. Weirdly enough, his head while he had been NEO was gone. It must have been deleted when he was ejected.

Halfway through, he stopped to check Tenna’s watch, but it broke in the fall. There were no other clocks, either. No way to tell time. No matter. Time wasn’t relevant anymore. There was no spilling hourglass anymore. Spamton suspected his own actions were the very thing that distanced him from Tenna in the first place.

THE LORD OF SCREENS CLEAVED RED BY BLADE

There hadn’t been any red other than the exposed wires of Tenna’s limbs, and hands didn’t exactly count as ‘blade,’ but maybe it was more a metaphorical sense. And if he was right, it only meant he had lost years of possible connection in his own fear of something that he would do. You know, only.

When he was done transporting the entire robotic suit after an unspecified amount of time, Spamton hoisted himself back up to Tenna’s chest and unbuttoned his shirt to access the control panel underneath. He didn’t normally use the front one on maintenance days, but he didn’t have the leisure of rolling over his ex-co-star’s incapacitated body at the current moment, so this would have to do.

He twisted out the unfastened screws with his hands. The materials beneath the plate were all corroded and rusty. The wires were jumbled up and tangled. Screws, nuts, washers, bolts, all were loose or fallen out and just rattling around. How long had it been since Tenna had gotten a proper checkup?

…

It was an absurdly normal day when Tenna asked him for upkeep for the first time. After a few months at TV Time, Spamton eased into his role. He stopped people-pleasing and putting on little personal shows once he realized that his contract meant that only that TV guy could really do anything to his employment status. Of course, he still had to try to be on good terms with his co-star if they really were gonna do this thing after all, so why not?

So, his answer had been a resounding “Yeah, sure.”

Tenna led him to his dressing room and sat on the floor in front of the couch. The place was much larger than Spamton's, but he assumed it was because of the TV’s own size combined with the fact that he owned the whole studio. The walls were covered with fanmail and funny little drawings. Guess he had been doing a pretty good job as a mailman. Spamton sat down on the couch before seeing that he really had to stand to do anything of substance. Then Tenna took off his shirt.

“Whoa whoa wHOA THERE, Tenna! We haven’t gotten that far in this relationship, ya know?”

Tenna snickered in reply. “Don’t be RIDICULOUS, it’s just so you can reach the control panel.” He handed his partner a little toolkit and continued looking forward. “Just take all the screws out and lift off the sheet.”

Spamton grabbed the screwdriver from the kit and took the slightly-raised metal plate off of Tenna's back to reveal his inner workings.

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do again?”

“There’s just some bolts loose, you just need to tighten them. You said you could do mechanics and electronics on your resumé, right?”

Spamton glanced off to the side nervously, even though Tenna wasn’t facing him. He had done one, maybe two odd jobs in both, so it wasn’t a lie per say. More of an… elaboration. He probably should read a few manuals or textbooks if this was going to happen more than once.

Spamton found the bolts, readjusted them, and screwed the panel back on. See? Not too hard! Tenna redressed and ushered him out of the room.

“Thanks for doing that. I can’t reach my back on my own! What do you say to doing this… about every few months? I’ll give you a raise!”

Raises were good. Promotions were better, but Spamton doubted Tenna would ever give any of his power over TV World away, so this was good enough.

“Sure.” Spamton said all-too-confidently. Guess he’d better study up.

“Then it’s a Deal!” Tenna grabbed his hand and excitedly shook it.

…

Spamton unknotted another wire. This place was a mess. He summoned a few of the little healing spell-angels. They could only fix so much without Spamton having to do physical repairs, but the light and moral support was helpful.

He unhinged his jaw again to pull out the small toolbox he had with him. Spamton never needed pockets, his hollow body was one big pocket. It was empty space and one of the reasons he had stopped eating years ago. Sure, it gave him energy, but so did sleep, and it wasn’t like he could ever get full. Any edible matter would just dissipate before it reached a stopping point, thus why he used his own “stomach” as a sort of stash. He could only taste, and still even that sense was dull. No tongue meant no experience for flavors, but he had stolen a single receptor and installed it himself. It hadn’t been a big thing, but it was enough to convince himself that he had control, even if it had been a kind lie.

He shifted back into a more comfortable stance, reminiscent of old maintenance days. Spamton’s hands guided by Tenna’s careful words, the TV Time branded tools, the nights he spent poring over robotical engineering books and Tenna’s own manual in an effort to keep the raise and not short-circuit his partner, all of it. He wouldn’t call himself a master of mechanics, but when it came to Tenna, he was.

…

Every few months turned into monthly. Monthly turned into bimonthly. Then every two weeks. Then weekly. Time and time again, they would be in Tenna’s dressing room, fiddling with ins and outs and gossiping about what had happened around the studio. He even bought Spamton a special stool to sit on while he worked. Eventually, the room became their shared space, and Spamton even moved his own furniture in. They gave his old dressing room to new recruits.

And sure, there were real problems sometimes, but most often it was a false alarm or just a checkup.

“Blue wire. It needs to go in a different port, but I don’t know which one.” Ant handed Spamton a pair of smaller tweezers.

“Hmm… are you sure? It’s supposed to be the green one, Tens.”

His antennae bobbed humorously. “Oh, so now you know me better than I know myself? I didn’t know you were so full of yourself, Big Shot!”

Spamton snorted, but he kept his hands steady. “Don’t make me laugh, I’ll mess something up! You haven’t been the guy on this seat who’s been in your circuits day-in and day-out for years! I probably do know you better than you do!”

“Oh, should I take my manual back then, if you know so much?” Ant chuckled. “I know you stole it, you slimy little mailman, you!”

He blushed, and was immediately glad that Ant wasn’t facing him. “Hey! That was for research purposes only!! I wanted to make sure I didn’t kill you or something!”

“Okay, okay, I guess you can keep it. That is a pretty GOOD cause, afterall,” he huffed. “But I’ll have you know, I’m only letting you do this for fun! I didn’t have a maintenance guy before.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” Spamton muttered just loud enough for Ant to hear. “So why do we do this whole song and dance if you can do it all yourself?”

“...”

“Ant…?”

“...maybe I just enjoyed the company. Don’t you?”

“Sure, Tens.”

“I really like having you around, Spam.”

“Well, I really like being around, so win-win, ya know?” He re-screwed the panel onto Ant’s back. “Good as new!”

His co-star wriggled around and stretched a bit. The guy was extremely flexible for his model, and even did his own stunts, so it made sense that he’d want to be in tip-top shape. Ant strolled over to the couch and motioned for Spamton to follow (which he did) after plopping down himself.

“You know we don’t have time for this. We’re on in–”

“Just Relax for a second! Mike will handle it.”

Spamton rolled his eyes. Ant was very lucky he owned everything and it wasn’t someone else, he’d be fired almost instantaneously. It was very unlucky for every other inhabitant of TV World because he was a horrible boss. A fine co-star, yes, but Spamton suspected that was because he’d played favorites way too often.

“Mmm. Did you hear about–” He stopped short of what he was saying. Ant was fidgeting like he wanted to ask a question, and Spamton might’ve just known what it was. “Tens?”

“Yes, my DARLING co-star?”

“Come closer. I have something to say.”

Ant leaned in, and Spamton yanked on his tie until they were eye-level before squarely placing a kiss on his partner’s lips. Then he pulled away with a sly grin on his face and watched Ant implode.

“MA WHAT’S WHOA MAMA MIA WOH WHAT’S MAMA MIA WOH WHAT’S WHOA MAMA WHAT WAS THAT?!?” Ant’s face was glowing a bright color-bar blush and both antennae were sticking straight up.

“Sorry, but if I’m not on set soon, they’ll fuckin’ kill me. See you the-re!” Spamton sing-songed as he hopped off the couch and made his way out the door. He glanced back once to see Ant still frozen in shock and chuckled to himself. This guy was gonna be so easy to use if this was his reaction to one kiss. The ghost in the phone was right. He was getting along pretty well here in TV World.

…

Fixing Tenna was like riding a bike. Spamton never forgot. Sure, he dropped a few screws and bolts, but after a few minutes his hands steadied, and he began to actually work. He readjusted plates, reset dials, reoriented wires and more while he was rooting around in Tenna’s control system. Some cords were frayed or ripped and he was forced to replace them with ones from NEO. He wasn’t even sure if he would operate correctly with the wrong parts, but it was the closest thing he had on hand. They could properly restore Tenna later if they got out of this basement. If this worked.

…

Another week done, another Care-For-Your-TV day. Today was just a checkup, but something was clearly on Ant’s mind.

“Spam?”

“Tens?”

“What are we?”

What kinda question was that? “Partners, obviously.”

Spamton brushed off that first kiss, or any of the ones afterwards. Their relationship was strictly professional. It was normal to take naps with your co-star and nestle up with him on the couch between takes, right? Sure, they went to parties together now, but those were work parties! They didn’t count! And that thing with the mail pin–coworkers gave each other thoughtful and meaningful gifts almost everyday.

Except for the fact that none of those things were true. That maybe this was the very first time Spamton had had something, someone in his life. He thought the Addisons were his friends, but they had abandoned him. Ant wouldn’t do that to him, not with everything they’d built.

“Romantically?”

Spamton scoffed. “What, you didn’t get the memo before? Of course this is sorta-kinda-romantic!”

Is what he would’ve said if the phone didn’t ring.

The phone. One of Spamton’s furniture items that had been moved in a while ago. It usually offered sageful advice, bits and pieces of the grand prophecy to help him secure deals, but now was not a great time.

So instead he said: “I have to take this.”

He picked up the phone and an unforgettable voice rang out through the other end.

DO NOT FORGET YOUR PROMISES

THE LORD OF SCREENS WILL BE CLEAVED RED BY BLADE

Lord of… screens? He looked back to Ant and his vision swarmed. There was a broken, dismembered body on the couch, screen shattered, wires exposed. Dead.

Spamton took a step back in shock. He shook his head and he only saw his colleague happily smiling at him and politely waiting for him to be done with the phone.

That… couldn’t be right. Ant wasn’t going to die. The only lasting person that could stand him, and he was fated to die. No. It wasn’t true. He wouldn’t–couldn’t accept it. He refused.

Every other call had always been right, or was probably going to be. But this… cut too deep. It didn’t matter if Ant wanted to leave or not, he was going to at some point. And Spamton couldn’t stop it. And if that was going to happen, why even bother getting close? It would just hurt more when he died. It already would’ve hurt enough now, but he couldn’t let this grow. He had to nip it in the bud and stamp it out.

Spamton let the receiver fall from his hand and suspend itself on its wire.

“Spam? Is everything okay? Hunky-doody?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. I just… I need to be on set. They’re gonna shoot soon and–”

Tenna twiddled his thumbs and looked down at the floor. “You didn’t answer my question. Is this...?”

Don’t get too close. “What? NO!” Spamton cleared his throat. “I mean, no. This is purely business! I don’t want…” He had to break it off. He had to end it. Maybe they could still be friends, but not too good of ones. It was over before it even really began, strangled in the nest. “I don’t want you getting the wrong idea. This isn’t that kind of thing. It can’t be.”

He couldn’t look as he left the room, but he knew that Tenna would be small and probably not cooperative for the rest of the day. But he’d get over it. Spamton would too. He had to, otherwise all this work would get him nowhere, and he’d be back to square one again. He couldn’t afford to grieve when the day came.

…

Nothing was working. Spamton took everything out and put it back in for the fourth time. He had been working for what he thought was hours. He cast another spell. Why wasn’t this piece of junk functioning?! He knew Tenna was still in there. He saw it himself.

Spamton wasn’t just going to give up. He had never given up in the past, even when he was evicted or beat up or permanently physically altered. He was going to dig his feet in the dirt and keep trying. He would’ve crawled all the way to heaven or hell just to drag that stupid TV back into the world of the living. Because if he didn’t it meant that he really killed Tenna. And no matter how ‘okay’ he seemed, Spamton didn’t know if he could ever live with himself like that.

He took a deep breath and removed all of the insides of the control panel. He was going to do this right. He was going to fix things.

Spamton reattached and rethreaded all the wires. He thought about everything he’d say if Tenna woke up this time.

I’m so sorry.

He tightened nuts and bolts and placed washers.

I’m so sorry.

He carefully cleaned the circuit boards.

I’m so sorry.

He cast another spell for good measure and flicked the on switch inside the hollow where all of Tenna’s inner workings were.

It wasn’t a shock of life, more of a hum. Tenna’s screen slowly filled with static light and similar sounds. Nothing else moved, but this was enough for Spamton. He would’ve cried if he could.

“S_amt_n?” His voice! Music to Spamton’s non-physical ears. It was cutting in and out, but he could still sort of tell what Tenna was trying to say. Was this what talking to Spamton was like?

“It’s me, Tenna. Don’t talk too much. You just woke up.” He was trying his best to keep his cool while he screwed the panel back on and clambered up to Tenna’s head. It felt… soothing to be able to say that now. Tenna. Not Cathode, or Idiot Box, or any of the other countless names that weren’t his. Tenna.

“You so_nd bett_r. L_ke yo_rself this tim_.”

It was true. With the unjumbling of his head came the unjumbling of Spamton’s broken, virus-ridden voice box. He didn’t know if it would last, but it was nice for now. But Spamton wasn’t the focus right now.

“Don’t worry about me. How do you feel?”

“It’s… d_rk. I ca_’t see you. I can’t fe_l my a_ms.”

“I just need to do some more repairs. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

Tenna paused like he didn’t believe him. They could fix the sight thing later, the importance lied in the fact that Tenna was conscious. That he wasn’t dead, or at least he wasn’t anymore. They could reattach his arms and get out of this angel-forsaken basement and go home and just recover and–

“Rep_irs?! But I’m n_t–I’m not br_ken!! I c_n still work!!! I can st_ll do sh_ws!! It’s f_ne! I d_n’t need fix_ng!!” His scratched-up voice stooped to a whisper. “I’m n_t broken. Don’t g_t rid of m_. Please.”

Spamton touched the sides of his old partner’s head lightly. “Hey. Feel this. I’m here. I’m not leaving. But you are pretty banged up, and you need replacements and actual work done, okay?”

“Th_n why am I brok_n? …Did _ou ki_l me? Was I de_d?”

“You were… out.”

“But wa_ it you who _id it? Or _as it that _EO thing?”

Spamton went quiet and withdrew his hands. How easy would it be to lie, to say “Yes, I would never do that to you!”, to push the blame onto something that wouldn’t complain. But he couldn’t keep hiding things and tripping Tenna with words. A purposeful lack of detail was what originally got them into this position.

“Yes.” It was the truth regardless if he said it or not.

Tenna didn’t seem… mad. At least, not yet, which might’ve been scarier. “You re_lly hat_d me that m_ch. Was it n_t en_ugh to–Was I n_t enough?” Spamton didn’t know how to answer, and his hesitation must have made Tenna think yes.

“...I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened, but I, I did it. And that’s–it’s not okay. I just wanted to apologize and try to fix you because that’s what you did for me and I don’t expect forgiveness and I–I don’t even know anymore! It was never supposed to get this bad! I just didn’t want you dead, okay?! I didn’t want you to die hating me!”

Spamton was hyperventilating and hiccupping after those last words. They seemed true enough, but if they were, why would he have killed Tenna? It didn’t make sense to him, and he was the one that did it!

“Ar_ you… cry_ng? Ov_r me?”

Probably. Ten years fueled by pure rage and spite and now he was crying for the second time in a few hours. Or maybe days, or maybe weeks, he didn’t know!

“I’m so sorry about this. About all of this. There was this thing, and I… If it was going to be my fault anyways, then I shouldn’t have pulled away. I shouldn’t have–”

“J_st calm d_wn for a s_cond.” Something in the control panel hissed like it was done wrong. “Wh_t are you t_lk_ng about?”

“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter. This is stupid. I should be the one comforting you. You the one that I–” his voice caught, like he couldn’t really say it himself. “That I killed. Or got close to it. And things can’t be the same anymore. You’ll never see me the same way and I’ve ruined it all.”

“Of co_rse I w_n’t see _ou the s_me way! I’m n_t go_ng to roll ov_r and s_y “YOU _ID IT!” j_st bec_use you und_d the d_mage you ca_sed. You just m_de see_ng you p_sitiv_ly a l_t hard_r. If my _rms were work_ng I’d pr_bably strangl_ you, ha_a!” Tenna’s voice was strained and angry now, and Spamton didn’t doubt that the last part was true.

“Bu_… I don’t w_nt to stay th_nking abo_t this m_ment. I don’t kn_w if I can forg_ve you, b_t I’ll prob_bly try.” He laughed again, but it rang dry and hollow this time. “I’m j_st a big g_llible fool, ar_n’t I? Wh_t, you ripp_d me ap_rt, and h_re I am. Still grasp_ng at… at you. Th_rd and fo_rth and fifth chanc_s, huh? Th_s is stupid, but n_t on your part.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. Instead, Spamton silently checked to see if the static was gone, but the TV snow was still lingering. There were still a few snapped cords on his neck, but he wasn’t sure he could mess with those yet, especially considering the current state of his old partner. He grabbed his toolkit and slid down the side of Tenna’s stationary body to get a better look at his left arm. Maybe if he attached it, more things would become operational.

“Well, I’m earning my keep this time. You’re my only way out of here, afterall.”

“eg_tistic_l as ev_r. You so_nd farth_r away. Wh_t are you d_ing?”

“What, it’s not obvious? I’m trying to put your arms back the best I can, but the–” He stopped and corrected himself. “I did a number on you. And if you do end up throttling me, then that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“You kn_w what? D_n’t both_r. I’m gett_ng trash_d in a few w_eks anyw_ys.”

“Ha, ha. Now’s not the time for jokes, Tenna. It’s pretty bad, but it might just be fixable.” Wasn’t he just saying to never get rid of him?

“I’m s_rious. You kn_w that it’s n_t a j_ke. Unl_ss becom_ng a murd_rous rob_t g_ves you mem_ry loss.”

Spamton froze. “I… I didn’t know. You’re… getting thrown out?”

“Oh. B_t d_dn’t you say th_t…?” Tenna went quiet with thought. “I g_ess now’s as g_od a t_me as ev_r then. I w_s… remov_d from the Dr_emurr h_use. I me_n, hah, I’m h_re, b_t it was beca_se of… spr_ng clean_ng. And T_riel was talk_ng about s_me sort of de_dline. A m_nth, she sa_d, I think, for som_thing to h_ppen. I j_st… assum_d the w_rst, with the id_a of ‘sprin_ cle_ning’ a_d all.”

What? No. No, no, no! Not again. Not another predetermined death that hung in the air like it was already upon them. “It could just mean that you have a month before you go back! You can’t fight? You can’t try? You’re just… giving up?”

“I’m dy_ng, S_amt_n. Ag_in. And s_on. No _ne wants a br_ken TV. So you d_n’t ne_d to both_r with all th_s ‘fix_ng.’ Last t_me I tri_d to fix som_thing, I got d_smemb_red, hah_. Just l_ave me here. You d_d it eas_ly en_ugh the f_rst t_me.”

If it didn’t take so much energy to climb up Tenna, Spamton’s would’ve grabbed him by the collar and shook him. “You think I wanted to leave?! I had to leave because if I didn’t, one of us was going to get hurt more than we already were! I had to pull away! I did everything so precisely and now what? It’s for nothing! Because you’re just going to let yourself die here.” Spamton was out of breath, but he kept talking.

“And you didn’t think this would be GOOD information to know in the first place!? No heads up or warning or ANYTHING?!” Things were bad a few seconds ago, but now Spamton knew that everything was worse. Tenna just hopped from one approaching horror to the next, didn’t he? And this ‘nothing matters’ mentality that his old partner was using was what robbed Spamton of his experiences and relationships in the first place. Spamton wasn’t going to let this stop him, though. Not like last time. If Tenna only had weeks left, he’d spend them with him. If he only had days left, Spamton would be there. It didn’t matter how much time he had left, if he just had time.

“...You d_dn’t w_nt to pull aw_y?”

“YES! Was it not obvious how quickly we made up?! I kept trying to break things off, but I… couldn’t.”

“I d_dn’t r_alize… I m_ant that m_ch to you?”

“Let’s get you patched up and we can sleep about it, okay?” Spamton redirected his attention to Tenna’s busted joint. The question was a loaded gun, and he didn’t want to answer it right now. Maybe Tenna “meant that much” to him a decade ago, but in the dead period before he had picked up Spamton and helped him? He wasn’t so sure about his feelings, especially with his mental state back then.

Back then. ‘Back then’ had only been hours ago now. The change in his mindset, and maybe just his mind had been so quick, he could only think of how he acted as… the distant past. Not like it was something that happened on the same day.

He summoned some more mini-Spams and sent them to grab more materials from the NEO suit. Wires, scraps, screws, anything he needed. Spamton fiddled and twisted parts in and out of the joint.

“Wh_t’s that gl_w? There’s l_ght ab_ve me.”

“Glow? Oh, you mean the healing spells.”

“...I didn’t kn_w you co_ld do heal_ng spells.”

“Yeah, and I’m pretty good at it!” Spamton bragged. “I mean, you have to, if you wanna ease the pain, ya know.” Click. One of the replacement pieces slotted into place.

“Pain?” Tenna’s voice was horribly clear and wavering with… fear. For Spamton?

“It’s nothing. Just, ya know, got slowly turned into a puppet!” A day ago he would’ve lorded that fact over Tenna for years, gathering pity points by the bushel, but now it just seemed like a story he didn’t want to tell. “Wow, I can really say that now. Shit! I can swear, too!”

“Go b_ck to that oth_r thing. You wh_t?”

“That’s why I’m like this. This ugly little thing. It hurt like a bitch, too, but, haha, it’s no excuse for what I did to you. It’s not your fault,” he reassured Tenna.

“D_n’t say th_t.”

Spamton re-routed some of the wires. “Say what? Which part of it?”

“That y_u’re ugly. You’re n_t.”

“You don’t have to lie, Tenna. I know what I look like.”

“You’r_ no s_ght for sore ey_es, but you d_n’t look th_t bad. I could g_t used to _t,” his ex-co-star replied.

They sat in annoyed stillness for a second.

“I’m n_t say_ng it’s bett_r, you just d_n’t look th_t bad.”

“Wow. Thank you kindly, Mr. Encouragement.” Despite his response, the comment still made Spamton feel better, even if it wasn’t 100% genuine. He had spent ten years living in and despising this shape, and it had only taken Tenna two days to say he didn’t “look that bad.” He tightened a few remaining bolts and carefully moved Tenna’s arm back into place. “The left should be good to go. I just need to power you off real quick, okay? It’ll only be a minute, and if I don’t, you could short-circuit in the process.”

“You w_re late l_st time.”

He gathered up his tools and scrambled back up to Tenna’s main box of circuits and control. “I won’t be late this time. Shit, maybe I’ll even be early.” He opened up the panel and hovered over the off switch.

“...I w_s ly_ng eali_r. Don’t le_ve me h_re. Prom_se you’ll com_ back.” His voice was pleading, like Spamton didn’t just spend all that time trying to repair him. But he couldn’t blame Tenna. From his point of view, Spamton was probably the most unpredictable person on the block. Joking, then threatening, slaughtering, then saving. He didn’t want to put him through that again.

“I promise.”

He flipped the switch and the dim light from the screen went out. Spamton quickly attached the necessary components and reached for the button. He hesitated. All the nasty thoughts about Tenna that had accumulated in the passing years flooded through his brain. He hated himself for it.

But in spite of all the feelings, he hit it and waited.

The familiar hum of Tenna’s revival resounded in the empty hall. The lights grew brighter, the static was quieter. Sure, his screen was still a bit cracked, but it wasn’t too bad, and that wasn’t currently fixable. NEO didn’t exactly have perfectly sized and shaped glass parts.

“You’re b_ck.”

“Are you gonna say that every time?”

“It is someth_ng I can expect ev_ry time?”

“Yep. From now on, you can’t get rid of me! No matter how hard you try!” He grinned at his partner’s screen before adding “I’m smiling at you, by the way.”

“Th_nks.”

“Is now when you strangle me?”

“I was ly_ng about that, too.”

Spamton chuckled to himself. This guy was all bark, no bite. Unless you were fire-able. Then you got fired. Or points docked. So maybe he wasn’t “no bite,” but he rarely got too physical. “Can you see better now? Can you shrink or grow, yet?”

“Everyth_ng’s a little foggy, but I can see more th_n light. I think the size thing isn’t working right now, though.”

“Can you move your arm, too?” he added. “I just need to see how it works. Don’t move your body though. I can’t, uh, reach the other arm to fix it if you do.”

Tenna bent his arm at the elbow and moved his shoulder up and down. “It aches like h_ll, but I think it w_rks okay.”

He exhaled pure relief. Tenna’s voice was cutting out less, too, and that meant that Spamton’s theory was right. Maybe everything could function alright after this.

He jumped down to Tenna’s right shoulder to begin the arduous process again. This one was a little less put together and a worse injury. “You should keep talking. It helps me focus.”

“Really?”

“No, not really. But I can talk to you normally now. Well, more normally. I can say more things! And I’m sure you have a lot of questions, am I right?”

“So you can t_ll me why you left fin_lly?”

More little angel Spamtons fluttered around him to lessen the brunt of the damage. “It was… because… I…” How was he supposed to say this? Divine retribution? Phantom repercussions? He didn’t even know what the voice really was.

“I made the wrong deal with someone and I… broke it. I didn’t want the consequences to spread to you.”

“Is your c_rrent… condition part of these c_nsequences?”

This half of the work was going much smoother than the other two. Maybe he just got a handle on the kind of reconstruction Tenna required, or maybe he was just starting to be in a better mood now that they weren’t fighting. Physically or verbally.

“Yeah.”

“Oh. I could’ve h_ndled it. Maybe. I don’t know! I couldn’t handle th_s. Maybe I c_uldn’t. You should’ve w_rned me, at least.”

“I did. Or I tried to, at least. It’s not my fault that the phones weren’t connecting or whatever.” He scratched rust off the surface of some of the inner materials. “I don’t think it’s on either of us. You said that you called, and I know I called, so it’s just unfortunate.”

Spamton chuckled to himself. “Look at us. Having a civil conversation. Sorting out our old problems. Not so hard, is it? Only took one of us killing the other and feeling the indescribable weight of guilt.”

“...How long do you th_nk it’s been?”

“I don’t know. Your watch’s broken and I’m not counting seconds, but I’d say, like a few hours to mayyybe a day.” He retrieved more materials from the healing spells. He needed a name for those things. “You’re asking about time. We should talk more about your deadline thing. You don’t seem to be worried about it?”

“AHAHAH_Hahahah… ha. I am worri_d about it, but I… I don’t know. It j_st feels like another step in the f_mily breaking apart? I don’t–I don’t want to die. I d_n’t want to be unplugged again and left alone. And now that you’re… back or better, or whatever this is, I don’t w_nt to lose you either.”

“You won’t. I’ll stay this time. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go anyways.” Spamton pushed up his glasses with a free hand to rub his eyes and hesitated before he spoke. “You should take me with you. Ya know, on your death day or whatever really happens then.”

“You’re taking a lot of inter_st in this for the guy who kill_d me. I’ll probably go to the d_mp, and you don’t want to be there.”

“Mm. But if you get taken back to TV World, then I want to go with you. And if it ends up being the dump, then it can’t be worse than the one I’ve been living in! What’s one shithole to another, huh?”

They both sat in eerie serenity as Tenna probably was contemplating or something, and Spamton was adjusting changes in the structure of the joint. Maybe-minutes passed.

“You said som_thing about an “expiration date” when we were fighting, but you didn’t kn_w about my… situation. What were you talk_ng about?”

Shit. Even with all the changes that came with getting ejected from the NEO suit, Spamton didn’t actually know if his benefactor was still listening. Sure, he’d been able to say all that other stuff, but it had been vague enough that Tenna probably couldn’t chase down any information. The secret of the direct prophecy most likely wasn’t vague at all. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t play th_t game with me. It’s never noth_ng.”

This guy. “I don’t want to say.”

“Is it because you’re scared?”

“WHAT? No! Of course not…” He finished up with the right arm, stowed all his tools except the screwdriver, and returned to the main control system, hopefully for the last time. He needed to change the subject. “By the way… When was the last time you had real maintenance?”

“Oh, uh, after you l_ft I didn’t really have anoth_r guy. Like someone who actu_lly did it. Mike couldn’t ev_n get the screws off the panel, and on my p_rt it felt like… like cheat_ng.” Spamton could see from his position a familiar multicolored blush from Tenna’s screen. “Not like TH_T! I just meant, w_ll, it was…”

Spamton smiled humorously. This guy.

“ANYWAYS, the thing is, I never had someone after you. I went back to doing it myself, but eventually I just… couldn’t. I never got the chance to do it in between being unplugged, too.”

Right. Tenna said he got unplugged often, but Spamton hadn’t thought it was often enough to miss this many checkups. “You’re completely rusted over in some places. If we get out of here, we might have to start doing maintenance daily.” He popped open the panel hatch. “I need to power you off again, okay? One last time and then never again. Unless we need to, but that’s different.”

“Just g_t it done.”

Fwp. Spamton did everything required and hit the switch again, no hesitation this time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tenna’s screen was at full brightness now, and his nose was even back! His voice seemed fine, too, to himself. He bent and moved his right arm to test it out, and just like the left it hurt. At least it was attached, though

His worry of the deadline was starting to increase with every moment. Dying was… dark. Like sleeping. But getting unplugged was worse, because he was conscious in the dark. He didn’t want to be left alone, even if the only company around was the man who murdered him hours
ago. Had it been hours?

“Spamton?”

And he didn’t know how to feel anymore about his old partner. He seemed more… rational now. Like Tenna’s efforts to repair him had actually done something. But it was a big change. It felt a little too big. Unconvincing. Maybe it was another trick or lie, but why? Spamton was right, afterall. The only place he had to go without Tenna was a different dumpster, and his chances of getting out of the mansion alone were small, too.

“I’m still here! What, you think I’d do all that work and just leave? I don’t just do this for free, ya know!” He sounded far away. His voice was back to… back to how it used to be. Tenna hadn’t seen him yet, but even that was enough reassurance that something was happening. “Uhh, for you I might make an exception, though. Just paying my debts!”

“You aren’t done with this debt, big shot.” Tenna sat up, momentarily forgetting Spamton was still probably on his chest and quickly caught him before he could fall. “Oh. You’re…”

“Sorry, my dear sir, but I still look the same.” He wriggled around in Tenna’s arms, and the changing positions briefly worsened the pain. “Does everything feel okay? You can rest if you need to.”

The TV was silent in response, examining the little mailman’s condition. Outwardly, he looked the same, but Tenna couldn’t stop seeing the maniacal face of the thing that decommissioned him for parts. His own death had replayed countless times in his waking moments after it.

“Did you feel anything when I died? When you killed me?”

Spamton paused with guilt instead of thought. He was normally good at hiding his shame, but this didn’t seem like the situation for it. “Everything. I felt everything… bad. Anger, sadness, but mostly regret,” he admitted, looking Tenna in the “eye.” “I haven’t made up for it yet, but I hope I’ve taken the right steps.”

“How do I know this isn’t another lie?”

Spamton laughed sadly. “That’s the trick. You won’t. You don’t have to trust me anymore, I get it. But I want you to know that if you’ll have me, I’ll be here everyday before and after that deadline.”

“After doesn’t matter. I’ll be unplugged.”

Plastic hands seized his collar and glasses glinted up at him so he could see Spamton’s pupils, his real eyes underneath. He was struggling to stand in Tenna’s arms, but still managed to keep a strong enough grip. “Then I’ll find an outlet. Or a battery. Or maybe I’ll just rot alone next to you. But you’re taking me, in that slim chance that everything’s okay.” His voice had dropped to a serious tone, even though the words it was spouting were only hopeless determination. Tenna found that he even believed him.

And he might really be different now. The thing that restored his voice might've done the same to his mind. Or he might just be the same old charlatan, playing schemes on Tenna. He didn’t trust that this reformation was like a routine on double time. Sloppy and fast and unprepared. But these new words and actions seemed genuine enough. Tenna’s condition was back to square one minus a few cracks and creaks, and the logic lined up. Enough.

Spamton’s gaze visibly drifted to the joints that were holding him up. Maybe he was thinking about what a good job he did. This man was always so sure of himself, so confident. To hear him break down about his mistakes was… more cementing to a possible change.

Broken bodies both looked at someone they thought they had fixed.

“Did you miss me?” Spamton asked tentatively, finally letting go of Tenna’s collar. He probably expected a ‘no’ after all that he did.

“I miss the parts I can’t get back.”

It was true. His hands longed for things he knew he’d never feel again. Not from Spamton. Skin and flesh. A pulse, no matter how fake, how programmed in. Hot breath speaking words laced with ambition. This he took for granted. Things that were good and whole and perfect.

Except they weren’t really all of those things, if any. It only seemed that way because nostalgia is a drug taken by the fistful. It captures you and waters down anything of the present, feeds you lies, and gets you drunk on flawless, golden memories that never really played out that way. His mind never first jumped back to the fights about nothing or getting stood up for the fifth time in a row. That just might be okay. He couldn’t lose himself in the past version of someone when the present was right in front of him, still holding on, still trying.

And maybe it was never about that. Maybe it was never about the way he looked or his voice or the way he held himself when he walked. Those were all surface-level traits that just made things better. They never were the core of the feeling.

“But I can try to move past it. We can. As long as you don’t pull anything like that ever again.” Tenna tried to bring Spamton into a hug, but he pushed away.

“I don’t think actual murder counts as ‘pulling something.’ It's more of a crime, ya know.” Spamton sat back down in Tenna’s arms. “Don’t do that. I don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t be taking it this lightly. You really were dead there for… minutes. Or hours. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

“You were only speeding up the process, hah.” Tenna glanced over at his left shoulder. “I shouldn’t say that. You did all this for me and I…”

“It’s my fault you needed it.”

“But can’t we ignore it for now? Can’t we come back to it later after we’ve rested our heads?”

Spamton sighed. “Sure, Tenna. If that’s what you want.”

Tenna. It was only the third, or maybe fourth time Spamton had said his real name, but it still felt… nice. Like they were actually seeing eye-to-eye now. Like everything was going to be okay again, regardless of what it outwardly looked like.

“I’m good enough to move my legs, I think. We can lea–what’s that?” He painfully freed one of his arms out from under Spamton to point at something he didn’t remember was there before. It was a little dark… thing. Maybe a shard of glass, or something similar, but it was oddly spaced far away from the rest of the mess. “Did it break off of the NEO suit?”

Spamton’s face hastily shifted from reluctance to panic. Was it dangerous? “YES! It did that. Don’t worry about it. It’s just… one of the parts! That I used. Was using. To fix you. It’s fine. We can just leave it here.” He jumped down from Tenna’s hold on him to the floor where it was with a sickening clatter. Spamton quickly scooped up the piece of something and went to put it back where it came from right when he broke.

Then his face artifacted like back in the room with the Wall-Plugs and he dropped to the floor. No. Not again. They couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back to how he was. How he acted. Problem after problem piled on each other like the spelling errors in Spamton’s first written script. Tenna easily snatched the shard from the ex-businessman’s hands and returned it to the wreckage of the NEO suit before gently kneeling by the mailman, in case he could help.

Spamton shortly stopped convulsing, but it wasn’t without worry from Tenna. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

“I’m fine. It just happens. It’s [alright]--” Spamton cleared his throat. “There’s no need. To. Worry. I’m okay.”

“That didn’t sound ‘okay.’ Not telling me is bad for both of us. I don’t want you relapsing and… doing something bad again.” He winced while he gently secured Spamton in his arms again. It was like a neutral pose for the two. It just felt… right. “Your voice did the thing again. Where it’s not yours.”

“It’s fine. Just a bug.”

They were like two fools stuck in pits, trying to get out and reach the surface. They each tried to fill the hole the other was in, but only ever used the dirt of their own to do it, digging themselves down, down, down. Deeper and deeper. Nothing could ever go right for one of them without the other taking a fall.

“What did that thing do to you?”

“It didn’t do anything! I’m just tired.”

It had never occurred to Tenna that Spamton might’ve needed the sleep. He didn’t know the living requirements and circumstances of his plastic body, but back when he was… real, he still slept. He wasn’t like Tenna who had a self-sufficient power grid and only powered off to ease his mind. It wasn’t a physically necessary bodily function. It just kept him sane.

“Have you slept? At all?”

“I’ve been fixing you up, Tens! Don’t have time for sleep. Buuuuuutttttttt… if you carried me back I wouldn’t mind. Take the new arms for a spin!”

Tenna snorted, but his antennae perked up at Tens. He hadn’t heard that in a looong time.. “You’re SO lucky I was already planning to do that.” He stepped over the remaining havoc behind him. All the cut wires, lost screws and broken pieces.

“Let’s go home.”

…

Getting out of the basement, and eventually Queen’s Mansion as well, was much easier than getting in. It was like the opposite of a prison. The suitcase they had used was gone, most likely confiscated or just cleaned up, but surprisingly, the pair didn’t run into any Swatchlings until the final stretch. The singular guard at the door only stepped aside to let them through after she saw that they were leaving, and didn’t even remark on the fact that Spamton was there at all.

The walk back to the apartment was longer. Thankfully, Tenna’s legs hadn’t been badly hurt, or even touched all that much, so it wasn’t too taxing. And just strolling down the streets was… calming. It was dark, as usual, and the city lit up. Spamton was still awake, and he was pointing out billboards and posters he used to be on. His incessant chatter filled the silent void that would’ve otherwise been overtaken by ugly thoughts, and Tenna felt grateful for it. Every so often a word would “bug” out and get replaced by a different voice or phrase altogether, but Spamton tried (and failed) to cover it up. Both were put more on edge with each instance it happened.

By the time they had exited the elevator and gotten to the front door, all the deadline worries were in the back of Tenna’s mind, rather than sporting front-row seats. Unexpectedly, his arms held up the entire way, and he was still cradling the little mailman, though at this point, Spamton was blissfully dreaming.

He fished his key out of his pocket, which he had made sure to have before he left the basement, and opened the door. The apartment was still and quiet, just as they had left it, but the suit that he had shrunk down for Spamton was still lying in view, on the couch armrest. He didn’t even check the clock for the right time, he was so tired. That would be a tomorrow problem.

He absentmindedly laid Spamton down and crawled into his bed, only bothering to remove his tie and shoes, before joining his old partner in sleep.