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Being nothing but a pair of glasses wasn’t bad, certainly not the worst fate Spamton could imagine. He didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to fight for his life. Didn’t have to worry about anything. He could just, for once in his god damned life, rest.
Or that would have been the case, if the lightners hadn’t gone to the one place he didn't want to return to, the one person he warned them not to trust. And he could do nothing but sit on the bridge of Ralsei’s nose and fume as they put up with Tenna’s antics, forced to listen to his slander. Of course he needed a mailman, look how far this place had fallen to rot without him! Hey, his nose was way bigger than that, thank-you-very-much! And whose fault was it that he couldn’t stick around to teach him about technology, huh? If he hadn’t been roped into signing that contract, then…
… But then there was the pipis, tucked away in the dark, but still here. It was the same one. It had to be. Maybe Tenna was all bark and no bite. Maybe he really did still care. Maybe there was still time to change fate.
But Tenna hadn’t recognized him.
He wasn’t sure why he ever thought he would. The inferno of his rage, the spark of hope, all extinguished to embers beneath a mound of foam.
After that, he zoned out and didn’t pay attention for a while. It was better to not think. He was equipment right now. Objects didn’t think.
He only tuned back into reality when he realized they’d stopped moving again.
They were in the greenroom, though only the emergency lights and the gaming TVs were on, leaving the corners wreathed in darkness. Kris wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Just the other two. The girl and the prince. They were standing in front of the S-Rank door, so it seemed likely Kris had gone back there again. To do what, Spamton had no idea.
With nothing better to do, he listened in on their conversation.
“I don’t get what’s so important back there that Kris had to go while Tenna’s still looking for us,” Susi said, gesturing towards the door.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s important. Otherwise they wouldn’t bother,” Ralsei sounded uncertain, and Spamton was inclined to agree. Kris had meandered plenty after he’d loaded himself onto that disk. The wait to get into his dream body had been hellish and agonizing (and then, to twist the knife further, he didn’t even get to keep it.)
Susie crossed her arms and let out a huff of air. “Well, if we’re going to have to wait for them anyways, might as well make ourselves comfortable.” She turned away. Ralsei followed her gaze, giving Spamton the chance to watch her vault over the bar counter.
“Should we be messing with that?”
“Why not? Not like anyone’s here to stop us.” She crouched down, the sound of clinking glassware following. “Woah, for all Tenna’s talk of censors, there sure is a ton of alcohol down here.”
“Alcohol?” Ralsei squeaked before laughing nervously. “Um, maybe we should leave that stuff alone?”
Spamton thought a shot of Everclear to drown out his thoughts of Tenna sounded pretty nice right about now.
“Yeah, yeah,” Susie replied, dismissively waving her hand. “It tastes like shit anyways.” She ducked back down behind the bar. “Hey, they got soda here! What kind do you want? I’m getting a grape soda.”
“Oh, I’m… I’m fine, Susie, don’t worry about me.”
“C’mon Ralsei, live a little! I think this one’s lemon-lime.” She vaulted back over the counter, passing one can to Ralsei before popping her own.
Ralsei stared down at the can in his hands. His paws trembled before he took a deep breath and popped it open with a hiss.
“You okay?” Susie asked, her eyes drifting to the prince’s hands.
“O-oh, yeah. Just thinking.”
“About…?”
Ralsei tilted his head, and suddenly Spamton was staring at the ceiling. “Just… how we’re going to have to face Tenna soon, if we can't talk him down “
“Maybe not,” Susie countered. “Maybe we can sneak off to the fountain before he finds us.”
“That would be ideal, but…”
There was something the prince wasn't saying. Spamton had a guess what it was. That a showdown with Tenna was inevitable. Fated. Doomed to end with the CRT’s death.
Susie put a hand on Ralsei’s shoulder. “No point in worrying about it. Either we fight him or we don't, yeah?”
Spamton couldn't see Ralsei’s expression, but he could hear the hesitant hope in his voice when he said, “Yeah.”
The girl smiled, then stood and picked up a controller from the floor. “Hey, why not try this game? We gotta kill time until Kris is back anyway, right?”
This wasn't interesting anymore. Spamton started to zone out again. But then a thought occurred to him: they were going to close the fountain soon. There would be no returning after that. If there was anything he still wanted to do in TV World, any matters he wanted to settle, this was his last chance. And there was one thing he wanted to check on.
Focusing on his physical form, he nudged himself to the edge of Ralsei's snout, tilting precariously before tumbling to the ground, clattering on the tile flooring. Seconds later, his body reformed with a glow of light and a spattering of pixels.
“Mr. Spamton? What are you doing?”
Spamton didn’t answer Ralsei’s question, scampering over to the S-Rank door. He’d already seen that Tenna had closed off the wall to his old dressing room when the kids were exploring, so getting in that way was out. But he’d stayed in TV land long enough to know there was another way in. One that he never would have dared to use back in his glory days. But now, ten years later? He’d done worse trying to get into the mansion.
The S-rank changing room was nearly empty, save for a small rabbick that didn’t seem to notice him. The crew was probably all off partying. Which was for the best; after Tenna’s freakout, he didn’t care to be seen by anyone else.
He continued back backstage. He could hear the sounds of a game and see flashing lights to the left. That was probably Kris, or the entity controlling them, rather. Of course the puppeteer was goofing off at a time like this. He’d already seen that first hand, compacted into a disk and at their mercy paraded all around Cyber City before they finally brought him back to the basement.
That wasn’t where he needed to go, anyway. He turned instead to the right, feeling around in the dark until he felt the cold metal of a manhole cover. The access hatch to the maintenance hall.
All he had to do was get it open. He hooked his fingers around the edge and grunted, struggling with the weight of it. These days, he probably didn’t weigh much more than it did, a thought that made static dance at the corners of his vision. Finally, he managed to pry it loose just enough to shimmy under. It thunked shut, leaving him in near total darkness, save for a single red emergency light.
This was one of the shorter maintenance halls, with only two other exits; one opened into the backstage of the minigame rooms; the other, at the far end, opened up to a dressing room. His old dressing room.
As he climbed the ladder and, with some effort, pushed the cover up and open, he was rewarded with an echoing, banging clatter and a cloud of dust. He coughed, waving it away as he scrambled into the room.
He shuffled across the floor, wincing as he stepped on something sharp, fumbling for the light switch. It clicked to life with an electric hum, one of the bulbs flickering, casting the room in a sickly glow.
The furniture was gone; most of it at least, aside from the old phone, laying unplugged and unhooked on its table in the corner of the room. He pointedly avoided looking at it, trying to ignore the ringing invading his mind, trying to ignore the tug he felt at his hands and neck and shoulders, urging him to pick it up. With some effort, he reached up to scratch at his neck, as if to tug at strings that weren’t really there.
His stubby foot was stinging. He lifted it to get a better look and saw a fresh scratch. Turning back the direction he came from, he spotted the culprit: glass shards, darkened like the putrid color of an infected wound, littered the ground, tracing back to a broken mirror hanging on the wall.
It wasn’t the only thing still hanging.
Two posters, promotional shots from when he and Tenna had officially become collaborators, hung on the wall, the corners peeling and yellowing with age but as a whole still intact. He grimaced, staring up at those smiling faces. Staring up at his smiling face, happy and carefree, with no idea of the coming storm.
No. That wasn’t his face. Not anymore. Maybe if it had been, Tenna would have…
He brought a hand up to trace the side of his face, fingers catching on the comically prominent cheekbones, then trailing to his oversized teeth and hinged jaw.
No wonder Tenna hadn’t recognized him. He was wrong. Small and plastic and featherless and ugly. A puppet.
He shouldn't have come here. He should have stayed as glasses and waited for something to happen. He needed to go back. He needed to leave. He needed to sink back into that dreamlike state and pretend he was somewhere else. Pretend that the end wasn’t coming and that he wasn’t full of mixed feelings, excited for it and dreading it. He wanted Tenna to pay. He wanted him to feel every bit as little and broken and hopeless as he did. Once, he had wanted to protect him. Once, he had wanted him to die. Now? Now he didn’t know what he wanted, but the end was fast approaching, regardless.
Glass crunched under his feet as he scrambled back into the maintenance hall, slicing more scratches into the plastic. Pain shot up his leg as a shard managed to pierce the plastic, but he didn't stop. Not until he had shoved the other manhole away and returned to the backstage area. Only then did he stop to pick out the glass. Only then did he summon a little healing spell, grumbling under his breath as it stopped the bleeding.
“Is someone there?”
Spamton froze as a voice echoed in the empty room. A voice still familiar, despite the fact that, until today, it had been 10 years since he heard it last. A voice that conjured up the scent of hot coffee and the burn of cold booze.
Ramb.
His hands trembled as he stood up, joints clicking with every stiff movement. Conflicting thoughts blurred together in his mind. Anger — Ramb was part of Tenna’s crew. As far as he was concerned, they were all culpable in his downfall. Pity — Ramb wasn't a member by choice, but by necessity. Those that didn't work for Tenna only had the option of living in the wasteland that was the surrounding purple cliffs, hoping to be taken away, as some had been before. Hope — Ramb had been the only crew member to ask after him, to even acknowledge him aside from Tenna. Sure it wasn't by name, but it was in the same breath as Queen and Swatch and that had to mean something. Confusion — he sounded so… tired. Defeated. Was something wrong?
Spamton inched his way down the narrow backstage walkway, towards the dim glow of light spilling from the other room, discordant 8-bit music drifting through the open door. In a dark corner, just barely outlined by the light, he could see a figure standing still. As he got closer, he could better make out the details. It was Ramb, alright, but there was something wrong about the way he stood near completely still, barely breathing. One coal-black eye rolled in his direction as he stepped into the light, the other remained frozen. Petrified. Turned to stone. Ramb was turning to stone.
“Don't think I've seen you around before, mate,” Ramb said, his eye settling on Spamton’s glasses. “But I figure you're with the lightners, yeah? I recognize your glasses.”
Spamton flinched, the corners of his mouth turning down. So Ramb didn't recognize him either. Maybe that was for the best, but it still wounded his pride. His face started to turn red as he lunged to grab Ramb by the straps of his overalls. His plastic fingers scraped against stone instead, and he stumbled, barely keeping himself from face-planting.
“CO M3 ON [[ROM]]??? ARE YOU [It hurts! I can't see!]???? Y0U KNOW [[Number One Rated Salesman 1997]]!!!”
Confusion clouded Ramb’s expression (at least, the part of his face that could still move), before morphing to shock, then horror. “ Spamton ? Is that really you, chum? You look like shit!”
“Y0U DONT LOOK SO [hot singles] YORSELF!”
“Sound like shit, too.” Ramb frowned. “You picked a hell of a time to show up again, mate. Does Tenna know you're here?”
Spamton crossed his arms, scoffing. “[[Boob Tube]] DIDN'T [facial recognition software] ME. HE CALLED ME A [Rodent problems?]. A. R4T!!!!”He stomped his foot on the ground, trying to hide the wince as he aggravated the barely-healed puncture.
Ramb raised his one unfrozen arm to rub at the back of his neck, then let it drop. “Tough luck, mate. Maybe you’ll have better luck next time, yeah?”
Better luck next time? Better luck next time? There wasn’t going to be a next time!
“So why now?” Ramb asked, making Spamton realize he’d zoned out. “Why show up now of all times? Why didn’t you come back? Do you have any clue how bad Tenna fell apart after you left? How much worse things got, both for him and for the crew?”
“EAHAHAHA [Knowledge base] COMES AT A [Price per item] [surge protector].” Spamton leaned over to prop his elbow on Ramb’s petrified shoulder. “BUT 1’LL OFFER YO U A D34L FOR JUST [4.99][kromer].” When Ramb didn’t say anything, he stood back up, just to make sure he hadn’t fully petrified, then continued. “I’LL THROW ONE IN FREE. I GOT A [part-time job] AS A [full time] [.obj].” He adjusted his glasses, widening his smile.
“SO, DEAL?”
It was hard to read Ramb’s expression, given his half-frozen face and the darkness, but Spamton thought he looked annoyed.
“ Spam, mate, you know I don’t have dark dollars anymore. And Tenna doesn’t let me keep points on me on the clock. Even if I had the funds, how am I supposed to pay you like this?”
That was… a fair counterargument, one Spamton considered while tapping his chin. “Y0U DRIVE A HHARD [bargain bin prices!] I’LL GIVE YOU [one] MOR3 ON [IOU]. PAYMENT DUE WHEN THE [little sponge] BRINGS U BACK TO [castille] TOWN. SO [what’ll it be]?”
Ramb closed his eye, going quiet as he considered his options. “Why didn’t you come back? Tenna waited for you, you know? Spent weeks hoping. And we heard nothing.”
“HEARD NOTH;;ING???” Spamton had to clench his fists to keep his temper under control. He only partially succeeded. “I [dial] DAY AFTERRR D4Y! SCREAM [H3LP!!] INTO THE RECEIVER!! BUT! [No response.] N0N3!!!”
“You… Tried to call? I don’t… think Tenna ever received any calls.”
“SO WHY DID HE CHANGE HIS [CreditCardNumber]?”
“He…. what? No, nevermind. Just. Answer the original question. If you couldn’t get ahold of him, why didn’t you come back?”
Right. The original question. A question he didn’t want to answer. A question he couldn’t answer. Not fully.
“TRI3D. COULDN;T. L0SST IT.”
“Lost it?”
“LOST IT.”
“How did you lose it?”
He sucked a breath through his teeth. “CAN’T SAY.”
Ramb looked… disappointed. He let out a sigh. “All this time, and you’re still keeping secrets. Dunno why I’m surprised.”
“DON;TT [bee] LIKE THAT. I LOST [Hyperlink Blocked]. I CAN’T— I CAN’T— I CAN’T—” He cut himself off with a garbled cry, pulling at his hair to ground himself when a glitch rippled through his body. “THEY. JUST. [don’t let me].”
“Won’t let you? Who won’t let you?”
Spamton glared at Ramb, arms crossed.
“Something else you can’t or won’t say then. Was it always like that?”
Spamton considered for a moment, then wiggled his hand to convey “kinda-sorta.”
“Guess that explains a lot, then. Shame, that things turned out the way it did, innit?” He chuckled weakly. “You know, your disappearance caused a lot of direct and indirect pain. But despite that, I have to admit, I missed our little chats.”
Spamton averted his gaze, staring down at his hands, he turned him over, eyes tracing over the palms. When he replied, his voice came out mostly undistorted. Exhausted. “...Me too.”
He waited for Ramb to say something more, but was met with silence. When he looked up again, he saw that the plugboy was fully petrified now, eyes staring out at nothing.
Spamton took a hesitant step back, thought about saying something more, then hurried away. There wasn’t any point. He should get back to the kids. There was still work to be done.
Ramb had never really belonged here. His petrification was proof enough. Twelve years serving the residents of TV World with a forced smile, all amounting to nothing.
He could relate.
Static danced at the corners of his vision as he returned to the greenroom. He heard Ralsei ask him something, but didn’t register the question. Instead, he just returned to his dealmaker form, the glasses clattering to the ground.
He was vaguely aware of being picked up and placed back on the darkner’s face, but all the words sounded muffled and distant. That was alright. He didn’t particularly care to listen.
They’d have to face Tenna soon. Fate foretold it. And as much as he hoped the kids found a way to break fate, the pessimist inside him, the part of him that spent his early years struggling to make ends meet, the part of him that spent 10 years struggling to survive in the trash in hopes of escaping, only for it to all be ripped away again, expected that it would all fall apart. Tenna would die like he was fated to. Like he deserved. And…. And… Spamton didn’t want to think anymore.