Archive of Our Own

Spamton looked into the mirror.

His smirk widened across his face, leaning one hand against the mahogany vanity and using the other to comb theatrically through the jet-black feathers that made up his hair. His grin flashed his sharp teeth - freshly whitened and recursively reflecting back the image from the polished glass. Those eyes shone with inspiration, optimism, charm, the whole package deal of success! He chuckled to himself, pointing finger guns at the handsome devil on the other side and clicking with his mouth, winking performatively at the only person who could stand as his equal. Himself.

Spamton’s feet pushed forward on the yellow velvet stool he was standing upon, everything in the dressing room he inherited intended for someone three times his height. He briefly considered if he’d been lumped with some kind of hand-me-down room, no other Darkner in the studio matching absurd levels of height quite like he did. Despite that, he could probably make it work, eyeing at the space behind him through the reflection. Keep the lounger as it was - bigger means better when his comfort was concerned. Throw in an ashtray, cause those cigarette butts weren’t going to throw away themselves! That’d be a job for one of those dice boys, he was sure. He’d have to tuck a shrine away somewhere, so prying, nosey screens wouldn’t go sniffing in business not meant for anyone but him. Then there was his phone. That would take some deliberating. Why couldn’t Mike have set him up with a mobile instead of a rotary? Tech was evolving, and that kind of thing belonged back in the 1920s along with that Cathode he’d been forced with.

That guy was weird. Charismatic in a way that had this Dark World wrapped around his gigantic fingertips, but unstable enough that all his employees hated his ass. The man was an active volcano, and the size of one to boot. Spamton had barely been here a week and the Addison had already witnessed the guy gutting several employees for menial mistakes, especially those Pippins for goofing off. The place was so broken and such a wreck, Spamton was already working his mental magic trying to fix the dump. He could be the glue that stuck this place back together. Get this shabby, forgotten studio back on the map, get those employees and the big guy to respect him, and then he’d be one step closer… One step closer.

Speak of the devil - the door behind him creaked open, Spamton following the movement from the mirror, remaining locked in place as he absentmindedly reached for the plain coffee cup on the table. Soon, he’d have his own unique one with the mark he’d leave on the host’s operation. That signature screen poked through, stark-black, with only a smile to decorate those features. A blank canvas for Spamton to target his brush and redecorate. That mini skimmer hat he wore, bright white and striped the same tint as his casing, also set to date him back a good few years, the matching cane he normally carried being absent. The only part that could remotely scream ‘class’ about Mr Ant Tenna was that sharp black suit. Though maybe he could stand to lose the bow tie.

“There’s the man of the hour!” the CRT beamed, walking in with a pair of boxes in hand, “how’re you liking the ?”

“Not too shabby, big guy,” Spamton responded from the gaze of his mirror, “though, if I’m being honest, a little inaccessible for people who aren’t as larger than life as a certain someone I know.”

“Oh really?” Tenna’s smirk grew as he set aside the boxes beside Spamton on the table, “who would that be?”

“Come on,” Spamton rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, “I’m lookin’ at him, Silver Screen!”

“Heehee,” Tenna’s features grew rosey, “that’s true! You won’t find anyone as fit for in , that’s for sure!”

“You aren’t wrong there,” Spamton chuffed, “now get on with it; what’re the boxes for?”

“Well…”

Tenna pulled off one of his satin-white gloves, revealing the connecting joints of his fingers. He waggled them in front of Spamton cheekily before holding out the index, unsheathing a sharp claw with a deliberate shing. His mouth formed a surprise circle at the display, laughing at his own antics, and prompting not-so-subtly for Spamton to do the same. If there was one thing the TV seemed to hold almost as high as his Lightners, it was the attention. 

The pointed claw ripped through the tape of the box with ease. Specifically the larger box, as beforehand he had taken the other off the stack and tucked it to the side. He opened it like a kid on Christmas, lifting up the main event behind Spamton to be captured in the mirror’s entirety. In his hands was a ruby red suit, big enough for the Addison to look like he’d just installed a pair of curtains. The garment was decorated with yellow buttons and housed an identical ‘TV’ badge on the left side. Reaching back into the same box, Tenna presented a bright pair of yellow shoes and a belt with… His face on it. Of course. At least there was also a proper tie.

Spamton couldn’t deny the step-up from Tenna’s current getup. It was bright, loud, and showed originality. Some could call it obnoxious, but when you’re a man like Tenna, Spamton genuinely thought the best thing to do was lean into it. ‘Show up what makes you you!’ was what he’d said to the TV during their first meeting, tearing apart the workings of the studio for new ideas and better improvements. While sceptical at first, the short time together had already proven fruitful, the ruler of this Dark World eating from the palm of a mere advertisement’s hand.

“Not bad, Tens,” Spamton whistled in approval, the TV beaming behind him.

“Oh, I KNEW you’d like it!” Tenna expressed giddily, “I took what you said to ! I thought about what made me, well, me! I had Shuttah help me out! Its opinion was great, and-”

“Yeah yeah, I get it, Cathode,” Spamton waved him off, Tenna pausing abruptly, “did’ya come in here just to brag? You know I don’t mind the company, but ain’t we got a shoot in thirty? Thought you’d be hounding me about that over this.”

“HEY-! I wouldn’t hound you, I-” Tenna guffawed, before sliding over the smaller box, “but yes, you’re right. And no, that wasn’t all I came here for, Mailman. Don’t interrupt me before the !”

Tenna swiftly tore into the other box, grinning widely as he reached into its contents. Slowly, deliberately, he revealed another red suit and hung it in front of Spamton’s body, the Ad blinking as he realised what was happening. On the same leftmost side, the ‘@’ symbol shone brightly in the luminescent bulbs surrounding the mirror’s edge, envelope belt bringing the look together. Spamton leaned back off the vanity so he could see it more clearly. It was perfectly tailored to him… Down to every last detail, including the shoes and the tie.

“So… Do you like it?” Tenna asked, slightly bashful.

For the first time since meeting the guy, Spamton was at a loss for words, his mouth agape slightly at the gesture. Back in Cyber City, he and the other Addisons wore one thing and one thing only. He’d only changed once before, back when Mike first helped him cozy up to Queen, a suit that he still wore now. Unassuming and uneventful. It brought a surprise factor when he opened his mouth, Mike had told him. He was right, of course, and it’d worked exactly the same way on Tenna. The gesture spoke volumes - matching with the guy running the whole joint. Glancing back at Tenna through the reflection, the CRT smiled softly at him. Shy, but curious, he waited for a response, but Spamton’s physical reaction had given away enough already. Too much.

Spamton shook himself out of his stupor, reaching forwards to take the suit from Tenna, making sure to examine it all over. He lifted it away from himself and turned his head back to the CRT for the first time since he entered the room.

“Not bad,” he smirked, “but I’m ditching the yellow shoes.”

“WHAT?!” Tenna gasped, “but I like those shoes! I’ll have you know-”

“Relax, Silver Screen, you can keep yours,” Spamton clarified, “I just think I fit better with a hint of maturity. We can match, don’t you worry. In fact, this is a great idea!”

Tenna’s antenna perked up, “really..? You think so?”

“I know so,” Spamton reworded, “the differences with the badge and the belt are top notch, Tens. I just think having different shoes would tie it all together-”

“I see what you did there!”

“-besides, it’d, uh… Make you stand out more! That flash of extra colour is important for the star of the show!”

Spamton internally put his hands together and prayed desperately to Heaven. Oh god, please don’t make me wear those disgusting as hell clown shoes I will not be caught dead wearing something as tacky as that please I beg of you-

“That’s a GREAT idea, Spammy!” Tenna lifted his arms up in the air, “After all, the host needs to stand out! That’s why you’re the sprinkle of modern tech! Here to enhance the that is I couldn’t have put it better myself! Well, yes I could, but that’s not important.”

“Yep, that’s me, full of ideas,” Spamton smirked.

“Anyway! Quickly, you have to try it on! You’re wearing this for the shoot in twenty! Don’t be late!”

“Wait, right now??” Spamton called out in surprise, “We’re not even going to see if-”

But Tenna was already out the door, slamming it behind him loudly, leaving Spamton holding onto his new suit, frozen in place. Seems like he wouldn’t get much more of a say. 

He let out a sigh.

Typical.

Wait… Did he just call him ‘Spammy’??

Spamton approached the mirror.

The addison still had to climb onto the stool to see himself. He’d redecorated his dressing room over the years. The ashtray, the shrine; the phone sat isolated on a small coffee table. He even had his own desk, properly sized too. The only things that remained unchanged were the lounger and the vanity, Spamton still content with clambering up to the top if it meant the stellar view he had of himself. The room now also had a framed poster of him and Tenna, their first performance on display for everyone to see. The manhole in the back led directly backstage too, so he could torment Ramb whenever he wanted. Tenna was too big to use it, so Spamton kept it his little secret.

Looking at his reflection clearly, he watched the beads of sweat as they trickled down his face. He clutched a large, bright red and yellow bouquet of flowers tightly against his jacket, smoky grey with the same white colour undershirt he normally wore with his work suit. He’d make sure his trousers were perfectly ironed beforehand, that little green diceboy making sure no crease or crinkle was left untouched. He slicked back the feathers on his head, willing the ones poofing at the sides to get a grip and flatten. He hadn’t been this jittery since first meeting Mike that fateful day, followed by his first meeting with Queen, then maybe some of his sales before his life turned around.

Suddenly, he winced, lowering the flowers to grip the side of his face. His damn jaw had been acting up of late. ‘Temporomandibular disorder’, the Ambyu-Lance had called it, but he really couldn’t tell. According to Tenna, he tended to grind his teeth together and sometimes chew pens to the brink of death. Whatever it was, he wanted it gone.

A knock resounded from his door, causing the Addison to jump in place, scrambling as his foot slipped from the stool. He wobbled on one leg, yelping unceremoniously as he caught his balance.

“...Spammy? Are you okay in there?”

Shit, Tenna.

Spamton reached swiftly for his flowers, rushing to control his hair once again, tail feathers betraying him as they swished from side to side excitedly. 

“Never better, Tens!” he called back, “Feel free to come in!”

The door slowly creaked open, revealing that signature white screen, nose peeking through before the rest of his body did. He had a black jacket on with a v-neck shirt underneath that, if Spamton could be honestly unprofessional, did nothing to hide his massive tits. The CRT knew what he had, that was for sure, Spamton willing his eyes not to stare directly at them from the reflection of the mirror. Those blue jeans also highlighted the rest of his body, and now Spamton had to try equally hard not to choke on his own saliva. 

“Hey, Big Shot,” Tenna approached him smoothly, cord tail flicking side to side as he leant down to kiss Spamton’s forehead, antenna twisting around themselves in a moment of weakness. He may be trying to act suave, but Spamton could see through the man.

“Heya, Tens,” Spamton craned his head upwards to face the taller man head on, reaching forwards to peck gently at his lips, pulling apart quickly afterwards.

“You dress up nicely,” he added, no longer hiding his gaze as he eyed the TV up and down.

“Pshhhh, not really,” Tenna looked away, flower blooming from his nose, “Lanino and Elnina helped… If we weren’t going to Cyber City, I think I’d… Rather…

“Wear a dress?” Spamton finished, to which Tenna nodded, shrinking down a couple feet, “hey, don’t sweat it, Tenna. Next time we’ll stay in TV World. Besides, I might get jealous if other Darkners start peering at your legs…”

Spamton trailed a hand down Tenna’s thigh, the taller man shuddering and gasping his name jokily. The Addison couldn’t get enough of it all, the CRT melting like putty under his touch. It had all developed so suddenly, stolen glances and subtle jokes on set evolving into hidden makeout sessions and gasped desire. It was only after one particular day, where Tenna had crawled under his desk smaller than his palms, and cried out about how uncertain he was about them. The two of them. Romantically.

He loved Tenna. He really did. Somehow, he had gone from using the TV to standing beside him as an equal. From wanting to stand on his box of a head to reach the sky to wishing he could hold his hand and walk into Heaven together. His hesitation and desperation had come from Mike. How would Mike react to this? How would his benefactor take it if he lost focus, even for one second? Worst of all, how would he feel about Spamton actually wanting to share a slice of their pie with Tenna? The plan had gone from simple to complicated, all because his heart couldn’t help but reach for the man when he entered a damn room.

“Spammy?” Tenna asked, “are those flowers… For me?”

“Uh,” Spamton flinched, feathers puffing out as he huffed, shoving the bouquet into Tenna’s face, “here.”

He couldn’t look at the man. But he could look at him from the mirror. He simply froze for a moment, lifting the petals up to his nose and inhaling deeply. His own flower camouflaged perfectly with the rest, his screen flushing as he gave the Ad a warbled smile.

“Thank you, Spammy. I love them.”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it, Cathode,” Spamton shrugged off.

“No, really,” Tenna turned his head to face the glass where Spamton focused his gaze, the two catching each other in the reflection, “thank you. No one’s ever… Done this for me before.”

It was both completely surprising and not at all. This was an attractive man. Based on looks alone, Spamton could see him pulling Darkners from all over the shop. Yet he was still an active volcano, and a high investment. Man carried more baggage than Spamton had ever kept in the boot of his ‘dero, and he didn’t hide it. You had to tiptoe around every sentence. Like a live wire, Tenna was prone to sparking out at the slightest probe, which could lead to two things: he gets large and yells in your face, with a side threat of potentially getting your ass kicked by a man twice your side. Or he could get glooby, shrinking down and cowering like a little kid. Spamton couldn’t deny he was an exhausting partner, but when you care about someone, you find that it doesn’t matter. That you would help them anyway, because it was worth it. Spamton wondered if Tenna had lobotomised him with Television at some point, because he’d gotten way too soft.

“Don’t mention it, big guy, really,” Spamton smirked, “anything for you.”

“Ohhhhhhuhuhuhuh, Spammyyyyy,” Tenna leant back, swaying on the balls of his feet.

Hook, line and sinker. It was that easy.

“Anyway, let's get going, hey?” Spamton hopped off the stool, leading Tenna to the door, “I’ve got a great bar in the city I just have to show ‘ya.”

Spamton peered into the mirror.

He’d slammed the door open fiercely, a distant yelling still audible from outside as he’d thrown a lowball glass directly at the wall, shattering it and spilling hard liquor all over the lounger. He’d leant against the wall for a moment, swirling emotions bubbling in his stomach. He soon realised that was actually bile, making a mad dash to his en suite and leaning over his toilet as he emptied the contents of the fancy meal enjoyed just seconds ago. It was a nice steak. Medium rare.

He made his way up the stool after that, the mirror now capturing his dishevelled complexion as he wiped the leftover vomit from around his mouth with his arm. The coat of his suit had been abandoned to the floor, tie hanging haphazardly around his neck. His hair was a mess, sticking out every which way, and his eyes were encased in dark circled rings imprinted from his lack of sleep. He burped, the last remainder of his dinner threatening to escape through the orifice leading into his stomach. Spamton fought back, leaning forward as he scraped the vanity’s surface with the talons on his hands.

“SPAMTON!” The voice from outside continued to yell, banging sharply on his door, “OPEN THIS DOOR AND LISTEN TO ME! THIS CONTRACT WILL HELP BOTH OF US! IT’S FOR US! WHY ARE YOU SO DAMN STUBBORN?!?!”

The voice let out a shrill screech, Spamton covering his ears as his brain jackhammered around in his skull.

“Please. Please Spammy. Please. I love you. I need you. Please just listen to me. Please just agree with me. Please. Please open the door. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please-”

He could hear the man getting smaller as he begged, sobs echoing behind the thin barrier that separated them. Spamton wouldn’t give him the time of day. It wasn’t the first time he had pitched this contract, all starry-screened and hopeful. He had no idea. The world didn’t work like that.

Tenna was desperate. Spamton could understand that. Their relationship had been rocky as of late, the CRT lashing out more and more on his employees and at him. He was hurt at first, but the truth became apparent soon enough, when they’d had to make that broadcast…

He wasn’t the most familiar with Tenna’s Lightners, despite their connection to Queen’s own. He wasn’t a ruler, so he didn’t have the ability to see them quite like they could. The only Lightner he’d ever interacted with was a young girl called Noelle Holiday, thanks to his benefactor, and the kid was sweet enough. She and her family had gone to visit the Lightners that Tenna so desperately entertained, and that was how they first met. It was how the two worlds became so intrinsically connected to each other, alongside Card Kingdom, just like those families were. There were the two parents: Toriel and Asgore, and their kids: Asriel and Kris. They were close with ‘lil Noelly and… And her big sister.

December Holiday had gone missing. Spamton didn’t know the girl, but Tenna was heartbroken. He’d stood by his side during the broadcast, and once it was over, they didn’t film anything for an entire week. The crew had the reruns covered, and Spamton tried to make sure Tenna ate and drank, but it was clearly hard for him. Spamton wasn’t good at comforting people. Mike had never given him any tips or puppeted him during those moments, so he had to figure it out alone. Tenna bounced back eventually, but it was more of a hobble. He kept breaking down. Spamton didn’t have the whole picture, but Toriel and Asgore had started biting heads. It was bad from what he did hear, and the damn TV was putting it all on himself. There was no nice way to say ‘you’re not important enough’, but that was the truth. 

Tenna had only come back around recently with the idea of this new contract. Spamton had shown interest at first, the deal genuinely sounding like everything the duo could ever want. He’d be able to talk about his secret freely, and Tenna would help him reach Heaven. Tenna had no idea about that last part, of course, but it read that he would help him and his benefactor with their goals. The goal was Heaven, so Spamton couldn’t have been more thrilled. It was perfect. He’d won, no manipulation, and all he had to do was cozy up to the guy in charge. It was just more authentic than Spamton could’ve ever anticipated.

Then the phone rang.

Spamton let out a pained cry, latching onto his shoulders as they seared with pain. They’d been killing him ever since that damn call, scratching away at his very skin and digging deep into his bones. His jaw had gotten worse too, locking in place when he spoke and dislocating with echoing cracks. He could vaguely hear Tenna again from outside the door, but he couldn’t make it out, meeting his own gaze in the glass of the mirror as tears streamed down his face. 

He jumped when the door snapped open from its hinges, Tenna looming from the doorway, his voice a jumble of broken static. He stared at him through the reflection, pupils blown wide as his screen leaked black ichor, arms falling from loose wires, suit destroyed and covered in in that same murky darkness. He shambled towards Spamton, who’s legs remained locked in place as the balls of his knees gave way, the screen inching just behind his head. He could feel his lungs constricting, his breath escaping in wheezed gasps as his claws bawled into his fists, ripping into the skin of his palms. That face behind him flashed with one clear image: the outline of a box, a line diagonally striking through its middle.

THE LORD OF SCREENS, CLEAVED RED BY BLADE.

Spamton turned to the [[LOOKING GLASS]].

[[Valued customer!]] had thrown it into his [[home sweet home]] recently, a crack pierced cleanly into the center and running out in jagged patterns. How rude to trespass on his [[luxury suite]]! Though maybe he should [[thank you cards for your loved ones!]] them, for the free [[IKEA: Affordable Furniture and Home Inspiration]]. It was hard to afford much of anything with his lack of [[KROMER]], so any [[recyclables]] were [[thank you for your patronage!]].

The broken glass somehow made him more [[Freaks at your local Circus!]] than he already was. Two fractured lines separated his [[SERVICE WITH A SMILE!]] grinning eerily back at him, yellowing and decrepit. His eyes pierced through his [[Opticians appointments only $100]] of pink and gold, bearing into his lack of a [[HEART-SHAPED OBJECT]]. He was the kind of creature Lightners would write frenzied blog posts about. Some sort of [[local Cryptid sightings!]]. Slowly, he walked closer, the glass clearing his appearance as he slotted between the cracks, reaching out with his balljointed hand to touch his own face. He was disgusting. A fraud of a salesman.

He deserved this fate. Karmic retribution, he told himself, as everything slipped through his fingertips. Getting with [[KILL YOUR TV!]], signing the contract, losing his benefactor, his home… All of it was his just [[Premium-baked goods!]]. He should’ve listened to Mike… Mike was the only one leading him to [[HEAVEN]], and he threw it all away. For what? For [[hot singles in your area!]]? For [[path to Stardom in three simple steps!]]? What was the point of it all? It amounted to nothing in the end. The [[HDMI Cable]] to TV World had been disconnected, and all his phone calls to [[Cathode]] had been met with radio silence…

That damn [[TRASH HEAP]]! It was all his fault! He’d [[KILLED]] him if he ever had the chance.

Not like that would change anything. He would be [[CLEAVED]] either way.

All contact with Mike had been lost since then, too. He hadn’t spoken to [[CLOWN AROUND TOWN]] in a long time either, the only other Darkner who knew about his secret. He was locked in [[FREEDOM]] down in the deepest dungeons of Card Castle, which should have been [[foreshadowing is a narrative device]] in and of itself. His aches and [[Ibuprofen]], too. All of it. All the [[Do not pass go!]]. Pathetic. He should have seen it coming.

Spamton turned to the wall of his [[Five star hotel]], etching another mark into his tally. Day 752. Day 752 of his new life. Day 652 of his plan. Day 630 of trying to break into [[VICTORIA]]’s [[Buckingham Palace]]. Day 580 since he’d [[Redecorate your wardrobe today!]]. Day 450 since he’d first gotten into the basement. Day 300 since seeing his [[body modifications made simple!]] for the first time. Day 150 of realising, no matter what he did, he would never be enough. He needed a [[Light NEr]]. He needed [[KRIS]].

[[HEAVEN]] was waiting for him. He just needed to [[FLY]]. 

Spamton leaned into the [[LOOKING GLASS]].

Well, not really. This wasn’t a mirror in the typical sense of the word, though it reflected his face all the same. It was a Television screen, from a Cathode Ray Tube. CRT for short. A very broken one, covered in snow. It had been abandoned here after the [[LIGHT]] had forsaken it. The prophecy foretold this day, a very long time ago. For 800 days, he’d been dreaming of this very moment. Standing upon the body of [[THE LORD OF SCREENS]] and telling him ‘I’m happy. I’m happy you’re dead. You did this to me. Rot in hell’.

So then… Why? Why did it feel so wrong? Why did it hurt so much? Why did he want to cry? To double over and collapse onto his chest, sobbing into the fabric of his shirt once more. Because he cared? Because he loved him? Because he never blamed him, deep down inside? 

He was the first person to treat him like someone. The other [[All we do is advertise!]] branded him a failure, unable to make a single sale, an impossible success. [[VICTORIA]] talked down on him, patting his head and treating him like marketable entertainment. [[MS PAINT]] forsook him, throwing him into an acid bath despite their previous long chats together. [[God_Save_the_Queen.wav]] held little trust for him, which he supposed the plugboy was right in the end, though that didn’t prevent his pitiful fate. [[CLOWN AROUND TOWN]] saw him as crazy, much like the clown was himself.

[[CATHODE]] looked up to him, for a time. He remembered the day he got them the matching suits, walking out on stage to do their talk show for the first time together. He’d been on set before, but this was the first time he was introduced as his co-host. It wasn’t long before his name was plastered on every logo, every program. It went from [[CRT]]’s show, featuring the mailman who read the advertisements, to theirs. Them. Together. As a pair.

Then, the [[kiss kiss fall in love]] was the best part. Now? Now he just missed him. He hated that. He hated it deep down to the bottom of his code. Missed the talks, going over the scripts, drinking at the bar, heading out to the city, all of it. At this point? Fuck Mike. What had that damn cat ever done for him? Fed him false promises of [[HEAVEN]] only to rip it away from him when he finally had a good thing. He wished to be more than his purpose as a Darkner, and he got that. Not in the way he imagined, but he did.

He wanted it back. He wanted it back so bad it made him sick.

[[KRIS]] helped to wake him up from that. Them and their little friends. Now they were helping again, Spamton looking up to watch them hacking away at the Knight. The Roaring Knight. Those kids had their work cut out for them, but this too was foretold. He just hoped that, one day, they could cut their own strings. Just like they’d done for him. 

He’d stick with them. Anything he could do to atone for his sins.

“H-h-h-heeeelp…”

Spamton flinched from where he sat, focusing on the [[LOOKING GLASS]] once more. A fresh wave of inky black fell from the cracks of the screen, but something else trickled along with it. Tears. Wet tears. 

“[[CATHODE]]... You’re Alive.”

Spamton couldn’t believe his eyes. This whole time, he thought [[CLEAVED]] would be it. [[END OF THE ROAD]]. [[GAME OVER]]. Yet here he was, this stubborn man, breathing beneath him despite losing both of his arms. 

“Wh-h–hoooo?”

“Don’t [[Speak now or forever hold your peace!]]. You need [[Motor Sports Pit Crew]].”

Spamton hopped off [[CRT]]’s chest, causing the other man to whimper pathetically.

“Don’t [[sweat it, big guy!]]. I’m just grabbing your [[Detachable hands!]].”

“Ww-w-wwait… That v-vvv-voice… Sp-Spamm…y…?”

…

“Pleease, speak to mmee… Is that y-you..?”

“Stay with me [[CATHODE]],” Spamton brought his arm up to his body, “You aren’t [[R.I.P]] on me today. I deserve to [[KILLED]] you, not anyone else. Now lets [[robotics for dummies]] you back up.”