Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~ Approximately 20 Years Ago ~

The smell of artificial roses swirled through the warm, luxurious atmosphere of the recently built Color Café. This late in the night, its only inhabitants were the mansion’s servants.

“I appreciate your assistance, but I can take it from here,” Swatch, the recently appointed head-butler, insisted. He watched his fellow swatchling with an amused look as they finally relented, always eager to help.

“Have a good night, Boss!” They bid Swatch farewell, cheerfully taking their leave into the secluded servant halls with a quick bow. The click-clack of their shoes calmly faded away as Swatch resumed the task at hand, now alone.

The tables were scrubbed, the dishes were washed, the windowsills were dusted, the floors were mopped, the kitchen was sanitized—there was only one chore left to do, really. He saved the most dreary for last.

Swatch gingerly pulled the garbage bag out of its bin by the straps and swiftly tied it with expert precision, then repeated the same calculated steps with the other two. Once all the trash was taken out, he would finally be free to close for the night. 

They had a pretty busy day today, and the fullness of the garbage bins reflected that. Still, the bags were no match for the mansion's well-built servants, and Swatch effortlessly carried the bags with him as he approached the servant corridors.

Due to the Color Café's proximity to the mansion entrance, it was quite far away from the dumpsters; her Majesty would not allow such an eyesore anywhere near public view. Additionally, her Majesty would surely be appalled if Swatch carried garbage through her prestigious halls, hence the discrete tunnels they took instead. The vast system of hidden halls allowed servants to freely travel throughout the labyrinthine mansion without disturbing guests. An innovative system indeed.

Though, Swatch found them a little drab. They were repetitive and easy to get lost in if one hadn't spent their whole life working under Queen. Perhaps they should request some directional signs; there were bound to be plenty of new folk looking for work now that the crisis was over and reconstruction had started.

That'll have to be a goal for tomorrow, he thought. It was getting quite late, and Swatch couldn't wait to join the other swatchlings in their shared quarters. No offense towards Her Majesty, but their rooms were far more inviting than these dull, purple hallways.

Their confident stride brought them towards their destination quickly. Swatch set the garbage bags onto the uneven floor, bringing his attention to the weathered door in front of him. After a little bit of searching through their many keys, Swatch placed the correct one into the lock and turned it with a satisfying click.

The back door squeaked angrily as Swatch pushed it open. As an area guests were never brought to, the mansion's back doors weren't in the best shape, though still perfectly functional. 

The door's screech faded, and he was greeted by the fresh night air and distant sounds of the city, muffled by the mansion's looming presence. Swatch bent down to grab the bags, but paused when a new sound graced their ears.

It started with the subtle sound of crinkling plastic, but was abruptly cut short by the metallic thud of a dumpster lid. As Swatch turned around, he heard an awful scraping sound, like forks being dragged across a baking sheet. Then, silence. 

Confused, Swatch left the door frame and cautiously stepped out onto the concrete floor. Presumably, the sound came from in or beside the dumpster, and seemed to have come from something alive.

“Hello?” Swatch called out, waiting for an answer.

Nothing responded.

They're probably just being irrational. It was almost certainly a maus looking for a late meal.

Swatch resisted shuttering at the thought. Even if he wasn't as terrified of the vermin as his coworkers, he wasn't exactly fond of maice. They were a bit too invasive and dirty for his liking, and not something he wanted to risk being, ugh, touched by.

Well, this maus was outside the mansion, so they technically wouldn't have to deal with it, right?

“You win this time, little maus,” Swatch said playfully, trying to hide their squeamishness at the thought of having to deal with the little pest. They turned back towards the doorway.

“H-HEY! NnN not A mO-mu-mauz!” a tiny indignant voice responded. Startled, Swatch whipped back around, but there were still no visible signs of life. 

“Hello?” He asked, once again. Swatch slowly stepped forward. The voice had been high pitched, stumbling over every syllable…oh dear, that wasn't a child, was it? 

“S-Stay Aaway!” They heard the voice again as they got closer to the dumpster. Swatch heeded their instructions, returning to the doorway. Now that he was paying closer attention, he realized that the darkner's voice was bitcrushed, as though they were sick. His concern only grew.

“May I ask what you're doing behind the mansion?” Swatch questioned the darkner. He really hoped they weren't a child—He didn't know how to or want to deal with that.

“I DoNT—I donT kNooow! WhERe? WaNT to…too gO home! So HunNngry….soo o cold…” they croaked out, voice deteriorating into static. Swatch's composure cracked a little. Yes, this was most definitely a child, a child who was probably sick, and cowering next to a dumpster.

Swatch's first thought was that this kid had most likely been displaced by the crisis. Adults were almost always the ones targeted, and many children had recently lost one or both of their parents. But, it had been over a month since the crisis ended, and this kid should've been taken into foster care already.

“What's your name, little one?” Swatch asked, trying to fish for information. The best they could do is get this mysterious child into the mansion so the authorities could take care of it.

“I dON’t KnooW w,” they squeaked out. What? Surely they had a name, didn't they? Swatch had just barely started their position as manager; they were not equipped to deal with a situation like this.

“That's…okay,” Swatch said. “We have food here in the mansion. And, it's very warm in here,” he suggested. There was a slight shuffling sound accompanied by a few more little scrapes against the concrete.

“NO!! CaN't!” They responded after a long pause of deliberation.

“Why not?”

“CAn't!” The darkner repeated, as though that clarified anything at all. Swatch was running out of ideas, and increasingly afraid the presumably homeless orphan was going to run away if he pushed them too hard.

“Is there anything I can help you with, little one?” Swatch glanced around at the open door, the empty street, and the dumpster the child was hiding behind as the silence grew. It took a while before he got an answer.

“Do Uu kNow we-WhEre 3vryone GONe?” They finally squeaked out.

“Pardon, Who?” Swatch said. Were they asking about their family?

“3veRy0n3!!” They said again, voice barely recognizable. “A-4rE-aRe Th3y rE e re#11 y..”

“…[dead…?]”

Swatch froze. That wasn't the child's voice. It was still a child's voice, in perfect clarity, and entirely unlike the shrill, nausally, and staticky voice they had been listening to.

The entire past year's worth of safety PSA's flicked through their mind. Stay in groups. Don't go out late at night. Never, under any circumstances, follow a disembodied voice, no matter what it promises, no matter how convincing it seems, no matter how painful its screams sound.

Computer worms. Sadistic man-eating mimics that hunted with stolen voices. Disgusting parasites that hijacked the host's brain while feeding on their insides, spreading as fast as a disease. A living nightmare that had never been seen on such a scale in the entire World Wide Web's history.

But, they were eradicated more than a month ago. Cyber City had finally triumphed, though at the cost of catastrophic losses of life and infrastructure. This couldn't be a computer worm, because Swatch would already be dead if it was.

He took a step toward the dumpster, then another. 

“HeY! STay aWAy! STAY AWAY!!” The darkner desperately screamed. With such a long stride, Swatch only needed to take another step before they leered around the dumpster, finally catching a glimpse of what they had been speaking too.

Large glowing eyes stared up at them, accompanied by a pointed nose and dozens of tiny needle-sharp teeth. The thing produced an awful screech, assaulting Swatch's ears as it frantically scrambled away on far too many little clawed legs. A hairy white tail lashed behind its thin body as it skittered across the pavement, almost immediately swallowed by the darkness of the night. 

Silence.

What? How? This shouldn't be possible. City officials had waited until long after the last reported sign of activity to declare the parasites extinct; there was no conceivable way they could miss one. But, there was no mistaking it. That was a living, breathing computer worm.

It was tiny, easily less than the length of their arm, and only a couple centimeters at its widest point. A maus probably weighed more than it. In a way, they had been speaking to a child, if worm larvae could even be counted as that. 

Swatch took a deep breath, stepping away from the dumpster once more. They finally retrieved the three garbage bags from the doorway, and dropped them into the dumpster. Swatch spotted the morning's bags, which were chewed open, revealing a combination of plastic wrappers, wet coffee grounds, and cold ham cubes. Swatch let the lid shut with a decisive thud.

He returned to the door, double checking that it was locked properly. The obvious next step was to report what he had found, but Swatch doubted it would go anywhere. It was as frivolous as trying to find a single line of code in between millions more. 

They'll still make a report, but, until it killed someone and could be traced, it would be as useless as a rumor. The best case scenario was that it died before it could get any bigger.

Its horrible eyes were still burned into Swatch's brain as they walked back through the corridors. What had it been planning? He knew these things were deceptively smart, but what could it have even gained from pretending to be a sickly child?

…Was it even pretending? It probably was alone, hungry, and cold. It really did have no family left, no species left. And, it had spoken with an actual voice, not mimicked clips, no matter how staticy it sounded. 

Swatch dismissed their concern. It was a child, yes, but it was also a manipulative, carnivorous parasite. Anything it said was a lie, and it should have died with the rest of its insidious kind. 

They feel no sympathy for it, and any other darkner would feel the same. No one would ever love something as vile as a computer worm.

Chapter Text

“Thank you! We hope to see you again!” Blue smiled at the potential customer as they walked away with a free shoe sample. The samples were a new idea, and they had worked phenomenally. In fact, Blue had already ran out of them. 

They turned around, entering their small shop. The bell above the glass door jingled cheerfully, welcoming Blue inside. Brightly lit display windows covered the front wall, showcasing a variety of shoe styles dangling from strings. Their green loafers lightly tapped against the short grey carpet as they walked past tightly packed shelves and into the back room. 

Blue set down the tray they had been using to carry their samples on the faux wooden table in the back. In their opinion, it was a far more elegant way to carry their free samples than grabbing them out of their inventory. 

They then grabbed their black purse off one of the folding chairs, and headed back out. Blue figured that now would be a good time to take their lunch break, as it was already approaching noon, as evidenced by the teal coloration of the sky-grid. The door's little bell rang goodbye as they stepped back outside.

As they were locking the front door, though, Blue heard a bit of a commotion. Curious, they stepped out onto the dark blue pavement and headed towards the sound.

It quickly became apparent that what they were hearing was an argument. A very loud argument. As they turned the corner, two figures came into view. 

“That's my watch! You stole it!” The first one appeared to be a pink plugboy in a suit jacket, ears flat against their head and tail bushed up. The second…

“HEY HE YHEY!!! YOU SHOULD'NT LEFT THIS [Quality Merchandise!] JUST [lyeing around……] IF YOU DIDn'T WANT AN HONEST [[scammer]] TO PICK IT UP!!!!” The second darkner was unlike anyone Blue had ever seen. Or heard, for that matter.

They appeared to also be wearing a suit jacket, accompanied by black slacks, a small white pin, and a long pink tie. Their silhouette was short and stocky, but they were still tall enough in comparison to the plugboy to easily hold a metallic object above their head. 

As Blue got closer, they only became more confused, and not just by the barrage of… prerecorded advertisements...? replacing half the darkner's words.

The darkner had a long nose like an addison, but was completely black and white, a rare trait when everyone and everything in Cyber City was normally designed to grab attention. Their white face was eerily puppet-like, decorated with rosy cheeks and slits separating their lower jaw. Behind it was a massive amount of black hair and fur that converged into something vaguely mullet-like. Most striking was their pair of round pink and yellow glasses that glowed in the shadows of the street's buildings.

Blue decided to actually approach, as a fight breaking out next to the store would decidedly be bad for business. And, perhaps they were a little curious about the mysterious black and white darkner. They waited for them to finish their near incomprehensible sentence before butting in.

“Is everything alright over here?” Blue asked, pretending they weren't nervous about approaching two clearly agitated people. The mystery darkner's gaze immediately snapped towards them.

“That bastard stole my watch!” The plugboy accused, angrily pointing at the other darkner.

“I DIDN’T [steel] IT!! I [Find Great Deals at]]!!!” the other darkner immediately retorted, and Blue could see a fluffy black mass (tail?) swing behind them. Between the strange vocal equivalents of pop-ups and the perpetually bitcrushed quality, Blue could barely comprehend their speech. It sounded like they had a three-generational household of viruses occupying their voice box.

“Uh, what do you want for the watch?” Blue asked, and the darkner's strange gaze snapped towards them. The permanent smile and opaque lenses were gradually making them more and more uncomfortable. 

“[[Just 4 easy payments of]] 1000 KROMER!” The darkner responded, completely ignoring the plugboy’s continued attempts to grab the watch just out of reach. The fingers of their unoccupied hand flexed under a pair of thin white mittens. Mittens? Why not gloves?

“Is, um–how about 10 dollars?” Blue suggested, forking the dark bill out of their wallet and waving it like they were trying to entice a begging pet. Perhaps that comparison wasn't too far off, as the darkner’s head started twitching back and forth, completely locked onto Blue's money. 

“YESSSSSSSS [A deal's a deal!]!!!!” Blue moved their 10 bucks in a circle and watched as the darkner's head followed it the entire time, neck bending in ways that did not look comfortable. They had no idea what the conversion factor on this supposed “kromer” was, but they weren't going to ask.

Once they held it out to them, the darkner snatched Blue's money so fast it nearly ripped, tossing the watch at Blue. Blue subsequently handed the watch to the plugboy, who muttered a very colorful version of “finally” and stormed away with a lashing tail.

“[Pleasure doing bisness]!!!” The other darkner said. They inspected the bill for a moment before shoving it into the inside of their jacket, then immediately started to scamper off towards an alley.

“Wait! Are you, uh, new around here? I don't think I've seen you before,” Blue said. Just who was this mystery darkner? They're so different from anything Blue has ever seen. Both in appearance and in the fact that they were trying to scam someone in broad daylight. They really wanted to know more.

“SURE!” they scoffed. The darkner turned their head for a brief moment, but kept walking away. Blue was starting to realize that shouting seemed to be their default volume.

“I, um, was actually just going to get lunch! Did you want to come?” Blue blurted. Geez, this was getting awkward. But, the darkner did finally stop, stiffly turning around. 

“FREE [[Nutritional value]]!?!???” They questioned. The streetlight reflected off their glasses as they tilted their head like a bird, revealing the many scratches marring the lenses.

“Yeah, sure!” Blue was well aware that the darkner was trying to squeeze more money out of them, but allowed it. They were curious enough that a couple extra dollars didn't make a difference to them. “I was thinking about going to 16-Bytez, the deli two blocks down. Is that okay?” Blue suggested.

“[D3@L]!!” They agreed, stepping closer and practically vibrating in place. Blue couldn't believe their panicked nonsense actually worked.

As the darkner fully entered the light, Blue realized just how worse-for-wear they looked. Their white dress shirt was untucked and stained. Loose threads hung from their jacket. Dirt pooled in the many scratches on their face. Their tie was crumpled and faded. The pin on their lapel was merely a button in the shape of a flower with five petals, looking more like a children's craft project than anything professional. And, above all, a faint and slightly unpleasant smell clung to them.

“Can I ask for your name?” Blue said, politely refraining from asking about their disheveled appearance. Blue started walking to the deli, and the darkner followed just behind them.

“SPAMT–”

“SPAMTON G. SPAMTON [#1 RATED SALESMAN 1997]!!! [Business Certified] BIG SHOT!!!!!!!!” He answered, somehow even louder than before. They weren't sure how much of that claim to believe after witnessing him attempt to sell the item he stole back to its owner. His tail flicked, and Blue realized that it was just coiled up rather than bushy like they had assumed. 

“Oh, wait, are you a spam program?” Blue guessed. He produced a correct “ding” sound in lieu of an actual response. They couldn't help but laugh a little at that. This guy was so dang weird.

“I suppose that's a fitting name,” they said. It was a little on the nose, but they couldn't really complain when the nickname they went by was just the color of their fur. 

Blue realized that what they thought was his face was actually just a puppet-like mask, which was an…interesting choice. His status as a spam program also explained his black fur, as well as the little bit of white fluff covering his throat. 

Blue only remembered that spam programs were basically just shorter grayscale addisons, but it seemed there was more to it than that. Spamton's tail looked many times longer than theirs, and the scruff around his neck looked more like a mane with how long it was, seamlessly blending into the rest of his hair. They've never seen such extreme features on any addison.

They waited for Spamton to ask what their name was, but all they got was silence. It was too much silence, actually. They looked back again to make sure he was still behind them, and he was. But, despite the way his legs awkwardly jerked as he walked, like his knees were barely capable of bending, he was perfectly synced with their footsteps. It was…probably just a coincidence. Yeah.

“Well, my name's Blue. And, I'm just a regular ol’ salesperson,” they introduced themself, playing with the strap of their purse. They tried to avoid watching him walk, because the more they noticed, the more disturbing he became.

“SIR1OUSLY??? JUST [blueprints]!???!?” he asked incredulously. Black bars appeared on his dusty glasses, resembling squinting eyelids. Oh, did he have those fancy screen glasses that tracked eye movement or whatever it was? That would explain the glow. Though, not to be rude, he did not look like the type of guy who could afford those.

“My actual name is Banner,” Blue explained. “We're all named after types of advertising, but there's, like, twenty types and thousands of us, so we usually go by nicknames instead.” Did he not know that? Maybe spam programs had a different culture? 

“OH,” he said, the puppet jaw of his mask clacking out of sync. Blue politely pretended it wasn't a little off-putting. They pressed the button for the crosswalk, and Spamton leered at the cars on either side as the two of them crossed.

“So, what does a ‘number one rated salesman’ sell?” Blue asked. They wanted to learn more about him, but every observation they made came with more questions he probably wouldn't answer. What's wrong with his voice? Why does he walk like a zombie? Why is he wearing a mask? Why does he look like someone tried to reconstruct an addison from memory?

“IM JUST AN [HonestMan] SELLING [[Trash]] TO WHATEVER [%&*#@$$] BUYS IT!!! EHAHAH–” his absolutely deranged laughter was cut off by a visual glitch zipping through his body, colorful stray pixels sparking off. Blue jumped away on instinct. He wasn't coughing or sneezing, so whatever was wrong with him wasn't  contagious, but it still startled them.

“Ah, sorry,” Blue apologized, and he did not acknowledge it. While he just admitted he was a scammer, they were also starting to feel bad for him. Between his auditory and visual glitches, he was clearly in very poor physical health. They've never even heard of someone with glitches that bad who wasn't completely bedridden, yet he was walking around just fine.

“So you repurpose and sell discarded items?” Blue generously rephrased. 

“SURE DO!” he confirmed. “THAT [luxjerry watch] WAS SUPPOSED TO BE [One man's trash is another man's] BUT THE [[Previous owner]] HAPPENENED TO FIND ME! NOT MY [It's all your fault]!!” He added quickly.

Blue took a moment to decipher his speech. “I believe you,” they reassured him, though they weren't sure they actually did. “Do you have a store? Or, do you just… walk around?” 

“I DON't [[need]] 0NE!” Spamton declared. He paused for a moment to dig something out of his jacket. His mittens appeared to make doing so exponentially more difficult.

Blue was considering offering help when he finally fished out a small slip of paper and shoved it in their face.

Blue gingerly gripped the paper, and he intently watched them, shaking in place. They started to read his jagged handwriting: 

‘SPAMTON G. SPAMTON’

‘#1 RATED SALESMAN 1997’

‘LOCATION: I WILL FIND YOU! come alone.’

To the right was a drawing of himself, drawn with sharp lines that left indents in the paper. They'd say it was fairly accurate aside from the fact that he'd given himself pointed teeth. The entire thing was haphazardly scribbled in with color. The back was empty aside from whatever marker he used bleeding angrily through the paper.

“Did you draw this?” Blue asked, though they already knew the answer. “It's, um, very creative,” they added. Yeah, they'll go with that. In reality, it was giving off the same vibe as a children's drawing of their horrifying imaginary friend. They put it in their purse so that they wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

“DOY OU ,LIKE IT,????????” He asked, clasping his mittens together like a little maus, looking so hopeful despite the mask obscuring his facial expressions, curled tail twitching back and forth. It might've been endearing if he didn't look…well, the way he did.

“Yeah, I think it suits you,” Blue said, because they really didn't want to lie, but they also didn't want to hurt his feelings. And, it was true. It perfectly fit the weird, loud scammer that was becoming more and more uncanny the longer they were near him.

“EHAHAHAHA!!!” Spamton cackled, the sound just as grating on their ears as it was the first time. It felt like it was inside their skull. “I THINK U MIGHT BE [#1 RATED CUSTOMER]!!!” he mused. But, they didn't even buy anything—wait, was he seriously counting the watch they handed him 10 bucks for? You couldn't even buy a bottle of water with that!

“Thanks? We're, uh, here,” Blue said, gesturing at the front of 16-Bytez. They opened the door for him, and he walked in without thanking them. They watched his demeanor change as he hunched over, raking his gaze over every inch of the store's interior.

Blue walked in after him, confidently approaching the menu while he hesitantly followed, suddenly stiff as a board. “Do you know what you want?” they asked, a little concerned. He squinted at the menu, head rapidly twitching back and forth.

“I-I I I [have what your having]!” Spamton told them, the glitched clip significantly quieter than his usual volume. He fiddled with his tie.

“The turkey club?” Blue confirmed, and he didn't reject. They gave their order to the sandwich artist and politely stood ajar to the front counter. Spamton watched the worker through the glass. He was extremely hard to read, but the way he kept his tail completely curled up and frozen in place didn't make him look very relaxed. 

Blue paid for their food with little fanfare and took Spamton to the outside tables. They liked the peace out here, and were glad to see that Spamton looked much less tense, too. “Are you alright?” they asked gently, anyways.

“EVERYTH1NG IS FINE!” Spamton said a little too quickly, looking away. After a moment, he added, “DONT [[0 likes]] BEING [Indoor seating]!” Blue wondered why, but didn't want to pry when he already seemed uncomfortable about it. He was preoccupied with watching the sandwich they bought for him as intently as he had eyed the money they gave him earlier. 

Blue sat down on one side of the table, and Spamton clambered onto the opposite side. He made violent grabby hands at his sandwich until Blue finally slid it over. He snatched it faster than an autoclicker and started ripping the paper wrapper open with fervor.

Staring would be rude, so Blue tried to focus on neatly removing the sticker from their own sandwich. They took a small bite, reflecting in the moment of silence. They kind of forgot they'll have to go back to work after this. Blue glanced at him for a quick second—

Spamton's head was tilted upwards, revealing the streak of white down his unusually long neck. The puppet jaw of his mask extended far past what it was supposed to, forced open by the sandwich half lodged into his mouth. It slowly receded further and further in, lettuce and bread crunching between teeth they couldn't see. 

Then, finally, it stopped. Spamton leaned down, a piece of shredded lettuce falling out from behind his mask. He picked it up off the table and stuck it back in his mouth. Blue realized that he had already eaten the other half.

“D-did you enjoy your sandwich?” They asked weakly, still in complete bewilderment. Did he even taste it? No wonder he didn't care what sandwich they bought him.

“TASTES BETTER [[Still al1ve]] THAN IT DOES [Cold and r0ting]!!!” Spamton said cheerfully, grabbing the various bits of lettuce off the mutilated remains of the paper wrapper and shoving those in his mouth, too. His tail swayed behind him, almost fully unfurled and long enough they could see it over the table. 

“That's…good,” Blue responded. They really hoped that was just his vocal glitch acting up and not what he actually intended to say. They tried to go back to nibbling on their own sandwich, pretending it didn't taste a little less appetizing after what they just witnessed. Spamton was silent, drumming his fingers with no pattern as he watched his surroundings. He spotted his own tail, and quickly curled it back up and out of sight.

By all accounts, Blue shouldn't want to be around this guy. He was a grifter, and wasn't ashamed of the fact that he scammed people by selling them trash. His identity is completely hidden behind a creepy doll mask and frayed mittens. The longer they spent around him, the feeling that something was off about him only grew. He shuffled around like a reanimated corpse, as though he wasn't comfortable in his own skin. Even now, he kept twitching and readjusting himself in an endless battle.

Everything from his untucked shirt to his crudely drawn business card was reminiscent of a young child trying to mimic adult things they had no real knowledge of. He acted like nothing you'd expect from an addison. While he'd done nothing outwardly harmful, he set off some primordial alarm bell in the back of their brain anyways, a hidden sense detecting something wrong, wrong, wrong.

But, they've also noticed the state of his clothes. His festering glitches that should've been treated by a doctor years ago. The fact that he sold scavenged trash. The more they knew, the more likely it became that he simply couldn't afford to purchase stock, or rent a storefront, or to design and print real business cards. He wasn't scamming them into paying for his sandwich, he probably just couldn't afford to pay for something like that.

And, he hadn't done anything outwardly harmful. Once they got his attention with the offer of lunch, all he'd done was chat with them. It had to be merely a malfunction that he was triggering an underlying fight or flight instinct when he had been nothing but cordial, right?

And, maybe they're making a lot of assumptions about a guy they've only known for 30 minutes, but they'll never know if they don't get to know him a little better. They're not working with a lot, but they thought Spamton deserved a chance. Right?

Blue observed him as he watched a bird perched on a streetlight like a cat looking through a windowsill. His tail had unwound once more, lazily swaying back and forth across the brick floor. He must have been too focused on the bird to notice that it wasn't curled anymore.

“Spamton?” They started, and he jumped, redirecting his blank stare onto them. “Would you…like to do this tomorrow? And maybe in the future, too?” Blue asked, nervously meeting his empty gaze. His head tilted to the side like a curious animal, the movement uneven like an ungreased, rusty hinge.

“WHAT     ?? WHAT;S THE [Catch of the Day]!!!?” NOTHING [[come]] WITH [No strings attached]!!!” He leaned forward, and felt like he was looking down at them even though he was an entire head shorter than them.

“I, uh—” Blue didn't really know what to say. The two of them weren't friends; they're still practically strangers. Of course a conman didn't trust easily. 

“I want to help you,” Blue blurted out. 

“WHAT?” He narrowed his eyes, fingers curling against the table.

“Look, I've enjoyed talking with you today. You didn't make the best first impression, but…” Blue took his little DIY business card back out of their purse. “I can tell that you're creative, and you care about this ‘business’ of yours, right?” 

They were treading lightly, just in case this was all going to be a bust. Spam programs weren't exactly known for their integrity or their honesty, But, Blue's not stupid; they'll know if he starts trying to scam them or something. 

“0F [Coarse] I CARE! 1,M [#1 RATED SALESMAN 1997] I DOn’t NEED [oh god please help me]!!!” He didn't bat an eye at that last clip, but the unfiltered cry for help made Blue flinch.

“I know,” Blue tried to soothe him. “You're an adult and I'm sure you can take care of yourself just fine. But, my offer still stands if you want it. Those are my only motivations, I swear.”

Spamton was still scrutinizing them, watching as they put his business card back in their purse and waited for his response. 

“WILL YOU [[kept]] TH3 [Terms and conditions]! OF [100% Discount] on [Fast Food]!!!???” He demanded after a long moment of consideration. Free lunches? They could handle paying for that. They would've been annoyed if they didn't know he was likely struggling financially.

“Sure, we can try that,” Blue agreed. “So, we'll meet during my lunch break, same time, and we can just talk.” They clarified. “And, I can help you if you want,” they added.

“SURE ADDISON,” he scoffed. Blue hoped he didn't care more about the free food than the prospect of talking to them again. 

“DO WE [had] A DEAL??” His voice lowered as he leaned forward, crouching with his feet on the bench. They watched his tail writhe behind him in incomprehensible patterns.

“Yeah, deal,” Blue agreed, finding it silly how seriously he was treating their loose arrangement. In fact, towering over them, he was a little too serious right now. They put their right hand out for a mock handshake in hopes of appeasing him. 

Spamton eyed their hand, head tilting nearly 90 degrees. After an awkwardly long pause, his neck returned to a normal angle and his hand started to jerkily meander over. He stared at his own arm like it was a foreign object. His left arm.

Blue mentally sighed, switching to their left hand to just get this over with. They grabbed his gloved hand quickly.

The first thing Blue registered was the freezing shock of cold as the point of connection leeched their body heat. 

Then, the briefest squeeze of his small hand, gaunt and stiff as solid bone.

“D0N’T T0UC# M3!!!” Spamton snarled, slamming their hand against the table as he violently reared back, and, for the first time, their unease transformed into fear.

“I'm sorry!” Blue gasped, holding their arm to their chest in confusion. What just happened? Why would he try to shake their hand if he didn't want to—? He was holding his hand to his own chest, so stiff they couldn't see his chest move despite how heavily he was breathing.

“You don't like physical touch?” Blue asked as if the answer wasn't incredibly obvious. They breathed deeply, calming themself down. Their hand would be fine; maybe a light bruise would develop at worst.  

Spamton just kept staring at them, his mask betraying no expression as he cowered away. The glow of his glasses kept flickering like a dying light.

“I-i n—NO,” he finally croaked out, voice laced with even more static than usual. “NO.” Blue realized his reaction had been involuntary.

“It's alright,” Blue attempted to reassure him, softening their expression. “I won't try to touch you without your permission, okay?”

“....[OK].” Spamton repeated, quieter than normal. He was inspecting his own hand now. Blue grabbed the trash from the two of them and threw it in the garbage can without a word. They rewrapped the second half of their sandwich and put it back in the bag.

“Would you like to walk back with me? I, uh, still have to show you where my store is,” Blue asked. They hoped they hadn't ruined everything yet. 

His head slowly swung back towards them. He slid off the bench, tail once again rigidly curled behind him. Blue saw the light reflecting off the table where he was sitting, revealing exactly two fresh claw marks gouged into the table, which somehow sliced straight through the protective coating. Something unpleasant crawled down their spine.

“SURE! WHY NOT [Steak out the competition]?!? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!” Spamton's head jolted with each laugh. He watched Blue through his yellowed, scuffed puppet mask as they regarded him in silence for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Blue asked, hesitantly leading the walk back.

“N3VER BETT3R!!! A [littol] OF [[Abdominal pain]] NEvER [it hurts…..]!!!!” He exclaimed. Blue winced as a couple of black and white pixels lagged behind him. Literal cries for help would replace parts of his speech, yet he was completely desensitized to it. How long had he been living with such severe glitches?

“Do you have any… business partners?” Blue asked after a beat of silence. What they really want to ask is do you have anyone? At all? But, they're learning that he doesn't like to answer truthfully when they ask about his wellbeing.

“EHAHA! NO!!!!! [#1 RATED SALESMAN 1997] WORKS [All alone]!!!! I DONT NEED ANY [[Man, woman, or child]]!!!” Spamton said. There's that ‘1997’ clip again. Why was he so obsessed with that year? Blue was barely sentient by then. Either he's twice their age, has a photographic memory, or is obsessed with a year he wasn't alive for, and they didn't know which option was weirder. 

“Oh, I see,” Blue responded. Did the way his fists clenched as he spoke mean anything? They found it hard to believe that anyone could be truly content with having no one in their circle. Regardless, he clearly wasn't comfortable with admitting to vulnerabilities.

“What kind of customers does ‘1997's number one rated salesman’ deal with?” They asked, keeping the conversation moving. It was a fairly normal addison icebreaker question, but they were genuinely curious after witnessing the watch incident. 

Spamton dramatically puffed out his chest at the name, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a wheeze as he hunched over, clawing at his torso.

“IM FINE!” he snapped before Blue could even ask. “I [Wheel and Deal] WITH ALL [[sort]] OF SLIMES!! FINDING PREY IS [eazy peazy]!!!”

“...’Prey?’” Blue questioned. That wasn't a glitch-induced clip—he had fully intended to say that.

“YEAH!!! [100th Customer!] ,  [Deli fresh meat] WHAT'S THE DIFFRENCE?” his eyes met their face, which was probably making a horrible expression. He chuckled. “YOU [select player], THEN [lure them away], THEN [[Killed]] THEM WITH [HOT NEW DEALS]!!!” he explained like comparing sales to killing animals was perfectly reasonable, gesturing wildly.

“Customers have lives, they're people,” Blue tried to explain. Maybe they shouldn't have expected a scammer to display much in the way of empathy.

“WHY [should] I CARE? THOSE [N@$TY] LITTLE [[Grubs]] [IDC] ABOUT ME WHEN THEY                          !!!!! THEY CAN [cried] FOR [Please help me! It hurts!] AT THE BOTTOM OF A [GODDAMN] [[GarbageCan]] F0R ALL [I can't feel my] C4RE!!!!” Spamton yelled.

“Oh,” they said dumbly. How were they even supposed to respond to that? His views weren't something a couple words could change. “Aren't I your customer, too, though?”  

“[your] DIFF3RENT!!” Spamton dismissed. “[Attention, Customers] DON,T USUALLY [[ch00se]] TO [walked] UP TO ME INSTEAD OF [Run for your life!]!!!” Was that true? Did people really run away from him? 

They feel a little guilty about the fact that, yeah, they probably would've ran away if he cornered them in an alley or something instead of finding him on a public street. But, he was also implying that they're the only one who hasn't ran away from him, and that felt worse.

He couldn't help the way he moved, couldn't stop his glitches, couldn’t overcome his creepy presence. They doubted there was a positive reason he hid his face and hands. Even if he wasn't an aggressive scammer, his customers would probably still run away. They don't agree with his mentality around customers, but they can absolutely see how he got there. 

“We're here,” Blue said softly, finally returning to Cyber Shoes II. They also gave him the street name. Spamton looked around at the front sign, the shoes dangling from the display windows, the front door, and the surrounding buildings. 

“1'LL R3MEMBER IT!” Spamton promised. His tail twitched, but he had kept it curled since their attempt at a handshake. It didn't seem like a comfortable position, or rather he at least looked more comfortable when it wasn't curled up.

“Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, then?” Blue said, stopping in front of their door.

“YES,” he confirmed, turning around to leave after glancing at the store's sign one more time.

Blue smiled. “Goodbye, Spamton,” they said with a wave. He looked back, watching their hand. Then, he shuffled the rest of his body around.

“[Goodbye!] [Blue Raspberry],” he repeated, a little quieter than they were becoming used to. A second later, he tried to copy their wave, the movements hesitant. Eventually, he gave up and quickly disappeared into the same alley he had initially tried to leave through.

Well, ‘Blue Raspberry’ is better than ‘Blueprints.'

The smile on their face dropped to a more neutral expression as they turned back and unlocked the front door to their store. They're not exactly sure what they're getting themself into. But, well, time will tell. 

They rubbed their hand, discovering that it still hurt. He had shoved their hand away with such an extreme amount of force. Did his sensitivity with physical touch come from sensory issues, or had he reacted like that because he thought they were going to hurt him?

The image of the two claw marks across the table flicked through their mind as well. Addison claws were tiny and blunt; the level of force required to do something like that would've likely snapped the nails off. Had the scratches already been there before today? They must've been—there was no way he could've done that without hurting himself. 

They're just overthinking it. Spamton was admittedly a little creepy, and it was just making their anxious mind jump to irrational conclusions, like anything that scared them did. They'll get over it.

Blue entered the back room, setting their purse back down on the table. They briefly glanced at the bulletin board they kept hung on the wall, decorated with a bunch of pictures of their friends from throughout the years and a couple sticky note reminders. 

They're not sure how their friends will react to Spamton, assuming their little “deal” carries on. Pink told me I need to get to know more people outside of our immediate friend group. Spamton counts, doesn't he?

Yeah, they don't think Pink will like him, which is a bit of a problem, because Blue and Pink's stores are literally next to each other. They're going to notice the mysterious man following Blue around sooner or later. And, after that, it wouldn't be long before Orange and Yellow heard about it.

They glanced at the analog clock adjacent to the door, realizing that their break had lasted far longer than it was supposed to. At least it had been an interesting break. 

Blue sat down at the front desk, opening their laptop and signing in. They figured they'd just work on packaging and sending online shoe orders for now. They had too much to think about right now to properly focus on advertising their business outside.

———

It was time for the moment of truth. Tomorrow had turned into today, and it was once more their lunch break.

Blue looked at their phone again, watching the minutes pass. It was five, seven, ten minutes past what should've been their agreed time. Did Spamton bail? He seemed pretty interested yesterday. Why would he care so much about the free lunch thing if he didn't want it?

It's probably too early to be coming to conclusions. 11 minutes isn't that bad, right? Traffic wasn't usually bad at noon on a Thursday, but maybe it was! Maybe he was just being held up by busy crosswalks and that was why he was 12 minutes late.

Perhaps he was just a second shift kind of guy and slept in on accident. 13 minutes late wasn't that bad! Should they wait inside? But what if they miss him? 14 minutes was too early to give up, wasn't it?

…

“[Blue light glasses]!!!” They jumped at the bitcrushed voice too close to their ears, whipping around to see Spamton off to the side. For someone who spoke so loud, he was weirdly stealthy when he wanted to be.

“HI, Spamton,” Blue greeted, a bit exasperated. “You were like 15 minutes late; I was worried you weren't going to show up.”

“ITS NOON!!” Spamton retorted, gesturing at the blue-green sky-grid. Should they have been more specific? Wait.

“Are you using the sky to tell the time?” Blue questioned.

“WHAT [else] WOuLD I USE!?!!?” 

“Um, a clock…?”

“I DONT NEED A [Hunk of junk] TO [[tells]] ME [A Night and Day Difference~]!” Spamton said with a huff. Blue couldn't tell if he legitimately couldn't afford anything to tell the time with, or actually had a vendetta against using clocks. 

“I—” Blue started.

“AM I      GETTING [Free School Lunch Program]???” he cut them off immediately. They frowned.

“Yeah. Do you have any food preferences?” Blue asked. They were getting the sense that Spamton didn't socialize much, so they were willing to excuse his rudeness as unintentional. 

“MEAT.” That was all he said. They blinked. What, like a sirloin steak? Or the entire concept of meat in general?

“I was thinking about this breakfast place down the street—uh, would that be okay?” Blue suggested instead of entertaining his strange answer. 

“[Workplace Expectations] FOR ME!!!” Spamton agreed. He once again kept behind Blue rather than walking beside them. 

Blue had mainly chosen this place because it didn't require them to walk past the very large windows of Pink's café. Though, they couldn't think of that many options within reasonable walking distance. They didn't normally eat out every lunch break, and only went to a handful of places when they did.

“Any exciting customers yet today?” Blue asked, trying to start up a conversation. They tried to ignore the fact that his footsteps were suddenly synced up with theirs again.

“PLENTY!!” Spamton responded quickly. “ITZ BEEN A [[A long night]] OF SELLING [H0t G@r8@g3]!!! M0RE [Customer Service] THAN I [NO] [ [What?]] TOO DO WITH!!!’ he claimed, and Blue was getting the distinct impression that he was lying.

“[[You won't believe these deals]] THE [#$^@] THESE [Unvalued Customer] FALL F0R!!! ALL I [half] TO DO WAS—” Spamton continued to ramble without providing any specific details, interspersed with increasingly shaky laughter.

“Today, someone tried to eat one of my shoe samples. Can you believe it?” Blue interjected. “They chewed and swallowed it! Apparently the choking hazard warning on the bottom wasn't enough.”

“[Free sample]???” he repeated. “WHAT DOES IT [Taste test] LIKE!?”

“Wh—Spamton, no! It's plastic. You can't eat it!” Blue said exasperatedly. They steered around a large group of people crossing the sidewalk. Spamton tried to get as far away from the group as possible, pressing up against the building and glaring at the darkners. He retook his spot behind Blue.

“[Not with that attitude]!” was all they got in response. Blue groaned, and he cackled at them. With how often he did it, they were actually starting to get used to his deranged laughter.

The so called “breakfast place" was much closer than 16-Bytez, and the two of them reached it pretty quickly. It was also significantly busier, and Blue noticed how Spamton stiffened up the second they opened the door for him.

“You can wait outside if it's more comfortable for you,” Blue suggested.

“IT$ FINE.” Spamton flexed his fingers, then stomped his way inside before Blue could protest. Just like the deli, he raked his gaze over the entire café as he lumbered behind them. 

“Anything specific you want?” Blue asked once they reached the front counter. He didn't even glance at the brightly colored menu.

“NO, [Anything goes],” he said, a little quieter than usual. With the way he kept frantically looking at everyone around them, Blue assumed he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

They ended up just ordering croissant sandwiches, one with ham for themself and the three meat option for Spamton. He did say he liked meat, so hopefully that would be sufficient. Considering he didn't take his mittens off while eating yesterday, they also figured a sandwich wouldn't be too messy for him to eat. They also ordered some hash browns and French toast sticks, because they had a feeling they'd need the sugar.

It didn't take long for the food to arrive, as it was probably prepped ahead of time, anyways. They took the bag with their food after paying. After stepping out the door, Blue heard Spamton release a deep breath, his tail relaxing a little bit. 

“I think it'll be easier to just eat at my store,” Blue said. Spamton produced some sound of confirmation, then started making insistent grabby hands at the bag.

A little confused, they held out his sandwich. He snatched it away without touching their fingers, and then just…held it close to his chest. Did he think they were going to take it away or something? They continued walking in silence.

“I'VE BEEN [Consider the following]! YOUR [[Offer]]!” Spamton announced abruptly. 

“My offer to teach you?” Blue responded, a little surprised.

“YES!!! [What's the worst that could]!!” he said. How reassuring. 

“Oh, okay! I'll, uh, try my best.” Why did he change his mind? He'd been so insistent that he could work alone just fine yesterday. They didn't think he'd give an honest answer why. Guess I'll just have to roll with it.

They don't even know what to teach. Outside of the watch, which was an outlier, they didn't know what he looked like out in the field. Wait, yeah, they'll just observe how he advertises and sells, and give pointers when needed. That sounded manageable, right?

“Here we are,” Blue announced as they unlocked the front door. He didn't tense up at all as he walked in, which was a relief. The bell above the door chimed in greeting.

“This is my sales floor. It's, ah, mainly just shelves and shoe boxes, but I try to keep it organized. I did all the decorating! I wanted it to feel cozy, I guess?” One would think an addison would be good at advertising their own store, but apparently not. The words kind of dried up on them.

They couldn't tell if Spamton was actually interested. He did look around at the dark browns, dark grays, and lighter blue accents of their store, but quickly went back to staring at the bag of food. He was still holding his sandwich like a maus protecting a block of cheese. 

“The back room is over here,” they continued, leading him through the door. Blue unfolded their extra chair for him. They kept it here for whenever one of their friends visited, and it would work fine for Spamton. 

The breakfast sandwich was finally released from his grasp, looking a little more squished than it was when they gave it to him. He crawled into the chair like he's never sat in one before, then slowly slid into a more normal position. Although the chairs had gaps in the back designed with tails in mind, he kept his tail curled to the side.

“IT’s  E EASY ON THE [eyes, mouth, nose]!!! MUCH BETTER [Th3n] THAT [caffaay]!!!” Spamton finally offered while tearing the sandwich wrapper open. 

“Thanks?” Blue said. Well, not like they were expecting a better compliment than that from him. He was quite prideful, after all. They took a seat askew from him, taking the rest of the food out of the bag. They opened the paper box of hashbrowns and set it in the center of the table.

Blue braced themself by looking away the moment he opened his mouth. They'd like to actually keep their appetite today. They focused on opening their own sandwich, failing to fully ignore the loud chewing sounds coming from Spamton's direction. It only lasted a few seconds while he presumably devoured the entire sandwich.

With much better table manners, Blue started to eat their own sandwich while Spamton slowly dragged the hashbrowns over to himself whenever they weren't looking. Whatever, he can have them. 

The hashbrowns mysteriously disappeared by the time they finished their own breakfast sandwich. And, he was now looking very intently at their French toast sticks. They thought it was a little funny until they remembered he very well could have issues affording food. 

“Here,” Blue said, reaching over and putting a stick on the largest remaining scrap of his wrapper. He shied away, neck scrunching up before he leaned forward again. He picked up the paper and threw the morsel into the black void of his mask's mouth.

He made a strange sound, then. They weren't sure how to describe it. A chirp of some sort? They wouldn't have thought anything of it if it weren't for the fact that he immediately stiffened up, tail mid-wag from when it must've loosened up at some point.

“Do you like it?” Blue asked, trying to appear as neutral as possible, as he seemed to be waiting for their reaction. Did they miss something, or was he really that petrified over such a small sound?

“YES!!!” Spamton said quickly. “IT ‘ S—I DON'T [[Find]]—EAT A LOT OF [sweetness]!!!” His voice was even harder to understand when he was stammering, interspersed with ear-grating electronic noise.

“You don't get to eat a lot of sugary things?” Blue guessed, still eating their own food. 

“[CORRECT!]!” he pawed at his pink tie, looking nervous as far as they could tell. So he liked meat and sugar. Not exactly very descriptive, but maybe they'll narrow it down in the future.

After a moment of consideration, Blue gave him the last stick, which he devoured in about a second. There was no chirp this time, but his tail tip was still flicking back and forth. They didn't mention it.

“…IS [Fresh Produce] NORMALLY [Hot Deals]??” Spamton asked hesitantly after a moment, staring at the table.

“Is food supposed to be warm?” Blue deciphered, and he didn't correct them. They couldn't help the concerned look on their face. How would he not know that?

“It depends what it is, I guess,” Blue answered. “Some food is, some isn't. Have you… never had a hot meal?” they asked. If physically written out, their questions about Spamton could fill an entire novel at this point. 

“COURSE I [Must-Have-Item]!!” he insisted. “[[Just you wait]] NOT [Common Rarity]!!”

“Oh,” they said lamely. What else could they say? He was unintentionally crushing their heart. 

Blue stood up and took care of the garbage. Shockingly, Spamton was nice enough to try and bundle the scraps of his mutilated wrapper into a ball for them.

Now that lunch was done, Blue was going to have to actually try teaching him. They sat back down in their chair.

“So, what kind of ads can you make?” Blue started. They've never seen a spam program in action, but they figured their magic would involve, well, spam. Quantity over quality. They were curious what exactly he could do. 

“HA! NONE!! DON’T [neeeeeeeed] ANY!!!” Spamton answered, leaning back in his chair. What?

“What?” they said, horrified. “You can't make any…? At all?”

“NO!” he reiterated rather nonchalantly.

The ability to summon ads was an integral part of an addison's life. It allowed them to reach much further and wider than they could with just their physical bodies. In fact, their ability to advertise so easily was what made them addisons in the first place. To take that ability away would be like cutting your arms off. Was he just born without it? Or, even worse, did he lose it?

“WOULD [U] RELAX!?!?! I’vE [Thriving Bisness] WITHOUT ANY [[magic nonsense]] JUST [$500 FINE]!!!” Spamton huffed, likely in response to whatever horrified face they were making. He looked away. 

“Right…” Blue said. They couldn't tell if he was lying about being unaffected by it, but he wasn't interested in talking about it regardless. They had no right to pry.

“So…you just go around, selling stuff to random people?” they asked. They learned yesterday he didn't have a store, and now they know he had no means of widespread advertising, either. It seemed like a really ineffective strategy, but what else could someone in his position do?

“NOT RANDOM!” He corrected them loudly. ‘I KNOW HOW TO PICK [Are you a victim of an email scam?]!!!!” Well, at least he's honest about it.

“I believe you,” Blue said, mainly to placate him. They still had no idea what he was really like in the field, how he advertised his products, or how he picked “customers.”

“Here, I have an idea,” Blue announced. They stepped out of the back room briefly to grab a pen from the cup on the front desk, then walked back in. They held it in front of Spamton. 

“Why don't you try selling me this pen? Or, uh, something else if you have a different idea? So I can figure out your ‘style,’ of sorts…” they trailed off. Spamton carefully grabbed the end of the pen they weren't touching. 

“[Sound Test] EASY!!” he said with a laugh that sounded more like a sound board button being pressed repeatedly, overlapping in an entirely unnatural way. He slid out of the chair, tail twisting behind him like it was a separate organism.

Blue politely folded their hands in front of them, standing on the other side of the room. Should they act like themself? Or pretend to be a difficult customer? Maybe they could do multiple takes with him, see how he responds to different situations.

“HEY EVERY         !” Spamton spoke, the last word covered by intelligible static like he was speaking through a radio with an increasingly poor signal. He stared into the wall as though he was on a film set Blue couldn't see, and they were already starting to experience dread. 

“ALL ALONE [on a late night~?]!?!?!?” His head snapped towards Blue, puppet jaw clicking out of sync with his words.

“Uh—”

“I HAVE;   JUST T THE THING;   YOU NEED;!!!” Spamton shuffled closer, too close. Blue stepped away, but he followed. The room felt smaller.

“What's that?” Blue hesitantly asked. If this was the Spamton they met yesterday, they absolutely would have ran away, no doubt about it.

He laughed, the broken sound filling the room, the walls, the floor, the ceiling. “ANYTHING [You want it to be]!!!” He circled them.

“[RITE] IN [[BL00D]] WHATEVER [Your Heart's Desires]!!!” He clicked the pen feverishly, and they wondered if the fact that his nose was pointed directly at their soul was intentional or just a result of his height.

“CR3@TE [Recovery Plan]! DRAFT [Last Goodbyes]! DRRRAW [GOD]!!!” Spamton listed, gesturing incoherently. Despite his loud voice and frantic movements, his tail swayed lazily behind him. It reminded them of what it had looked like when he was watching that bird on the streetlight yesterday.

“I, um, I think I'm good,” Blue said. They wanted to step away, but he had trapped them against the wall. 

“WRONG WRONG WRONG!!!!!!!!!” THIS IS ONE [[purchis]] YOU WILL [regret for the rest of your life!]!!!” Blue tried to shuffle to the side, but he intentionally blocked their path with his tail.

“No, thank you,” Blue reiterated nervously.

“I WASN’t. ASKINGGG.” Spamton's puppet jaw didn't move at all. 

“I don't need a pen?” Blue failed to be assertive. They're not…they're not scared. That would be silly. He's just pretending to sell a pen.

Spamton's fingers twitched, curled and tense. He got marginally closer. “THA’TS NOT a [BIGSHOT] MOVE [pal.]!!!”

“YOUR [[All alooooone…….]]!!!!!” he continued in a discordant sing-song voice that jumped between notes. “THERE's NOWHERE [[to go now]]!!!” The always smiling, rosy-cheeked mask watched them.” [[Noone]]” WILL HEAR IF I             !!” Spamton's voice deepened into a garbled mess. Empty lenses bored into the back of their skull.

“Okay! I'll buy it!” Blue relented. They just wanted whatever this was to end. 

He somehow leaned in even closer, and Blue felt smaller despite being an entire head taller than him. “1024 KROMER!!! [WARNING: MAY EXPLODE] IF CHEWED!!!”

“A-and end scene!.” Blue announced, pretending to smile. He finally backed off, and they could breathe a little easier. He laughed to himself like nothing had happened, like he hadn't…

“Did… did you threaten me?” Blue questioned, still processing. They went to sit down. 

“HA!! I CAN DO [[The Far Lands]] WORSE THAN THAT,, [LittleSponge]!!!” Spamton cackled, crawling into the other chair as strangely as he had the first time. He fiddled with the pen, still repeatedly clicking it.

“Wh—Spamton, you can't just threaten people until they buy something!” Blue tried to scold him.

“WHY [naught]!?! IT WORKS!!!!!” he replied, subtly pocketing the pen they'll likely never see again.

Blue wanted to immediately argue that he should treat his customers like people, but that hadn't worked the first time they brought it up. 

“Being… nicer results in success,” they said, instead. “People like a friendly face. It lets you make connections, create business deals, receive sponsorships, and ultimately grow your business.” They absentmindedly brushed their fingers through their hair as they spoke. 

He produced a grumble that sounded like the aggressive motor of a dying laptop. “WHY [[SHOULD]] I BOTHER? I'M NOT GOING TO [play nice, boys!] WITH [Worthless Slime]!!!” Spamton huffed, turning his head to the side like a pouting child. 

“You do want my advice, right?” Blue questioned. Why'd he agree to this if he was just going to argue in his own favor? He looked back at them, mask as unreadable as ever. 

“…WHATS [[the]] POINT? THEY ALL H@TE ME! TH3Y @LL [Ru^ aw@y $cr3aming] N0 M#TTER W#AT 1 D0!!!” Spamton exclaimed, slamming a fist against the table. The lights of his glasses flickered briefly.

Blue didn't really know how to comfort him. They've been guilty of the same thoughts, even mere minutes ago when they'd felt a fraction of real fear even though he was just acting.

“For what it's worth, I haven't ran,” Blue said. “But, I might've if you were threatening me into buying something yesterday,” they admitted.

“YOURE [an exception]!!” he grumbled, playing with his frayed tie, something he seemed to frequently do. He looked away.

“Why don't you just give it a try?” they said. “I think you can do good!” Blue heard his laugh for a split second, but it ended so abruptly they wondered if they imagined it. 

“FINE!” Spamton sighed. “DON'T [say it] I DIDNNT [Warning: toxic chemicals] YOU]!!” he added after a moment. His tail constricted around the folding chair's legs. 

“Thank you,” they said, genuinely. Maybe they were being too optimistic considering this was only their second day knowing him, but they really think he can change for the better! Just because he was a spam program didn't mean he had to be a scammer.

“Also, can I ask what ‘kromer’ is?” The word felt especially foreign on their tongue.

“[Cash Money]? [MOOLA]? [Dough]? [[Wacky $tack$]]???!?” Spamton seemed unbothered by the abrupt change in conversation.

“Is that just what you call money?” Blue realized. “Wait, did you seriously try to charge me over a thousand dollars for a pen?”

“[Thaaaaat's business]!!!” Spamton replied with zero remorse. Perhaps pricing can go on their list of things to teach him about. Actually, no that was definitely going on the list. 

“Okay, so, I guess the lesson for today is no death threats,” Blue sighed. Gosh, saying that out loud made it sound so much worse. “Sometimes, customers just aren't interested, and you gotta accept that.” There, that sounds better.

“YEAH YeAH!!!” Spamton grumbled, though his tail seemed to relax. They tended to find themself staring at it, perhaps because it was the only part of him that seemed to express emotion. Addison tails were practically an afterthought, but his was so prominent, always moving and shifting into new shapes when he allowed it to.

“Oh! Would it be possible for you to bring some of your own ‘stock’ tomorrow? So I can see how you work with your actual products?” Blue asked. They knew he called his own products literal trash, but it felt rude to say it themself.

He seemed to consider it for a moment before agreeing, then continued sitting in silence, staring at them. He did that a lot. And for extended periods of time. 

“Well, I suppose that's it, then!” Blue clapped their hands once. He was still staring. 

“I'll see you tomorrow…?” Blue stood back up, and Spamton finally left his seat. 

“IVE GOTTA [Tightly packed] BIG SHOT [[sceduall]]!!” [YOUR] HOLDING ME UP!!” he declared abruptly, pointing his nose in the air. Blue laughed a little, about 60% sure that was meant to be a joke. It seemed he liked the phrase “big shot” as much as he loved the year 1997.

“Of course. Goodbye, Spamton,” Blue replied, pushing the door open for him when he started violently pulling and failing to open it. The short dial up sound he produced covered up the sound of the bell ringing above him.

“[Buy now!]!!” he returned, twisting his neck to look back at them. His hand hesitantly waved, still as stilted as it was yesterday. Blue returned the gesture with a smile. Then, the door slid closed, and his dark silhouette merged with the shadows of the alley he turned into. 

Blue took their place behind the front desk, opening one of the drawers below and grabbing another pen. They weren't upset that he not-so-subtly stole their pen; they had like 20 more of the exact same type and brand. 

All things considered, that went pretty well! Ignoring the fact that their lunch break had once again lasted nearly an hour, of course. It was worth it, right? 

Spamton hadn't been shy about his status as a scammer, or how little he valued his customers. But, he had listened to their advice eventually. They'll have to get to know him better, but, after watching him light up in joy after eating French toast sticks for presumably the first time, they couldn't see him as some irredeemable villain. 

Blue wondered again how their friends would feel about him. They're not sure exactly where they sit themself. But, one of these days, Pink's going to be advertising outside and see him, or Orange will ask if they want to share lunch, or Yellow will stop by, and Blue will have to explain themself.

Would Spamton like their friends? Did he even like Blue? He said they were his favorite customer, but there didn't seem to be a lot of competition for that title. 

If Blue had met anyone else, they would've figured these things out by now. But, Spamton was as enigmatic as a completely blank jigsaw puzzle, and they're still trying to find two border pieces that fit together. 

Blue would figure it out eventually. For now, they had work to do.

———

“Soooo, are you finally going to explain your new creepy little ‘friend?’”

Blue did not, in fact, figure it out eventually.

Pink had been outside today, and of course they noticed Blue awkwardly standing in front of their store while waiting for Spamton to show up. And, since they were of course within speaking distance, Pink asked what Blue was doing. And, Blue didn't know how to describe their relationship with Spamton, because can you really call someone you've known for a collective 2-3 hours your friend?

“He's not trying to be creepy! He can't help how he looks,” Blue tried to defend him. They had just sat down in their groups’ usual booth at the Cyber Grill. Since Blue met their friends, the four of them had made it a tradition to get dinner here every Friday night.

“Blue, I love you, but that man looks like a serial killer,” Pink replied with an incredibly fake smile. Once Spamton arrived at their store, Blue tried to flee with him as fast as possible. But, he clearly had already made an impression on Pink, evidenced, alongside other things, by the fact that they had asked Blue if “his everything” was “contagious, or…?” the second he left for the day.

“Who?” Yellow asked, raising an eyebrow. Orange was in the middle of sipping their soda, but looked equally lost. 

“I met someone on Wednesday,” Blue explained before Pink could interject. “His name is Spamton—he's a spam program.” They decided to leave out the many unsavory details of their first encounter with him; Pink made him sound bad enough.

“A spam program? Isn't that, like, one step above malware?” Orange questioned.

“He's not that bad!” Blue frowned, fiddling with their purse strap. They watched a bead of condensation slide off their glass and onto the napkin below it. “He doesn't utilize the most… friendly business practices, but he wants to learn how to be better! I've been trying to teach him,” they rambled. 

“Hey, I trust your judgement over Pink,” Orange said. “You're just the last person I'd expect to befriend a spam program of all darkners,” they explained, swirling their straw. 

“He literally called me a ‘slime!’” Pink retorted. Orange and Yellow laughed, much to their chagrin. 

“What exactly warrants calling him a serial killer?” Yellow asked, folding their arms.

“Well, a lot of things,” Pink said vaguely, “but, mainly the creepy white puppet mask he wears at all times.”

“Huh. Well, I'd rather decide for myself,” Orange said, suddenly looking much more curious. Yellow agreed. Blue was forever grateful that they were actually giving him a chance. 

“What's Spamton like, Blue?” Yellow politely asked, pausing at his name as they tested it out for the first time. Pink had relented, sulking behind their phone screen.

“He's uh, well, it's kind of hard to explain,” Blue began. “I didn't even realize he was a spam program at first—he looks so unique. I asked him to come with me on my lunch break just so that I could figure out a little more about him.”

“He's loud,” yet easily sneaked up on them, “and very confident,” even though he was clearly putting up a veil. 

“He can be a little intimidating,” backing them into a corner and threatening them over a pen, “but I think he's got a good heart under all that,” wagging his tail tip while eating French toast sticks for the first time. 

Blue smiled. He didn't want to show it, but they saw glimpses of a more vulnerable person behind his heavily barbed and reinforced walls.

“Ah, so the opposite of you, then?” Yellow lightly teased with a smile, and Blue laughed a little. 

“Well, you know what they say, " Orange added, then paused. “Wait,” they said, a grin climbing up their face. “Is that why you're so repelled by him, Pink? Because the two of you are so similar?”

The look on Pink's face was indescribable.

“I have nothing in common with that weirdo!” Blue could tell Pink would've shouted that if they weren't in a public space. The restaurant owner liked their group, but they didn't like their group that much.

“Y'know, if you told Spamton that, I think he'd react the exact same way,” Blue joined in, and Pink merely groaned, giving up. They dramatically placed their face in their hands as Blue took a sip of their lemonade. 

“So, if you guys want to meet him, I can ask him if he wants to come to the Grill next week,” Blue suggested.

“Sure!” Orange said.

“That would be the easiest,” Yellow agreed.

“Fine,” Pink sighed.

“Cool,” Blue said, relaxing into the curved booth a little. They didn't think any description could really do Spamton justice; their friends would just have to suffer through meeting him (almost) blind like Blue did.

Their food arrived, delivered by Tangent, the waitress that worked here nearly every Friday. She was a pronghorn, sheep-like with wiry limbs and two metal plug horns. Blue didn't really know her personally, but she was one of the reasons they liked going to the Cyber Grill.

“Anything exciting this week outside of meeting Spamton?” Yellow asked, easing into the obligatory business talk that all addisons craved. 

“Those free shoe samples I tried out have been working well!” Blue said after finishing chewing their mouthful of pasta. “Someone, uh, ate one, but I haven't been emailed a lawsuit yet, so they're probably fine?” 

“Seriously? I mean, I guess leather is technically edible,” Orange mused around a mouthful of fries. 

“Doesn't matter how clear you make your advertising, there's always someone that doesn't listen,” Pink said. “I keep getting customers that buy just their own tea flavor, then get mad at me when it tastes like water! It's not my fault you didn't read the sign!”

“Maybe they think the taste will reflect how they feel about themselves?” Orange suggested. 

“Lights above, no. The last thing I'd want to sell is something that heals you more the bigger your ego is, “ Pink snorted. 

“Well, usually the most egotistical people are also the most insecure people, so maybe not,” Yellow pondered. 

Blue wondered what Spamton would think of Pink's personalized teas. They personally liked getting blends based on their friends, as they always knew it'd taste good. Maybe they could try that once they get to know each other a little better? Pink's café was literally next to them, so it was a no-brainer to go there for lunch sometime. 

Blue was startled out of their thoughts by Orange asking, “Spam programs are kind of a type of addison, aren't they? Does Spamton sell anything?”

“Oh, yeah,” Blue responded, wringing their hands. “He sells stuff on the streets. Repurposes stuff that would've been thrown out.” Admittedly, Spamton had an impressive range of stuff that, while it was scavenged from dumpsters, wasn't complete trash. Children's toys still in decent condition, discarded tile samples, lost jewelry, fast-fashion clothes that would be wearable after a single wash. 

Yet, he also presented Blue with shards of colored glass, ‘cool rocks’ that were likely broken chunks of concrete, and random pieces of metal that looked suspiciously chewed. They had discovered that his quality control, uh, left something to be desired, so to speak.

“Like, repairing and reselling old stuff?” Yellow asked. 

“Err, no,’ Blue replied, being reminded of the fact that one of the items he brought today was a circuit board he told them he had proudly gouged out himself. There were still shredded ribbon cables attached to it.

“Spamton's not doing too well right now,” Blue said vaguely, not sure if he'd like them bringing up his financial status. “He doesn't have access to a lot of resources. I think he just tries to sell and make whatever money he can.”

‘Not a lot of resources’ was probably an understatement. He legitimately didn't believe Blue when they called their laptop a computer today, as he still thought monitors were shaped like cubes. Between that and his, well, everything, it felt like he'd been living in the deepest corner of the Cyber Fields his entire life, but he vehemently insisted he was born and raised in the city when Blue asked.

“Oh,” Orange replied while Blue was still lost in thought. Pink had the decency to look a little sympathetic towards Blue's words.

“That's why I’ve been trying to teach him a little more about sales,” Blue admitted. “He's a little stubborn, yet definitely a fast learner,” they added, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Ah, well, that's good,” Yellow said quietly. They all left it at that. 

Orange and Yellow briefly talked about their own week, but nothing that exciting had happened to them. Orange ran a clothing store relatively close to Blue's shoe shop, though it was more like a workshop for them to work on new designs for their own brand or clients, as they preferred interacting with customers from a distance, especially through their survey ads. Yellow technically worked at an office building on the other side of the city, but they were usually elsewhere, designing, directing, and/or acting in a variety of video ads, and was the only one in their group with a car.

They had all finished their food at that point. After their food was paid for, the group of friends filed out the door, all giving each other their own form of goodbyes.

Before they left, Blue approached Pink alone, albeit very nervously.

“Do you…really dislike Spamton that much?” Blue finally managed to ask, wringing their hands. 

“I don't really trust him right now,” Pink said. They paused.

“Look, Blue, you're one of the nicest people I know. A whole lot friendlier than I am—I've seen customers yell in your face and all you do is apologize and offer a coupon.” Pink sighed. “I just… I don't want to see you get hurt, that's all.”

“You've only seen him for a couple of minutes. Can't you just give him a chance?” Blue pleaded. Has Spamton made that bad of a first impression? He hadn't been very friendly with Pink, but he also hadn't done anything harmful. 

“Trust me, I am. Only for your sake,” Pink answered, crossing their arms. “That guy's creepy as hell. I don't know what you see in him,” they added.

“Well, you did tell me that I need to interact with more people outside of our friend group,” Blue managed to tease. 

“Yeah, I meant like anything but a spam program! What's next—you're going to show up with a piece of spyware?” Pink dramatically sighed again. 

“Spamton's not that different from us,” Blue reasoned. Spam programs were just a specialized type of addison, yet they were so heavily associated with the spread of malware and general scams that they were shunned from view while normal addisons shone on every screen.

“He is a bit of a grifter,” Blue finally admitted, and Pink didn't even look surprised, “But, I also think he's lonely. He's used to being disliked; darkners think he's scary, including you, so he didn't think there was a point in trying to be a better person.”

“But, Spamton said he'll try. And, he's been listening to my advice. I think… he really just needs a friend,” Blue concluded. Even if he did still creep them out a lot.

“Ugh, you sound like a cheesy holiday movie protagonist,” Pink groaned in mock disgust. They glanced at the sky-grid's late orange color, then lightly grabbed Blue's wrist. “Let's go before you start preaching about the power of friendship.”

Blue laughed, walking alongside Pink and matching their suddenly urgent pace. The two of them fled towards their shared apartment complex, teasing banter drifting away through the night's cold embrace.

Chapter Text

A mug with a missing handle. A misplaced button. A crumpled shoelace. A faded floppy disk. A rubber duck.

…What did these items have in common? Hell if he knew. Spamton glared at the pile of random garbage spread across his floor. He was begrudgingly awake early trying to sort through the items he scavenged yesterday. He's never really cared about the quality of his “wares,” but he was going to be under supervision today. 

That blue addison. They were creatures that didn't care about anything that didn't make them money. Obnoxious, snobbish, and not worth his time whatsoever. Spamton learned early on that he was better off avoiding them than dealing with their grating sense of superiority. They made for terrible customers.

And, that had still been his plan when that blue addison first approached him several days ago. But, they had been trying to get his attention even after he took their money. Not to yell or try to start a fight with him, but to just… talk. They… they fed him. For zero cost.

He didn't even have to try. The way their heartbeat fluctuated—they were obviously scared of him. But, they never made an attempt to run away. They talked to him, and when he responded, they listened. No one has ever listened to him for that long without being threatened to. And, they even wanted him back the next day, and the next, and the next—

Spamton sighed, still picking through his garbage collection. He has to think logically about this. The addison was just curious about him, that's the only reason they approached.

They apparently pitied his ability to sell, and that was the only reason they wanted him back. To try and fix him, because they apparently thought he could improve as a person. Spamton couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

The blue addison was taking their little arrangement much more seriously than he thought they would, so here he was, pretending he was a regular salesman looking for harmless products to sell. 

Begrudgingly, the addison did have a point. His usual tactics didn't reach far. No, if he wanted to infiltrate this damn city, crawl all the way to the top, make it HIS, BECOME A BIG SHOT AGAIN…

He had to learn to play nice, as much as he loathed to give those useless grubs anything. He had to participate in their games until they truly thought he was one of them, then finally take what he's always deserved. It was a long term investment, but he had nothing but time.

And now's his chance. This weak little addison was his backdoor in. Too timid to ask questions, so innocent they practically wrote his alibi for him. He knows how to choose his prey, and what was an easier hunt than something that wholeheartedly trusted him?

He would dig his claws deeper and deeper into their heart, string them along, let them spill every secret he needed, pretend to care until they can be discarded. 

In a way, he really was a salesman. Except, rather than this garbage he was sorting through, the product was the mask he wore, the person he pretended to be, his puppet.

Spamton finished selecting his “stock” for the day. He slid it into a pile, and shoved the rest into a garbage bag he was repurposing for storage. He tried to pick things that looked functional or otherwise non-broken; that addison kept nagging him about how scamming darkners with dysfunctional products was bad, not that he cared. 

He should probably leave soon. Spamton yawned, showing his teeth, and stretched the rest of his body as best as he could in the tight space, preparing for what was to come. 

He grabbed his mask and suit, dragging them through his tunnel. He slipped through the cabinet door that marked the entrance to his home and out into the open. He went back to grab his products for the day, as well.

Spamton wasn't worried about anyone seeing him, not here in the Trash Zone. Not even maggots lived in this mountainous wasteland. Only him. It was beautiful.

He sighed, picking up his stolen clothes. This was always his least favorite part of the morning. But, it was better to amputate a limb quickly than to drag it out, so he stuck his nose under the fabric in the back and began the awkward process of putting them on. 

He shoved his head through the neck hole, then squeezed his arms through the sleeves, his fur prickling as it was pushed the wrong way. He shook his arms out until they felt slightly less itchy, then resumed. It didn't really help.

He fell to his side, muscles straining then tensing repeatedly as he desperately tried to squirm inside. He pressed against the wall until finally, his claws hooked the pant holes, and his legs slid into place. 

Spamton sat there, twitching occasionally. He gasped and wheezed out the breaths he lost. The worst of it was over. He slumped upright, torso jutting in unnatural directions as he tried to get into a more comfortable position. It was futile, really. He's never felt comfortable in his suit—too tight, can't feel anything, senses deprived, too small, hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts—but it was the only option he had. 

Thankfully, his mask was much easier to attach. All Spamton had to do was thread his nose through the mask's own nose hole, carefully pull the strap over his hair, and adjust the jaw's elastics until it fit under his own jaw.

Spamton looked bleakly through his now drastically reduced field of vision, attempting to and failing to clean the smudged surface of the lenses with his sleeve. It never worked. He clicked the puppet jaw open a few times to make sure it was working, then looked down at his thin hands. 

The mittens had to be baggy to fully hide the shape of his hands. But, as a result, they barely fit him, and Spamton had resorted to gluing part of them onto his shirt so that they could easily slide on without sliding back off.

Spamton sighed as his claws immediately pricked holes in the thin fabric, tugging the ragged material away. 

Now fully covered, he grabbed his products and stuffed them into the many pockets he had glued inside of his suit jacket. The addison had offered him a fabric bag to carry his stuff in, but obviously he didn't need it.

Spamton positioned his legs underneath himself, clutching the wall like a lifeline as he shakily rose. His tail twitched, making thousands of subconscious calculations in an attempt to keep him upright. 

He stumbled through his first few steps like a freshly emerged hatchling, then started to get into the rhythm. He slowly let go of the wall, and successfully continued walking without collapsing. 

God, this was embarrassing. He's been doing this for over a year by now, but he still isn't used to having a completely different center of gravity. Everything about it still felt so unnatural. But, somehow, that addison actually guessed that he was a spam program without him saying he was, so he must be improving.

Spamton adjusted to his suit as he continued walking. His footsteps became firmer. He kept his legs straight, hiding the fact that they didn't bend the right way. Eventually, his gait improved to the point where he didn't need his tail out for balance anymore, and he curled it into a smaller shape in order to hide its abnormal length.

He walked down the crumpled road that led out of the Trash Zone and into the city. Corrupted advertisements tried to advertise defunct products as he passed. Pieces of broken concrete rolled under his soles. Piles of trash dangerously close to becoming an avalanche loomed over him.

Spamton was familiar with this path, though. He knew where the ground dipped in elevation, where the broken glass pooled, where puddles from the rain never quite drained. It was the only home he had ever known.

The piles of garbage gradually decreased in height as Spamton approached the outskirts of the Trash Zone. He was fortunate enough to live next to one of those magic doors, though he's only used it in the past few months because—

‘Hey, neighbor!” Spamton couldn't help but snarl at the talking trash can that loitered outside his home. He would've gladly stabbed the damn thing in the eyes and thrown its body in the sea already if it wasn't connected to some apparently popular celebrity named Nubert. 

“NOT 1NTERS$$SSTED!!!” Spamton hissed, lashing his tail and stomping past the useless sentient trash can. Trashy lingered around various entrances to the Trash Zone, giving useless tips that did not apply to his life whatsoever.

“Okay! Let me know if you change your mind!” The garbage bin responded, infuriatingly unbothered. Spamton didn't bother answering. 

…Admittedly, he hadn't known how the doors worked until Trashy happily explained it, but that was a secret that would stay with his rotting corpse.

Spamton wouldn't need the door today, though. That addison's store was surprisingly close, and all of the nearest warp points he knew of probably would spit him out further away from the shop that he currently was. So, he took a left turn in order to avoid the city's giant flashing welcome sign, and began his pursuit.

He silently crossed through darkened alleys and neglected streets. Birds cawed and flew away from the dumpsters as he neared them. Stray pixels bounced off the walls. Faded advertisements weakly clung to life above him.

Completely alone, Spamton relaxed his posture a little bit. His suit would never not be uncomfortable, but it felt a little better to actually bend his legs and move his tail. 

How much did that addison care? Spamton noticed how frequently they stared at his tail when he forgot to hide it, but he didn't know what they thought about it. The only facial expressions he's seen enough to recognize are fear, anger, and disgust, but he didn't see anything like that on their face. 

No, he has to be careful. Spamton may have locked them into a deal, but there was a high likelihood they'd bail regardless, like so many had before them. If he wants to seize this opportunity, he can't risk the addison seeing any more than they're supposed to.

Spamton squeezed between two buildings and slunk into an alley he was quickly becoming familiar with. He was still figuring out the best path to take, but he always ended up in this alley eventually.

He purposefully made his footsteps louder as he crossed the corner. He—there was no pang in his chest everytime the addison yelped and flinched in response to his sudden appearance, he was just keeping them happy so they'd keep talking to h—teaching him, that's all.

“Oh! Hello, Spamton!” the addison greeted. 

“HEY Y [Blueberry muffin]!!” he replied. It would require less brain power to call them “Blue” rather than “the addison” in his head, wouldn't it? It would just… save energy, yeah.

With a laugh and a smile, Blue once more took him for a walk to grab lunch. It was that sandwich place again, not that he cared where they took him as long as it wasn't somewhere he was banned from. It wasn't fresh the way he liked it, but anything was better than dumpster scraps.

He watched Blue as they spoke about their day, occasionally offering comments. Their heart rate had become more consistent as the days passed. It was always a little higher than usual, but that seemed to be from a lack of exercise rather than any sort of fear. He was tasting less and less spikes the longer he spent with them. 

Spamton spoke of customers he had months ago, pretending they were dealt with recently and excluding the less addison-approved (morally acceptable) details. He was a salesman for the freedom—the joy of a successful hunt, even if he wasn't getting a meal out of it. A way to keep busy and sharpen his skills when he wasn't scrounging for food. 

Blue didn't need to know that. As far as they knew, he was an innocent trash-pedaling salesman, and it would stay that way.

Spamton shuffled a little closer to Blue as they entered the sandwich shop, then forced himself further away than he originally was when he noticed. Thankfully, they had finally learned to stop asking him what menu item he wanted.

“I hope you'll like this better than my order,” Blue said, handing the sandwich to him without being asked. He was surprised by the warmth radiating from it, traveling through his cold fingers. Before he could chirp in surprise, he grit his teeth and made a normal sound in surprise.

“Figured I'd get it toasted, since you, uh, like warm meals, right? Basically everything on the menu has meat, but that one's gotta couple types,” Blue explained, looking back towards him as they spoke. 

“WHY D0 YOU [Tender Loving Care] $O MUCH???” Spamton tentatively asked before he could stop himself. They were only getting him food because he forced it into the deal, weren't they? Why did they care about what he actually wanted?

“Why wouldn't I?” Blue said. “I think it'd be a waste of money to buy something you don't like,” they reasoned. Was it not a waste of money to buy him food no matter what?

Verbally, Spamton accepted their answer, but he couldn't understand it at all. What benefit did it serve? As the sandwich’s warmth continued to spread through his body, though, he wondered if he should just accept it. 

The two of them sat down at the same table they did last time they were here. Spamton tore open the wrapper as best he could when his claws were still covered by fabric, and snatched the first sandwich half, but—

He caught the way Blue looked to the side, scrunching their eyes shut. He'd noticed that they hated watching him eat despite the fact that they couldn't even see his mouth. It was a reflex; swallowing before he could register the fuzz of mold or the drip of rotting juices in his mouth. 

Well, they wanted him to enjoy it, didn't they? He hooked his teeth into a much smaller chunk of the sandwich, tearing through the layers. There wasn't much to chew, but he at least spent a moment tasting it.

It was fine, and the warmth was the main thing Spamton enjoyed. The meat was already long dead and cooked, but it still vaguely tasted like what it could've been. But, the cheese was melted rather than molded, the bread was crispy rather than rock hard, and Blue had correctly guessed that he had no taste for leafy things, as there were none.

Blue didn't say anything about his slower pace. They looked surprised as far as he could tell, but went back to eating their own food. Spamton still finished eating well before Blue did, and kept himself occupied by consuming whatever crumbs were left. He supposed their tiny little weak teeth were far less efficient at chewing than his were. 

“What do you have for today?” Blue asked once they finished cleaning up, sitting back down on the opposite bench. 

“ARN’T WE [EXIT] BACK TO YOUR [Declining business]!??” Spamton questioned, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh, well, since you're going to be working with actual customers today, I figured there wasn't any point walking all the way back,” Blue explained. “You're still okay with being in the Advertising District, right?” Spamton was trying to delay it, but the addison would obviously want results eventually.

“Y3AH!” he huffed. The unofficial “Advertising District” was a section of the city teeming with addisons like maggots to rotting flesh. Even worse, every single one of them was highly territorial over whatever space they could afford. He found aggressive addisons about as threatening as a bird with broken wings, but it was kind of hard to sell his junk with them constantly yelling at him.

Normally, he avoided that place like a firewall. But, he didn't normally have a friendly addison on his side. 

“It's a good place to find, uh, ‘easy’ customers,” Blue reasoned. They must've picked up on the annoyance in his words. 

“THE EASIEST PREY ARE [file_not_found]  AT [[Late Night Talk Show]]!!” Spamton argued. “ALREADY [all…alone…], HIGH [Emotional distress], PRONE TO [10 signs you're a rash decision maker]!!!” He licked the saliva dripping between his teeth.

“I'd prefer if you stuck with customers that don't mind being advertised to,” Blue said, grimacing. They paused for a moment, opening and closing their mouth a few times. “What I mean is that customers who have a positive experience are more likely to recommend a product or service to other people, or buy more for themself. It'd build a good reputation.“

Spamton grumbled to himself, but didn't argue. It'll all be worth it for his plan to succeed, but that didn't mean he had to like groveling to weak, inferior “customers.”

Instead, he finally listened to Blue's earlier request, taking the items he had brought with him and setting them on the table. He paused when Blue laughed a little bit.

“Sorry! I'm just surprised someone would throw one of those away the second they lost popularity. It looks practically brand new!” Blue clarified, one finger pointed at a small blue toy with three rounded points. 

He mimicked the motion, curling all but one of his fingers, but not much was visible underneath the mittens. “WHAT [#$%#%$@] IS IT!?????”

“It's, uh, a fidget spinner,” Blue said, sounding suspiciously close to laughing again. “You spin it,” they explained simply. They picked up the object, holding it in the middle, and pushed at a rounded edge with their other hand. The thing spun, and for far longer than he thought it would.

Spamton watched the mesmerizing disk shape, hands resting against the table and body completely still. He nearly hissed when Blue stopped it on purpose, but he paused when they gave it to him to try.

He did his best to repeat their moments, and got it to spin after a few tries. He resumed watching it in complete stillness.

“Are you sure you're willing to depart with that?”

“Spamton?”

“Spamton.”

“WHAT??” 

The “fidget spinner” unfortunately came to a stop. He looked back up at Blue.

“Are you ready to go?” Blue asked with another chuckle. 

“LET'S [[Go get this over with]]!” Spamton agreed, collecting his junk. He paused on the last item. He—he was NOT interested in a children's spinning toy. He was not! Spamton shoved it in his jacket before he could look at it any longer, then crawled off the bench after Blue. 

The two of them headed further away from the Trash Zone and closer to the city center. He usually didn't stray this far; he could find much better (more gullible) customers closer to the city outskirts. 

Some of the more expensive businesses had the audacity to have a firewall over the main entrance, and he felt the uncomfortable prickle of their heat even from this far away. It was another reason he avoided this part of the city. He glowered at his oblivious companion that probably couldn't even tell there was a firewall anywhere near them.

The air itself was warmer here, likely from the sheer amount of darkners running around. He would've enjoyed it if he wasn't too busy maneuvering around all the oblivious people obstructing his path. 

“Let's see if ‘here’ works,” Blue said, stopping in front of a building that was up for lease. “You'll fit in just fine—there's plenty of other addisons walking around selling stuff out here,” they reassured. 

“IM NOT [Worried? You should be]!!!” Spamton insisted. Nervous? Who's nervous? Certainly not him. He's just trying to figure out how to sell literal trash without any threats or scam tactics. He was thinking, not stalling. 

It was so loud here. He couldn't even feel Blue's heartbeat properly with the 30 or so other souls swarming around him at any moment. His fur was starting to spike up in an attempt to sense and avoid all the darkners that came way too close. The sooner he could get out of here, the better. 

Spamton took out the spinning toy again. It was in good condition, was apparently popular recently, and he actually knew what it did. So, it was probably the best option he had.

He waited. Kids liked toys, right? He should find a parent. One that was already stressed and more likely to waste money. Blue remained off to the side, silently watching him. He pretended he wasn't hyper-aware that he was being evaluated.

Spamton continued to analyze the passing darkners until he finally found a potential match. One of those bat-like things with the file folder shaped wings, pushing a weird stroller with several smaller ones perched upside down, and two medium sized ones trailing after. 

“Mooooom, can we get something to eat?”

“These bags are heavy! When are we going home?”

A heavy sigh. “We've got one more stop, honey. It won't take too long.”

As the group got close enough, Spamton lunged forward, seizing the opportunity. He eyed the older children.

“HEY HEY HEY!!! [Trapped!]] BY A. BORING. TRIP!???” he started, making more of an attempt to make his voice understandable than he usually did. Blue had never said anything about it, but he was well aware his glitchy-sounding speech was off-putting. 

“Oh! You're not an addison,” she said, squinting. He grit his teeth, resisting the urge to lash his tail. 

“I HAVE JUST! THE THING! YO UNEED!!!” Spamton said, revealing the toy. “SPINNING [[Bopit]]!!” He spent a couple attempts spinning it. See, perfectly functional! You better buy it, #&@($!%&!

The kid, who had backed away, returned with excitement, begging their parent for the plastic piece of junk. Perfect. Kids were an easy target, but Blue never said he couldn't exploit them.

“How much?” She sighed, already pulling out a wallet with one hand while the kid grabbed the other. 

“50 KR         !” Spamton declared, remembering the prices Blue suggested for similar items. 

“Better than the store,” she muttered, shaking the kid off her wing and taking the cash out of a wallet overflowing with receipts.

He firmly snatched the money, counting it himself before shoving it in his pocket. If his toothy grin wasn't permanent, it would've widened. 

“[Thank you for your purchase],” he said automatically, because Blue had been very insistent while teaching him how to use pathetic words like “please” and “thank you” and “sorry.” The file folder darkner took the toy from him, and quickly handed it to the kid.

“Thank you!” the young one said, and he jumped a little bit. Why were they looking at him; wasn't that supposed to be directed at their parent? They looked away and followed after the older darkner before he could process what it meant.

“That was great, Spamton!” Blue congratulated him, and he turned around to look up at their smiling face.

“EHAHAHAHAHA!!! [cours] IT WAS! I’m [#1 RATED SALESMAN 1997]!” he gloated, sticking his nose in the air. 

“Yeah, yeah, you're a ‘big shot’ and all that,” Blue dismissed. “But, seriously, you did good! You didn't threaten them, you didn't lie about the product, you gave a good price, and you were generally nice! That's an ‘A’ in my book.”

He soaked in the praise like a bloodstain. He had gotten a bit lucky, but, despite going completely against his usual methods, he still got a sale. This really could be the piece his plan was missing.

“Do you want to try again?” Blue asked. Spamton knew he should practice, but not here in this over-stimulating nightmare district. And especially not when he was being supervised by Blue. 

“DON'T YOU [Still on Sale] HAVE [[work]] TO DO??” Spamton asked instead of answering. 

“I guess, but we can keep going if you want to,” Blue suggested.

“I C@N DO THAT [Alone on a late night]!!” Spamton insisted. The sooner he left the Advertising District, the better.

“Alright,” Blue said. “Wanna walk back together?”

Spamton agreed. With Blue, there should be a significantly smaller chance that some store owner with a broom would try to shove him away for “loitering” and “scaring off customers with his presence.” There were a few glaring at him, but none made a move as he walked past. 

Spamton relaxed a little bit once they escaped that godforsaken district. While Blue chose regular streets over the alleys he would've preferred, there were still significantly less people walking around than there were in the Advertising District.

Blue filled in the silence. While he'd been accustomed to not talking aside from muttering to himself, they seemed to hate being accompanied by the quiet. 

Spamton wanted to say something, to finally talk to someone other than himself. But, he couldn't reveal anything. They couldn't know who he really was, where he came from, where he lived, what he did when he wasn't pretending to be a salesman. Their relationship hinged on his ability to hide his true nature, his true intentions. 

So, Spamton listened as Blue yammered about how their “vacuum cleaner” was “acting up again,” and pretended to be as confident and indifferent as ever as he provided responses. He tried to hide his panic whenever he accidentally alienated himself by not understanding some perfectly normal thing that all addisons—all real, normal people—do.

All they ever did was laugh and smile, showing a little concern at worst, then explain whatever thing he didn't understand. “You're so weird!” They'd say, but it wasn't spat with the same venomous hatred that he usually got when he was called weird, or creepy, or strange, disgusting, vile, putrid, a freak, a p—

“Oh my goodness—I almost forgot!” Blue interrupted their own self when the two of them were almost at their shop. Spamton tilted his head, tail tip curling in a silent question. He scrambled to hide his tail again, but…Blue never complained when he let it move. Maybe he could just…let it do its thing.

“Would you like to come with me and my friends to the Cyber Grill on Friday?” Blue asked, stopping his writhing mess of thoughts immediately.

“w-WHAT!????? WHY??!??” Spamton definitely didn't squeak. What did that have to do with teaching him how to sell stuff? That wasn't in the contract! His hands shook. Why why why…?

“Because we're friends, right?” Blue said tentatively. 

F-friends? It was a word he didn't know the full meaning of, but he's seen enough advertisements including the concept to have a vague idea of what “friends” do, but not what they were. People who do things together, interact, eat together, talk—oh.

Okay. His plan was just progressing faster than he thought it would. That was fine! Great, actually! The sooner he got his revenge on this city, the better! 

But, what was this sinking sensation traveling down his stomach? Why did his chest feel weird as Blue's hopeful expression faded away the longer he went without answering?

“It's okay! You've, uh, only known me for a week anyways…” Blue backtracked, looked at their shoes. The always present pink and yellow light illuminating his vision disappeared for a moment.

“Y3-yE@#! W3’R3 [Friend Request Accepted]!!1!!!!” Spamton shouted panickedly. A single, strangled chirp of distress managed to sneak out, and he desperately hoped the static in his voice drowned it out.

Blue blinked slowly at his shaking, glitching form. “Spamton, it's okay,” they said with little confidence, reaching a hand out before thinking better of it. Of course they don't want to touch you. Look what happened last time they did.

He dug his claws into his skull, producing a mangled mess of corrupted sound in frustration that was cut off with a cough of broken pixels. 

“Please don't hurt yourself!” Blue said, and it was the loudest he's ever heard them, enough to briefly distract him, but not enough to stop the glitch attack. He tried to dig in deeper, claws getting caught on the edge of his puppet mask and undoubtedly scoring even more scratch marks into its surface. 

“Can you try to focus on breathing?” He heard Blue ask. He's breathing just damn fine! It was the !$@# GL1TC#/NG making him unable to think, seizing up like a convulsing muscle, entirely out of his control. He hissed, an entirely unnatural and animalistic sound he was too stressed to notice and stop.

Somehow, Blue was still there, instructing him how to breathe like he was stupid, and he finally listened. Spamton had been breathing fine, but he hadn't been focused on it. Why would he be?

As he paid attention to the movement of his lungs, to Blue's repetitive voice, time started to slow back down to normal. His hiss died out, his claws relaxed, the sensation of sharp pixels sloughing off his form faded.

In and out,

in and out, 

in and out.

“[...you didn't leave me?]?” Spamton croaked out when he realized Blue was still there, crouched down to meet him at his level. His tail was limp against the concrete, splayed out like a discarded electrical cord. 

This wasn't the first time this had happened in front of someone else, but whoever it was usually ran away and left him to deal with it himself. Why were they still here?

“We're friends,” Blue responded, much more confident than before. It was an answer that he couldn't really understand. Why? Why him? Why him, and not the friends—probably addisons, normal people—they already had?

Spamton stood back up, hoping his loose pants had sufficiently hidden the unnatural bend of his legs. Blue wasn't interrogating him, so maybe he got away with it. 

He never normally cared this much about looking like a spam program. As long as no one could recognize him for his real identity, it didn't matter how accurate he looked. But, if he wanted to keep this…

Their hand was so warm when it touched his. But he already scared them off, and now they shied away everytime he got too close, pulling away anytime they accidentally reached out. He just wanted to feel thaf warmth again, let it soak through and heat up his cold veins for more than a fleeting second.

He had to stop messing up. They need to think he's a spam program, and now they need to think he's a friend, and he's going to have to convince their real friends, too. He can't ruin his only chance of finally achieving freedom.

“H0W MANY [Days till] BEFORE [[Friday Special]]?” Spamton asked, not quite at his normal volume. The only calendars he ever found were always from at least a year ago, so he never knew the day of the week it was, even if he knew the actual day. Except for the godforsaken month of February.

“Just two,” Blue said. “Do you feel alright?” they asked, even though he has never answered that question honestly a single time. 

“IM F1NE,” he responded automatically. Did they actually believe him? If they did, why did they keep asking him? He wasn't sure how to interpret Blue's facial expression, but it didn't look very happy.

“GOOD BYE [BlueGrass],” Spamton said, hoping he'd get away with not having to answer any questions about what just happened. He already started walking towards the alley he had originally came from. 

“Bye, Spamton,” Blue said. It didn't have as much enthusiasm as it usually did, but they still waved at him. He returned the motion. The gesture had been completely alien to him the first time he tried it, but it was simple to learn. His arm waved fluidly, more confident in his movements. 

Spamton slumped over once he was out of view, tail dragging behind him ungracefully. It always took far longer than a couple of minutes to recover from severe glitching. There weren't any more pixels flicking off him than usual anymore, but his joints ached from the way he had tensed up in an attempt to prevent himself from convulsing and lashing out during the whole thing. He grit his teeth. He'll survive.

Spamton walked straight back to the Trash Zone. Normally he stayed out longer, keeping himself busy by finding customers to pester or dumpster diving for new objects to sell. 

But, right now, he was just… tired. Though, not tired enough to fall back asleep—he'd only woken up about an hour ago. 

Thankfully, there were no nosy neighbors to pester him on the way back, and Spamton returned to the Trash Zone safely.

The metal beams of the abandoned roller coasters above him groaned and creaked as they always did. He double checked that he was the only soul here, a force of habit.

Then, Spamton finally peeled the mask off his face, feeling instant relief as he breathed in all the smells that had been muffled by the plastic. 

Taking the suit off was always much simpler than putting it on. He slowly squeezed through the neck hole, freeing his limbs along the way, and finally his tail. 

Spamton stretched across the dilapidated road, limbs quivering as the tension left his body. He already felt significantly better. He picked up his mask and suit, bringing it with him through the repurposed cabinet door and into the tunnel he had built himself. 

Spamton emerged into his home. The mask and suit were perched in their usual spot in the corner. He walked over to a black desk, coated in deep scratches that revealed the pale wood underneath. Some of the marks were from his own claws, but the majority had already been there when he found it. 

He scoured through the shelves on the wall, digging through the many, many used notebooks he had amassed. Books with completely blank paper were seldom thrown out, but lined paper was easier to come by. 

A few of the older notebooks still had pages from their original owners, a remnant from when he was teaching himself how to write, covered in puncture marks from when he was learning how to turn the pages with his claws. 

He grabbed a newer one that had been almost completely empty when he found it. The few previously used pages had already been ripped out, and the rest were steadily filling up with his own drawings.

He had first seen “drawing” as just a form of visual mimicry, but he realized that he could draw anything, not just what he physically saw. Most of Spamton's drawings were of the idealized future. He flicked through the pages.

There were drawings of himself, several of which were drawn with massive colorful wings, his body the same size of the surrounding skyscrapers. Others had landscapes, often of different views from the Trash Zone. Some pages were simply filled with hundreds of white, five-petal flowers, modeled after the pin he attached to his suit.

Spamton settled on an empty page. He rummaged through a chipped mug on his desk that was filled with a patch-work collection of scavenged writing and drawing utensils. The front had “#1 DAD printed on it, but “DAD” was scribbled out and “BIG SHOT” was written over it in crude black marker. 

His desk had no chair to accompany it, but it was close enough to the ground on its broken legs that it didn't really matter to him. Spamton settled on the uneven floor, beginning to sketch onto the page with a half-dried pen.

Tomorrow, he'll have to squeeze more information out of Blue about their “friends.” He unfortunately already met the pink one, but he had no idea how many more there were, or what they were like. 

Why couldn't they just be alone? That pink one had acted like any other stuck up addison, and the others probably weren't far behind. What did Blue see in the likes of them?

…What did Blue see in the likes of him? 

Spamton shook his fur out, refocusing on the page in front of him. He could do this. He could act his part. He had to.

———

Spamton stood ajar to the front of the Cyber Grill, illuminated only by the yellow light of the sky-grid. He had scouted out the place last night, ensuring the building he remembered was the one Blue was talking about. 

The dumpster was decent food-wise, but the place was open so late that he usually couldn't safely pilfer it until the early morning hours. It wasn't a massive distance away from Blue's store, but was quite far from the Trash Zone overall. 

He glanced at the obnoxiously bright sign to reassure himself that he was in the right place. Spamton made sure he was early, because the last thing he wanted to do was walk into a business alone; he's been banned, or at least kicked out, from too many places to bother nowadays. 

He could smell the pungent aromas coming from the building even with the mask muffling his senses. He was salivating a little too much in anticipation of his second warm meal of the day. 

Spamton noticed a group of colorful pixels in his vision that became a group of addisons as they got closer. At least one was blue, meaning that it could be the ones he was looking for. He waited for them to get closer.

If he hadn't become so familiar with Blue's heartbeat, voice, and footsteps, he would've lost track of them several times already. With how many colors addisons came in, you'd think they'd be easier to tell apart, but no.

Spamton had thought he'd seen Blue in public enough times just for it to be some random addison that got all angry if he dared to make eye contact that he elected to be very careful. 

Finally, they came close enough that Spamton could breathe in their heartbeat, isolating it from the three other pulses around them. He stepped into view, carefully eyeing Blue's three companions.

“Oh! Hi, Spamton,” Blue said, startled, but not afraid like they were when they first met him. None of the addisons were wearing the green and black attire usually expected of them, instead dressed in a variety of colored clothes that he wasn't particularly interested in. 

Blue never waved at him like they usually did, and Spamton wasn't sure why he was a little upset by it. 

“That's—you're Spamton?” the orange one asked, and he observed their pupils scanning over his form. He kept his legs straight, tail curled, and arms hung limply at his side. The only movement he offered was a tilt of his head.

“[The 1 the] ONLY [#1 RATED SALESMAN 1997] SP   SPAMTON G. SPAMTON!!” he introduced himself, politely ignoring the pink one's sneer and mutter of something inaudible. He also ignored the urge to bite their arm off.

“Well, it's nice to finally meet you, Spamton,” the yellow one said after clearing their throat. How suspicious. Probably lying through their little teeth.

“Blue's told us a lot about you,” they added.

“Not that much! A-and just good things!” Blue added quickly, and he wondered why they sounded so nervous. “Aren't you guys hungry? Why don't we head inside?”

The orange one finally stopped scrutinizing him, at least for a moment. “Yeah, waiting out here isn't going to make our food come any faster,” they said with a nod. 

The group filtered through the front door of Cyber Grill. Spamton purposefully went in last, and Blue decided to stay next to him.

The first thing Spamton comprehended when he walked inside was just how loud it was. There were people everywhere, all laughing and talking and moving. 

Then, he took his first breath inside, and the smells from outside were amplified tenfold. It wasn't a bad smell—significantly better than the place’s dumpster—but it was still overwhelming.

Colorful buzzing lights were everywhere, making his eyes hurt as he resisted the urge to close them. There were several black lights that turned his already dark fur into a featureless void and made the addisons’ fur obnoxiously bright.

Most of his composure disappeared in an instant. Spamton stepped closer to Blue than he would ever admit, trying his best to make sense of his surroundings. The front door was the easiest to access exit. There was probably a back door, but it probably needed to be unlocked and was thus useless. Worst case scenario, the many windows were always an option.

He nearly bumped into Blue when they came to a stop, but thankfully avoided it. The four addisons slid into a glossy purple corner booth while he stood there. 

Spamton slowly crawled into the empty space beside Blue. It felt weird to be beside them rather than on the opposite end of a table, but he sure as hell wasn't going to cozy up next to any of the other addisons. The edge was nice—he could easily escape to the front door if he needed to. 

Spamton rested his hands on the table, pretending he wasn't prepared to bolt at a moment's notice. He didn't need to look at the other addisons to know he was being stared at. 

“Alright, so you've already met Pink,” Blue started, gesturing at the pink one. “That's Orange, and that's Yellow.”

Before Spamton could lie about being interested, another darkner appeared at the table. “Oh! Who's this?” they asked. It was one of those electrical plug looking things. 

“Just a friend,” the yel—Yellow said before Spamton could grumble something out. 

“Oh, okay…” they replied, and, if there weren't so many witnesses, he would've hissed at them. “What do y'all want to drink?”

Blue listed off drink options for him, but Spamton wasn't really paying attention. He's never had to drink anything in front of them before, and was hoping he never would.

“WAT3R,” Spamton decided. That way, he wouldn't have to deal with stains when he inevitably spilled it on himself. Actually, maybe he should just avoid trying to drink it at all. 

The other darkner thankfully left, and he directed his attention to the piece of laminated paper Blue placed in front of him. Ah. A menu.

Reading was never a strong suit of his. Speech was much easier to learn than visual communication, and he'd rather draw out his thoughts than write them. While he could recognize the words on the page given enough time, it was easier to make Blue pick something for him.

“ANY [5 Star Reccommenddationn]??” He asked Blue, and they immediately started listing options, oblivious to the real reason he asked.

“Hm, you'll probably want something you can use a fork or spoon for so your mittens don't get dirty,” he heard Blue muse as Pink and Orange debated menu items in the background. They…they really thought about stuff like that?

“Do you want to try a protein bowl?” Blue suggested, and he put in the effort to actually read the description they pointed at. That was another thing; Blue somehow took his off-hand remark about liking meat completely seriously. Everything they got for him that wasn't sugary had some dead animal in it.

“SUR3,” he agreed. Why did they care so mu—well, he certainly wasn't going to complain about getting to eat free flesh.

That annoying darkner returned with their drinks, and he was disappointed to see ice in the water. Why were these slimes obsessed with ruining perfectly good food and drink by making it cold on purpose? Now he's definitely not touching it!

The darkner asked for their orders, and Spamton contemplated how to respond. He wished he could just copy Blue's voice, but they'd probably freak out. 

“PR OUGH T EEN BO W LL,” he awkwardly sounded out, and was quite proud of himself until he heard a confused “what?” from the darkner. 

He resisted the urge to gouge a new scratch in the already beaten-up table as Blue kindly repeated his answer.

“Now that we're waiting, how about we properly introduced ourselves?” Blue tried to direct the group. 

“Yeah, Spamton, I'm awfully curious,” Pink redirected with a smile faker than his own. Orange elbowed them. 

“EHAHAHA! I'm [[BIG SHOT]]!!!” Spamton boasted, straightening his neck in an attempt to look taller. He showed no physical reaction as all three of the addisons winced at his laugh while Blue looked down at their hands. 

“I C@N SELL [Anything you desire~] TO [Wide Demographics]!!!!! THOSE [It says ‘gullible’] L1tTLE [[insects]] WILL BUY [All of the above] [[U$3L3$$ TR@$#]]!!!” Spamton continued, gesturing broadly with his claws, then slamming his palms on the table for dramatic effect. 

He didn't like the look on the addisons’ faces. It… who cares if they don't believe him? It won't matter when he reclaims the power he deserves—

“I see what Blue meant when they said you were confident,” Yellow said with a chuckle. Spamton narrowed his eyes. Why were they actually humoring him? What the hell did they want?

“If you can ‘sell anything,’ why is Blue helping you?” Pink asked. It was taking all of his willpower to not loudly hiss at them in response. 

“I DONT NEED [Help?] SS$S5SELL1NG!!” he snapped, taking his claws off the table before he accidentally damaged something.

“I'm really just teaching him a different method,” Blue said, and the fur bristling under his clothes slowly relaxed. “His style's just a little more aggressive than mine,” they added, and he wondered why Blue wouldn't just call him a scammer already. 

“Oh. I suppose you spam programs, uh, do operate with different rules,” Orange said awkwardly, taking a drink from whatever they ordered. Ah, so they did know, they just didn't want to admit it. Cowards.

Yellow cleared their throat. “I believe we were supposed to be doing introductions? I can go first.” They leaned back against the booth, hands behind their head. 

“I work in video production. Editing, producing, acting, all that jazz. ‘Know this city like the back of my hand.” Spamton doubted an addison would know the streets better than he did, but didn't comment. 

Spamton didn't really care about their jobs, but he had nothing better to do but listen at the moment. He watched his untouched glass of ice water and hoped it would melt faster. 

The addisons got into some sort of business talk, talking about statistics and sales jargon he didn't understand. Spamton eyed the unopened straw wrapper next to his drink like it was an insult. It kind of was, considering the only way he could drink now was by dumping it down his throat.

“—What kind of ads do you make?” Orange asked him another question. They weren't antagonistic like Pink was, but they were far too curious. They kept asking him questions no matter how many disinterested one-word answers he gave them. 

“NONE,” Spamton responded, playing with his napkin. How long would it take for the food to arrive? He's never had to wait this long for his lunch! His tail twitched incessantly underneath the table. 

“What do you mean ‘none’? You're an addison!” Pink said, narrowing their eyes. He finally tuned in fully to the conversation.

“I CAN'  T,” Spamton clarified, then enjoyed watching their possibly guilty flinch. “AND IM N0T a [Advertisement Slots Available]!!!” he added. 

“Spam programs are just a specialized type of addison,” Orange pointed out, confused. Spamton quietly hissed. They're going on his “future removal” list alongside Pink and that $^@&%>*^@_-#%& talking trash can. 

“IT’5 DIFF3RENT!!!!!” he insisted defensively. “SToP [Spread of Misinformation]!!!!” Yellow laughed quietly, and he shot them a suspicious glare through his glasses. 

His anger fizzled out the second he smelt the approaching food. His head perked up, and his claws went back to resting on the table. He heard another chuckle and was about to retort until he realized it came from Blue. They smiled at him, and he slowly relaxed his posture. 

He held his bowl of food protectively close as Blue thanked the darkner, apparently called Tangent, for bringing their food. Spamton fumbled with the fork next to it. His long claws were not great for gripping things that couldn't be stabbed, but the mittens made it marginally easier.

He finally pulled the fork off the table, then stabbed it into the bowl so hard he could hear the prongs scrape against the bottom. Spamton hated using cutlery, but he currently had witnesses and couldn't eat how he wanted to. 

“Sorry for prying so much,” Orange said quietly. He paused, confused, swallowing the piece of grilled chicken he shoved down his throat. 

“Ow! What was that for?” Pink yelped when Orange elbowed them again. 

“You've been an ass the entire night. He hasn't even done anything,” Orange said. Hmm. He'll take them off the future murd—removal list. For now. 

“Fine, sorry,” Pink said. They were a significantly worse liar than he was.

Spamton watched Pink silently fume while he devoured his meal. It contained more vegetables than he cared for, but the food was still pleasantly warm. 

Soon, he was scraping the last few crumbs out of the bowl. The addisons were thankfully much quieter while they were eating. He picked at the chunks of meat stuck between his teeth, placing his hands in his lap while he waited. 

“Oh, that was fast,” Orange said, looking at his empty bowl. 

“Yeah, he does that,” Blue said…fondly? Resigned? Exasperated? Annoyed? It had to be one of those—there was no way they were fond about anything he did—he's just imagining things. They were regularly afraid of him just a few days ago!

“Y'know, I was thinking,” Blue began once they had eaten their fill. “We all have different advertising styles. You guys could help him too, uh, if you want?” they suggested nervously. 

“I don't think he wants help,” Pink said. He really didn't. But, Blue took his salesman identity very seriously, and it would make him appear more legitimate if he went along with it. He needed them to think they were friends, and avoiding all their actual friends would probably have the opposite effect.

“SURE!!” Spamton said with manufactured enthusiasm. “AS [Long hours] AS IT [[stilt]] COMES WITH FR33 [Legally Mandated Lunch Break]!” he added, so he'd at least get something actually useful out of it. 

Even if he could learn something from the other addisons, Blue was much easier to manipulate. The other ones were way too suspicious of him already.

“Well, at least you're honest about that,” Orange laughed.  “Eh, sure, why not? I don't have any clients coming in till next Wednesday—feel free to stop by.” Oh. That was fast.

“I'm pretty booked. Let's see here…does the Saturday after this one work?” Yellow asked, presumably checking their schedule on their phone.

“I C4N [[Get Fit Quick!]] THAT IN TO MY [tight schedule]!” Spamton agreed. It sounded simple enough. He would go to the addison's store, pretend to listen to them, get his free food, and leave.

“Great!” Yellow said. “What's your phone number?”

“DONT HAVE [[one (1)]]!” he scoffed. Surprised, Yellow asked if he had an email (he may be the email guy, but the Trash Zone didn't exactly have electricity), any social media (what the hell is that?), or even a physical mailing address (ha!).

“I could pass any messages along—my store could be like a checkpoint,” Blue suggested. 

“That'll work,” Yellow said, though they looked more concerned than they had the entire night. “If you can't afford something, maybe you could get a free library card?” they suggested. 

He tried not to laugh. Every information archive here had firewalls over every entrance, and he was not allowed in. Not that the addisons would ever know that. He said he would think about it, even though he absolutely wouldn't.

Pink sighed. “I'd prefer if you came in during closing, honestly. I'm working second shift for the next three days, so you can come in and pester me. Or don't.” They really emphasized that last part. 

“SOUNDS [It's fun for the],” Spamton deadpanned. He held back a yawn. 

“Well, I'm glad we figured that out,” Blue said, grabbing their purse. He watched the shiny keychain attached to the strap jingle with some interest. 

The darkner from earlier returned, setting down a bill and a few foam boxes that the addisons put their leftovers in. 

“Oh! I can pay for it if you want,” Blue said when Orange grabbed the paper slip. 

“It's fine, Blue,” Orange responded. “Spamton's protein bowl isn't going to bankrupt me.” They stood up, taking the slip with them to the front. 

Distractedly, Spamton looked out the window. The glass was fairly useless, as the perpetual dark lighting of the city meant that most windows here acted more like poor mirrors. 

The same was true now. He had to lean past the addisons to see, but his reflection was fully visible.

It was the face of a stranger. Sharp edges, smooth plastic, blocky and flat teeth, rounded lenses, plastered on red cheeks. A face that was not his, yet he was its owner.

He briefly imagined his real face was there, unrestricted by its current elastic-strapped prison. His eyes, his teeth, his nose, his fur. The face he was still used to seeing.

He mentally laughed at the absurdity of it. His real self, innocuously perched at the corner booth of a restaurant, surrounded by oblivious addisons. He brushed his claws against the sturdy strap holding his mask in place. It was a silly thought. 

Pink stacked up all the plates and cups, but left his completely full glass where it was with a frown. He was kind of thirsty, but he had plenty of collected rain water to drink at home that didn't have ice cubes in it. 

Everyone stood up, and Spamton did too, holding onto the table for a moment until he was sure he was balanced again. He let the addisons trail ahead. 

After a moment, Spamton turned around and drank as much as he could when no one was looking. Still cold, but better than nothing. It tasted weirdly good in comparison to the rainwater. He scampered after the addisons, catching up outside. 

He breathed in the fresh night air with relief, even despite the mask blocking his nostrils. It felt so much quieter out here. 

“Thank you for coming,” Blue said when he stepped out. What did he even do to justify being thanked?

“YE4H YEAH!! …[BYE MORE] [Azure blue]!” Spamton said, waving his hand back and forth in the usual ritual.

“Bye, Spamton,” Blue responded, returning it. Then, they returned to their actual friends, presumably starting the walk home. He's not jealous. Why would he be? He's been independent his whole life! He doesn't actually care about them, he doesn't!

He turned around, beginning the long, quiet trek back to the Trash Zone. It appeared he'd be pretty busy in the next few days. He's pretty sure the other three addisons mostly fell for his trap, but that didn't mean he could relax just yet. He had to get this right if he wanted to keep Blue.

He turned into the alley he had been waiting in at the start of the night, out of view of invasive eyes. The sky-grid had started turning orange, signaling that it would soon be night. 

The late night was his favorite, as the sky-grid became a faint red that bathed much of the city in darkness, allowing him to easily stalk prey. Or customers. 

At night, the city felt more like his. It was the only time he could freely wander about without his mask and restrictive suit. There would always be the danger of being caught, but it was much easier to hide when there were few people and few lights. 

He continued walking through alleys, even though many normal streets were nearly empty. A force of habit. 

Spamton was still hungry. He'd most likely have to wait until after he got home and took his suit off—

Spamton paused as he smelt something he was very familiar with. And well, he could still feed with his suit on, even if he preferred without. He was an opportunist, after all.

He tasted a small soul, a quick but quiet heartbeat. A maus just a short turn away, oblivious to how much danger it was in. 

He paused. Then, he lowered into a crouch, long tail hovering just above the ground.

The sound of a mouse trap snapping shut crackled out of his throat, and into the air. The soul stopped moving. 

A maus’s distressed cry bubbled out of him, weak and pained. Then, another, and another. Repeated pleas for help, each growing more raspy than the last. 

The real maus squeaked in response to the fake cries of pain, tiny claws scratching against the concrete as it drew closer. His tail tip flicked in excitement.

Strands of saliva trailed between his long teeth as he produced more frail responses. His tie dragged across the ground as he transitioned to all fours, hind legs bent in preparation.

He listened and waited as the maus entered his domain, the little creature unaware of what was truly behind the dumpster his form was obscured by.

One last maus squeak gurgled out of his mouth, little more than a breathy groan. A sound that spurred the real maus forward, and finally in front of him.

Something shot out from between fake puppet jaws, snaking towards the maus in an instant. The needle-sharp tip tore into the maus's large black eye, through its little brain, and out the other end. 

The maus twitched in response, nerves responding for the last time as it died. 

Something receded out of the maus's head, and black blood leaked steadily out of the hole it left. 

It twisted and curled, sensitive to the cold air. Then, its writhing form wriggled inside of the warmth of the maus's chest.

It slipped past the ribs and curled around the lungs. The thin tip inserted itself into the now silent heart and began to feed.

The thick, dark essence of the maus's soul started to travel through it, visible through its semi-translucent segmented surface. It pulsated steadily, guiding the fluid all the way through and into his throat.

Once the soul was drained, it receded back inside of his jaws, taking the maus with it. 

Smiling teeth tore into the maus's flesh, easily breaking its small bones and plastic shell. Fur mixed with tender heart tissue, mixed with chewy organs, mixed with buttery brain matter.

He swallowed all of it, whiskers and teeth tickling the inside of his throat. He could feel the warmth of it as it traveled through his body, settling at the stomach. 

He chirred in contentment, tail tip wagging back and forth in joy. After licking the remaining black blood off the surface of his mask, he shuffled back onto two legs.

He brushed the concrete dust off of his suit, fixed his sleeves, and adjusted his gloves. Then, he began to walk.

And the darkner who called himself Spamton disappeared into the night.

Chapter Text

It was quiet in Cyber Shoes II. Not in the literal sense—soft music was always present—but in the way it allowed Spamton to think.

Blue always kept the place closed during their meetings with him, so they were the only two here. And, Blue was currently sweeping the carpet on the opposite side of the room, so it was really just him and his thoughts. 

Spamton tried to relax into the faux leather chair. For whatever reason, Blue had suggested that he wait in it, despite the fact that he had full access to their desk and the still-logged-in computer from the chair. He eyed the colorful tasque-based wallpaper with mild disgust.

It was admittedly comfortable, reminding him of that one ratty couch he found in the Trash Zone. He had initially been annoyed that his feet didn't touch the ground when he sat in it, but his mind quickly returned to elsewhere. 

Spamton was supposed to be interacting with the orange addison today. After an entire night of failing to come up with a coherent strategy, he decided that he should just get it over with. 

Really, all he needed to do was avoid any probing questions and stick to his salesman alibi. If he could handle three of their friends at once, dealing with a single one alone shouldn't be that bad, right?

He threaded his tie through his hands in a repetitive motion, tail twisting into anxious shapes under the desk. He tried to focus on Blue, who was slightly closer now. 

After Blue told them he was ready, Orange had decided to walk to Blue's store, then walk back with him. So, now he was stuck waiting for them to pop out at any second. 

Spamton thought the music sounded off for a second. Suddenly distracted, he listened intently. There was something out of sync, fading in and out. And, it was coming from Blue’s direction.

“[R U] DOING THAT?” Spamton asked after listening for a moment, the sound dwarfed by his volume. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, that's me, sorry,” Blue stammered, turning around to look at him. Their eyes darted anywhere but his face until they turned back around and resumed sweeping faster than before. 

“WHY'd YOU [[Stop now]]???” he questioned, leaning forward.

“I, um—I just feel self-conscious humming when I know someone can hear me,” they mumbled. They continued sweeping, despite the fact that the floor had been practically flawless when he walked in already. 

Spamton leaned back in the office chair, disappointed. He’d never bothered singing—he'd just accidentally play a voice clip of whatever he was trying to sound like, anyways.

He tested it quietly at first, feeling the vibrations in his throat. It felt weird to mimic something with his own static-laced voice, to not instinctively produce a perfect audio clip.

Spamton continued his hesitant attempts at humming, staying as quiet as he could. He'd rather listen to Blue than his scratchy tone, but they stayed silent.

He flinched violently when the door opened, then pretended to be fixing his posture. His hum died abruptly.

“I'm here!” Orange announced. They were wearing the usual black and green addison combo, though it looked maybe fancier and more form-fitting than the loose jacket Blue wore.

“Ah, there's the man of the hour,” they said, noticing Spamton. He squinted, trying to determine if their smile was sarcastic or not. 

“Hey, Orange,” Blue greeted, setting the broom down. Spamton forced himself to sit still as both their gazes drifted over to him.

“How come he gets to sit in your chair but not me?” Orange complained, but they didn't actually sound that upset.

“WHAT'S [Wrong Answer]!?? [[jellis]] OF [#1 RATED SALESMAN 1997]???” Spamton asked smugly, successfully getting a laugh out of Blue. He was playing it up, as he usually did.

“You’ve never even asked to sit in that chair,” Blue replied, shaking their head. “I would've felt bad making him stand there and watch me clean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Orange said dismissively. “You ready to go, Spamton?”

No. “YES.” He tried not to sigh too loudly as he slid out of the chair and onto the ground, grabbing the desk for balance for a moment. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he'd get to stop thinking about it. 

“Alright,” Orange nodded as Spamton approached. “See ya later, Blue,” they said, the door's bell jingling as they held the door open for him. 

“Have fun,” Blue said, and, although it was different from their usual departing phrase, Spamton still waved, and they waved back. Just like that, the door closed, and he was left alone with the first of their addison friends. 

“Blue told me you guys already ate lunch,” Orange began soon after the two of them started walking, “So I figured we can just visit the gas station by my store and pick up a snack and a drink.”

“IM STILL [......so hungry]!!!” Spamton insisted, following directly behind them. He hadn't told Blue about his plan to meet Orange until after they already bought him lunch just in case, and now he was glad he did.

“Really?” Orange sounded highly doubtful. “Okay, fine, I'll buy you two snack items, but that's it—I don't usually eat lunch, anyways. Deal?”

“FINE!” Spamton grumbled, not treating it like an actual deal. Of course, anything was better than dumpster scraps, but he would've liked to swindle a little more out of them. Blue always folded like a wet paper towel, but apparently their friends did not.

He analyzed the orange addison in front of him as he walked. Their feet scraped against the ground much less than Blue's did. Their heartbeat was a little slower, but not by much. 

“Personally, I find small talk a little boring, so I like to ask fun questions, instead,” Orange prattled on. “What would you do in a zombie apocalypse?” They prompted with a grin.

“@ WHAT??????” Spamton squinted at them. 

“Y'know, like in the movies,” Orange explained. “…Have you seen any zombie movies?” They asked after a moment.

“I [Don't wait! Call now!] WATCH [Only Seen on TV],” Spamton replied. He had seen plenty of video ads plastered on screen-covered skyscrapers throughout his life, but he certainly didn't have access to electricity nor functional electronics. 

“What? Really? There's so many good movies I gotta show you,” Orange vowed, and he tilted his head in confusion. Why would they want to do something with him, completely voluntary? Weren't they only here because Blue asked them to be?

“But, I suppose the basic plot is that some computer virus zombifies all types of darkner, not just virovirokun, and they spread far enough to cause an apocalypse,” Orange explained.

“tHE [Free Antivirus Download] WOULD JU$T [[KILLED]] ALL OF THEM!!!” Spamton argued. 

“Well, in order for an apocalypse to occur, I'd imagine the antivirus force would either be destroyed or just ineffective,” they said. Oh?

“AND HOW COULD [Protect your Computer Today] BE [Killed]????” Spamton asked excitedly.

“I dunno,” Orange said, crushing his small flame of hope in an instant. “It's a movie—it's not necessarily realistic.”

He didn't let his disappointment show, silently following their footsteps. It was worth a shot, at least. 

With little else to do, he thought of Orange's original question. If he was in an apocalypse (that he didn't cause), what would he do?

“I WOULD [Kill the Competition] ALL THE [[We have detected a virus]]!!! [there] BAD FOR [Business Profits]!!!” He declared, stepping around a massive crack in the sidewalk. 

Orange chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose zombies would be bad for business. How are you gonna kill, like, tens of thousands of them, though?” 

“EASY!!! I'LL                !” Spamton's voice paused, degrading to static. He had been about to mention using his teeth and claws, something weak little addisons couldn't do.

“What?”

Spamton responded with another garbled mess. It was a trick he often pulled—pretending his “glitch” prevented him from speaking when he got too close to revealing something. And it worked on Orange immediately. 

“Alright, then,” they said, leaving it at that. Spamton habitually smoothed down his hair even though it was already perfectly styled.

“I think I would choose to hide. Wait it out,” Orange said. “The zombies would have to rot, or starve, or whatever, eventually.”

“WHAT IF THEY [waited]??” Spamton argued. “ALL IT [Takes the] IS [[one (1)]] TO [Revert file to original state?]!”

“I don't think the zombies are smart enough to do that,” Orange chuckled, and he laughed a little as well. How naive.

“ITT’S [[Fiction]]!! YOU CAN BELEIVE ANY [Lie] YOU [want to be]!!1!!” Spamton said, gesturing broadly. His fingers twitched. 

“Yeah, I suppose,” Orange said. “It's definitely more fun that way.” 

He could hear and smell the gas station much sooner than he could see it. The only cars he liked were the rusted over remnants he found in the Trash Zone. The things were so loud, the constant vibrations of the motors messing with his senses. He's only gotten ran over once, but he didn't plan on adding to that counter.

“We're here!” Orange said, seemingly unbothered by the stench of gasoline. Spamton sneered as the screeching of tires dug into his skull. His mask, of course, hid everything. He followed Orange silently as they held the front door open for him. 

“Oh yeah, you can get a drink, too,” Orange said, already walking away. He opened his mouth to tell them to just pick something for him, but they had already disappeared into an aisle. His real jaw and puppet jaw closed with twin clicks. 

Spamton slowly walked further into the store, guided by his nose more than anything. Well, everything here had either a clear window or the food inside depicted on the bag, so it should be easier to find something than it was on a menu.

Spamton's eyes flicked across the plethora of options. He recognized quite a bit of the packaging from what he's seen in trash cans, but he's never tasted most of these, seldom a few crumbs.

Eventually, he turned around in order to avoid two darkners by the cooler doors, and went into the next row. This one was filled with candy. He scanned the shelves with more interest than he previously had, leaning in to look closely at the packaging. 

Spamton paused abruptly when he came across a very familiar term written in bright, squiggly letters. He's seen these in the garbage before—it was nothing special, really. Just—it was a word he didn't see often outside of the now 20 years old newspaper clips safely hidden in his home. And, that was a good thing! The less anyone nowadays knew about that, the—

“You good?”

Spamton flinched violently, letting out a short hiss before he could stop himself. It was just Orange, holding out their palms in response to his reaction. He gripped the colorful plastic bag he had grabbed tightly. Orange looked at him, then the bag, then back at him.

“Well, I guess you're getting those whether you like it or not, since you popped the bag open,” Orange said, sounding slightly exasperated. Spamton glanced back down, noticing the wrinkled imprints of his hands left on the bag, as well as several puncture marks.

“Is that all you've picked out so far?” Orange continued. They sounded surprised rather than annoyed. 

“THERE’S [a lot] OF [[Custom Player Options]],” Spamton finally spoke, feeling his fur smooth back down to its normal state . It was hard to pick one thing when nothing stood out to him, aside from the bag he already held. After a moment of consideration, he grabbed a second bag of the same candy. 

“Heh, I suppose Blue did say you have quite the sweet tooth,” Orange said. It was meant to sound amused, but he picked up on the slight discomfort in their voice. “Anything in particular you want to drink?”

“NO.” Spamton held the two bags closely to himself. The stuff sold here was in bottles, so at least he could take it home. Orange grabbed a generic cola, and quickly headed towards the cash register. He followed. 

He gave his food to Orange. After the barcodes were scanned, he boredly watched them input their pin number, trying to memorize it. The food and drinks were put into a plastic bag, and the two of them could finally leave. 

Spamton requested his food the moment they were out the door, and Orange handed it to him, a bit confused. 

“I didn't expect you to be such a big gummy worm fan,” Orange said, and he knew it was supposed to be a question. 

“[n3ver] HAD THESE!” Spamton said absently, staring through the clear window of the packaging. It was just lifeless artificial candy. No legs, no teeth, no fur, no eyes, no pointed nose. Just long, segmented blobs in various colors, trapped inside of a plastic cage.

“[their] INACCURATE!!” he declared, holding the “gummy worms” safely against his chest. 

“Is that what you're so worked up about?” Orange asked. “‘I think it'd be weirder if the gummies looked like hyperrealistic earthworms.” He didn't clarify what he actually meant. 

Their words were careful, and they kept looking over his form as if they'd find an answer for his behavior. Was it his accidental hiss that set them off? He really needed to work on that.

Orange glanced back at him a few times as he followed them. Spamton kept silent. 

“Did you… just want to hold those?” Orange asked. Spamton gripped his food a little tighter. 

“IT'5 MINE,” he growled. His head twitched with a slight glitch. 

Orange's expression changed. He didn't know what it meant, but, somehow, it felt a little softer. 

“You want your soda, too?” They were already handing the bottle to him. 

Spamton grabbed the end furthest from Orange's fingers and took the bottle from them. Its temperature was colder than he would've liked, but he certainly wasn't going to give it back to them.

“So, uh, do you want to do another icebreaker?” Orange asked, and he didn't object. That hypothetical zombie invasion question was much easier to answer than any question about his actual life would be. 

“What superpower would you want?” Orange asked after a moment of thought. “Like, invisibility, super-speed, teleportation, telepathy—anything.”

Spamton's first thought was anything that would aid his plan; invincibility, regeneration, maybe something fun like mind control. But, his plan was supposed to work in the real world. He wasn't supposed to need any fictional powers to get what he wanted. 

“TO [Watch me fly, mama],” Spamton said wistfully, looking up at the sky-grid, half obscured by dark clouds. Something he’s always wanted, but would never obtain. 

“Flight? That would definitely be fun,” Orange said, but he wasn't really listening.

It was something he had dreamed about as long as he had been aware. Watching birds flit between powerlines, chasing after moths until they were too high to reach. Climbing to the top of the city's highest buildings, praying that one night he'd pupate and wake up with colorful, shimmering wings, then finally escape the dark.

“1T W0U1D B3 [.........beautiful],” Spamton said distantly. It was little more than a dream—he was as far as you could get from a butterfly. But, the idea still gave him hope, as fantastical as it was.

“Here's my store,” Orange said, stopping in front of a building the same shade of blue as every other building in the city. He would've been startled by the white, faceless darkners visible through the windows if he detected souls from them. They were just dolls, husks propped onto metal stands. 

“It's a little messy, ‘cuz I was moving stuff around,” Orange added, unlocking the front door with a keyring that had an absurd amount of keychains attached to it. Spamton followed them inside. He recognized the street they were on, but wasn't that familiar with it—there was barely anything edible in the dumpsters here, but he remembered stealing some fabric scraps to use as bedding years ago.

Spamton looked around, shoes scraping against the vinyl floor. Aside from the mannequins, the sales floor was primarily filled with metal racks of clothes. The best way he could describe it was that it would be really easy to hide in this place. 

Obviously, he knew the mannequins couldn't move. But, they kept tripping up his senses regardless, and he was glad when Orange took him to a windowless office.

At least, he thought it was an office. There were sewing supplies absolutely everywhere, from boxes on the floor to shelves filled with folded fabrics to random posters on the wall. 

“Okay, I swear it's not normally this messy,” Orange insisted as he stared. They moved over to a table covered by several pieces of pattern fabric, a black sewing machine, and what looked like an entire pile of sewing supplies dumped on top of it. The grocery bag joined the pile.

Orange directed Spamton to the second table, which, shockingly, actually had some free space on it. Rather than sewing supplies, it was mainly covered in pens and papers. He climbed into one of the two swivel chairs, finally setting his food down. 

He was once again disappointed that the chair was tall enough that his legs dangled above the ground. Why did all these addisons have such long damn legs?

Orange cracked open a toxic green can. He could smell the caffeine from across the room. They took a sip. “Okay, sooooo, Blue wanted us to help teach you, but I don't know how much I can help unless you're interested in the textile industry,” Orange admitted. 

They got to work cleaning up the other table as they spoke, putting spools of thread back into a giant wooden rack attached to the wall. Despite how messy the place was, they still took the time to put all the thread away in rainbow order. 

“I usually prefer more subtle advertising compared to the direct stuff you do,” Orange continued, brushing a few tiny fabric scraps into an already mostly-full garbage can. 

They were still talking, but Spamton's attention was directed at his food. He shoved the bag through his puppet mask's mouth and ripped the bag open with his teeth. He swallowed the plastic remains stuck in his mouth.

“Wh—dude! I have plenty of scissors—you could've asked!” Orange exclaimed, paused from their current task.

“I [don't] NEED TH0SE!” Spamton replied, dumping half of the “gummy worms” into his mouth at once. Hmm. Not as chewy as pipis, but obviously more sugary. And also artificial. He dumped the other half in, swallowing within seconds. He supposed the number of worms inside of him had increased now.

He ignored Orange's staring until they finally turned around and continued organizing. “—I think you can learn a lot from a person's clothes,” Orange continued from some previous point he hadn't been listening to. Spamton licked the dissolving sugary clumps in-between his teeth.

“IT’S JUST [[Fabric]],” Spamton said, glancing at the frayed sleeves of his jacket. All he really cared about was that it properly covered his body and looked like something a salesman would wear. Regardless, it's not like he could find high quality clothing in the garbage that actually fit him. 

“Well, what about your pin? That's a personal touch—you're not required to wear it, are you?” 

Spamton twisted his neck, peering down at the flower pin attached to the suit's lapel. It was a button he had found many, many years ago, his eye caught by its pearly white surface. Now, yellow embroidery string was threaded through its four holes, forming an “x” shape. “...NO,” he replied. “WHAT THE [[#&%&]] ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO LEARN FR0M IT????”

Orange hummed, pausing from their cleaning to focus on looking at his suit. “Well, you wear a suit that conforms to the usual image of a ‘salesperson,’ but it's loose on your frame. I'm, uh, assuming with your mask and gloves, that it's to, err, hide?” they said carefully.

“A MAUS COULD [Figured] THAT ONE OUT,” Spamton snorted. He knew how obvious it was that he was hiding his appearance—the mask made that pretty apparent. 

“Heh, yeah,” they said sheepishly. “But, even though you're hiding a lot, aspects of your genuine self still show through.” 

His tail twitched as he tried to keep still under their scrutiny. He knew Orange was just talking about his clothes, but, well, it described him perfectly. No matter how hard he tried to cover everything up, parts of his real self still leaked through. Hisses and chirps, involuntary tail flicks, claws poking through mittens. 

“Your pink tie, your flower pin, your pink and yellow glasses, your… striped socks all shine through,” Orange finished. 

He quickly pulled his pant leg down. “H HEY! THOSE ARE [Off Limits]!!!!!” 

“Your socks are ‘off limits?’”

“NO!! YES!! [They can be yours for a small price of] [[$2,00.0,,009,0]]!!!” He pulled his tail over his ankles, even though his pant legs were already covering them. 

“I think I'll pass,” Orange laughed. “Your secret is safe with me,” they said playfully. 

“SURE,” he said, narrowing his eyes into slits for extra effect. 

“I guess what I mean is that, even if it's nothing specific, your clothes tell me that you're not as one-dimensional as Pink seems to think you are,” Orange concluded. 

He snorted, then grumbled at the reminder he'd have to deal with that one alone as well. Why couldn't Blue's friends be more like themself: quiet, gullible, and easily controlled? 

The orange one was… tolerable, he decided. Observant and more likely to ask questions, but not hostile. 

“I'm guessing you like flowers?” Orange said, pointing at his pin. Spamton looked at it again. 

“PLANTS ARE [Satisfaction Guaranteed],” he replied. Vegetation was rare in Cyber World, but, even still, it found a way to grow in an environment of plastic, metal, and concrete. Delicious moss, occasional potted flowers, and, most alluring, the few massive trees he's seen only from a distance.

“I've got a few in my apartment,” Orange responded. “They're fun to collect!” Spamton didn't really have a response. If he tried to take care of a plant, it would probably die within minutes of being in his possession. 

What kind of plants did they have? Was he allowed to see them, maybe if he kept his distance? Spamton shook his head in an attempt to purge the thought. Obviously he'd never be anywhere near their apartment. 

“Did you ever open your soda?” Orange asked, glancing at the untouched bottle. Spamton spun the chair around until he was facing the desk. It wouldn't hurt to take a sip. The thin neck of the bottle meant that he probably could get it down his throat without spilling anything. 

He pried the plastic cap loose with his teeth, letting it fall onto the table, still wet with saliva. His fur puffed up a little at the hissing sound the soda made. Was there something wrong with it? He's never heard any liquid make that sound before. He eyed the tiny bubbles with confusion.

Well, it couldn't be worse than that time he accidentally drank dewormer. He poured a little bit of the hissing soda down his throat…

—Then immediately started coughing at the foreign burning sensation that coated his esophagus. 

“You good?” Orange asked once he stopped, leaning forward. Spamton licked his teeth as the burn faded. 

“[Better Than the Classics!] BATTERY ACID,” he decided. “IS IT SUPPOSED TO [help me! it burns!]??” Orange flinched at the voice clip. 

“Uh, do you mean the carbonation? Have you…never had anything carbonated before?” 

He said no, holding the bottle up so that he could glare at it. “[[Big Shot Soda!]] DOESN'T [Normally] DO THAT!”

“You've…only ever drank flat soda?” Orange asked, sounding even more lost. 

“IT'S BETTER THAT W4Y!! BETTER [warm] TOOO!” Spamton responded. He tried putting the cap back on, but it was warped from being bitten and barely fit.

“Warm soda? Eugh, man, that's gross,” Orange grimaced, and he cackled loudly. Half empty soda bottles were one of the least disgusting fluids he found in the trash. 

“I thought about asking how you aren't sick from eating an entire bag of gummy worms, but I don't think I want to know anymore,” they added. His chest hurt from being jostled by laughter, and he grit his teeth, trying to steady his breathing. 

Orange looked around at their workspace, which was significantly cleaner after just a little organizing. “Suppose I should get to work, shouldn't I?” they said, presumably to themself.

“It was nice to meet you properly,” they said. What? Was he being kicked out? Well, it's not like he planned to sit here all day. Shouldn't he be happy he could finally leave? Spamton stared at them, his entire body frozen.

“We can meet up again sometime if you like?” Orange offered. “I've got plenty of movies I could show you! All on definitely-legally burned DVDs, of course.” 

Spamton could feel a couple of pixels start to glitch off of him. Why were they offering to—? This was just a contractual obligation! They weren't friends! He was only doing this to appease Blue! Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why—?

“1'LL T#INK AB0UT 1T,” Spamton forced out, gripping the armrests tightly. He hadn't even asked about selling advice, the only possibly useful thing they could've talked about. He'd stupidly indulged in the fantasy that someone like him could have a normal conversation, zero strings attached, instead of fishing for useful information like he was supposed to. 

Spamton stood up stiffly, picking up the remaining bag of gummy worms and his nearly untouched soda. He heard Orange say something, but he was out the door before he could process it. His breath shuttered as he ran past the mannequins, out the front door, and onto the concrete. He felt like he couldn't properly breathe until he finally found an empty alley to slink into. 

Of course, no one had followed him. His claws instinctively reached towards his head, but he stopped himself. Breathe. In and out, like Blue told him to. He didn't get it. There was nothing attacking him, nothing even threatening him, yet he kept getting like this over simple words. 

It just felt wrong to be treated… normally. Part of him reacted like the addisons’ hospitality was genuine, while the other part was painfully aware of how fast they'd turn on him if they knew what his true intentions were.

No matter how much he told himself that it was all fake, it still felt so real. False hope, the same that filled him when he fantasized about growing beautiful wings. 

Would it be okay to indulge? Lies were easier to sell the closer they were to the truth. The more real feelings he let slip through, the more believable his act would be, right? 

His tail flicked aimlessly behind him, mirroring his jumbled thoughts. Things weren't supposed to be this complicated. He wasn't supposed to feel any sort of…attachment. 

What's wrong with you?

You make me sick!

You disgusting slime!

Spamton fled back to the Trash Zone, as alone as he's always been. 

———

He had been pacing the Trash Zone for hours. Mountains, lakes, and caves made of nothing but waste. There was one idea he came up with, but he wasn't thrilled about it. 

The pink addison hated him. And, hatred was something he was familiar with. Simple and easy to understand. The thought of dealing with Pink made him less anxious than meeting with the others. He's faced vitriol his entire life—their glares meant nothing to him. 

So, he squeezed back into his suit, put on his mask, and stepped into the city once more. 

Pink's café was next to Blue's store, so it wasn't hard to find. Somehow, he had successfully convinced Blue not to bring him there for lunch every time they offered. So, he was unfamiliar with the place aside from what was visible through the windows. It was around 8 pm, and the orange light of the sky-grid clashed horribly with the blue tones of the city. 

He pulled one of the front doors open, ignoring the neon “CLOSED” sign. Most of the interior was shades of pink, magenta, red, and black. The lights were easy on his eyes. It was… nice to look at. Not that he'd ever tell them that.

It was quiet here, lacking the chatter of voices and the clinking of dishes he'd normally expect. Though, he could faintly detect a single soul, likely behind that “employees only” door. 

He approached the counter, crouching lower to the ground and keeping his footsteps light more out of habit than anything else. There was the sound of something metallic being put down as quietly as possible, then footsteps.

The swinging door was pushed open, coating the room in a thin stream of light. Covered by the door, Spamton watched as Pink stepped out, muttering something. The door slid shut on its own as they reached towards the corner and finally looked behind themself—

“EHAHAHAHA!!!” Spamton cackled maniacally as Pink jumped like a scared little maus.

“What the fuck!?” They yelped. “Why are you standing there in the dark, you creep!”

He paused, finally noticing the dilation of Pink's pupils, the lack of shadows, the fact that what they had been reaching for in the corner was the lightswitch. Oh. No wonder the lights were easy on his eyes—they weren't even turned on.

“YOU [left me….] THE DOOR [[Open Now]]!” Spamton stated. “[B-side], YOU'RE THE ONE THAT [You've been invited] ME!!!” Pink flicked the light on abruptly, and he covered his eyes. 

“Did you just hiss at me? What are you, some kind of vampire?” Pink seemed more baffled than outright angry. 

“NO!” he growled out once his eyes stopped burning. What a great start. He bared his teeth, but they couldn't see the threat through his mask.

Pink regarded him for a moment. “...Whatever. Let's get this over with,” they sighed, going back through the kitchen door. 

He left the cold checkered floor and followed them inside. The kitchen was significantly less glamorous, with most things in it being shades of metallic gray. He recognized ovens and microwaves and refrigerators, but there were also numerous contraptions he couldn't name. He determined there was a distinct lack of food in here.

“WHERE'S MY [Meal Deal]????” Spamton asked. It was late, awfully close to when he normally went out to hunt, and his hunger was growing.

“Gee, you don't miss a beat,” Pink muttered. “Would you give me a second? I was in the middle of cleaning before you showed up.”

They grabbed a wet rag and resumed wiping off a metal table without waiting for an answer. Spamton huffed impatiently. Maybe he should leave a few claw marks in the wooden doorframe when they weren't looking…

Pink threw away the disposable rag, then dried off their hands with a paper towel. “Alright, c'mon,” they said, not checking to see if he actually followed.

Spamton was taken to another door, leading to what was probably a break room. It was larger and less cluttered than the one in Blue's store, equipped with a sink and yet another fridge.

“We keep extra pastries from the case out front for employees to take home. Take whatever,” Pink explained with little interest. 

Spamton carefully opened the fridge, shuddering as its cold air quickly seeped through the uneven layers of his suit. He snatched the first unidentifiable cling-wrapped item he saw, sniffed it, and quickly shut the door. 

“Try not to make a mess,” Pink called, already moving towards the exit. 

“WH—H H HEY!!! IT'S STILL [Frozen Foods]” he said. Pink turned around for a single moment. 

“There's a microwave right there,” they responded, then left. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear the loud sigh they let out right after. 

Spamton looked at the appliance in question. He walked towards it uncertainly, tail dragging behind him. The big circular button opened it, right? And, the smaller buttons did…something? They affect the glowing screen above them, right? 

He stared at the buttons uncertainly. He's seen microwaves in advertisements, but he's never really paid attention to how to use one. Would he break it if he pressed the wrong button? 

Spamton looked down at the piece of food he grabbed. Eating it cold wouldn't kill him; he just preferred it warm. He could wait for it to reach room temperature, but he was already hungry…

“What the hell are you doing?” He jolted at the sound of Pink's voice, gripping his food defensively. “Give me that.”

He veered away from their encroaching hand. “Weren't you just complaining about how cold it was?” Pink watched him with sharp eyes. Finally, he placed his food on the counter, and Pink took it with a scoff. 

They removed the clingwrap, revealing that the food was some type of bread he couldn't identify. It was placed onto a napkin. “I imagine those mittens aren't very dexterous,” Pink commented. “Why the hell don't you just wear gloves?”

“CAN'T FIND [Any that] FIT,” Spamton replied after a moment of thought, flexing his fingers in front of himself. It wasn't really a lie—there wasn't anything designed for his long claws. 

After a moment of his silent staring, Pink opened the microwave and stuck the bread in faster than he could figure out what buttons they were pressing. He leaned closer, feeling the hum of the machine at work. 

He could see the outline of the food inside, illuminated by a yellow light. It was moving, no, spinning slowly. Some of its warmth leaked out, embracing his hidden face. 

Spamton just about leapt out of his own skeleton when the machine started to emit the loudest, most ear-grating beeps. He cowered away, clasping his mittens over his ear holes. It did little to dampen the noise. 

“Are you…okay?” Pink reluctantly asked. The beeping thankfully stopped on its own, and he breathed in the blissful silence, lowering his hands.

“WHY IS IT SO [[Max Volume]]!??” Spamton complained. 

“Says the guy that speaks at like a 100 decibels,” Pink mumbled to themself. They weren't making an attempt to be quiet, and they clearly didn't care if he heard them.

Pink took his food out and set it on the counter. “Have you even used a microwave before?” they asked uncertainly, as though the very notion was absurd. 

“NO! DON'T [Have one]!” Spamton admitted. It was a bit too late to pretend he knew how to use one at this point. 

“...Oh. Well, here's your croissant. Try to not spill any crumbs on my floor,” Pink said dismissively, walking back out the door. 

He watched them leave. For a moment, their voice had been… significantly softer than he ever would've expected. But, whatever light tone he had heard was already gone.

Spamton lowered his head to the counter and opened his jaw. Once he got a good grip, the entire pastry was swallowed in one bite. He licked up the remains. There. No crumbs. 

He turned his attention from the now wet napkin to the trash bin underneath the counter. Spamton reached inside, fishing out the polyethylene wrapping that Pink had so rudely thrown out, then swallowed it whole. 

All part of a complete diet. He carefully put the napkin in the garbage where the plastic wrap was, hiding the evidence.

Spamton shuffled over to the door, slowly pushing it open and peering through the frame. Pink was in the kitchen area, silently sweeping the floor. 

“You're done already?” They said when they noticed him. “Suppose that fits your track record.” Pink didn't even look up from what they were doing, and he was getting the impression that they didn't really want him here. 

“[Your] A [[T3rr1ble]] HOSSST!!” Spamton pointed out. He stood in front of them just to be an inconvenience. 

“C'MON [[Shortcake]]!! WHAT'S [Bluebell] GONNA THINK WHEN I TELL ‘EM YOU [Kicked to the curb] LITTLE OL’ SPAMTON AND [Tear all its legs off] [Pull all its teeth out] THEN [Cut it in half and watch the two ends squirm]—”

“Would you stop!?” Pink had to yell to interrupt him. “The hell is your problem? I know you don't actually want my advice.”

“EHAHA!! [Sure do]N'T! IT’s ALL I’m HERE FOR!!” Spamton relaxed against the metal counter. 

“Fine, whatever,” Pink rolled their eyes. Also, ‘shortcake?’ Seriously? You're, like, 4’11” at most.”

In the moment they glanced away to brush crumbs into a dustpan, he used the metal shelf next to him as a ladder and climbed onto the countertop just to look down at them. “[Feedback received]! HOW'S [Termite] SOUND?”

“Wh—hey! Get off of there! That's for food prep—I don't want your dumpster bacteria all over it!” Pink waved the broom at him threateningly, and he slid down with a huff. It would hurt his pride more than anything, but Spamton preferred to not get whacked with a broom ever again in his life.

Pink left, then came with another disposable rag that reeked of undiluted sanitizer. Spamton stepped away while they vigorously scrubbed the counter top he stepped on. Weren't germs good for the immune system? He was doing them a favor, really. 

“Advice, huh?” Pink scoffed, finishing up. They picked up the broom and resumed sweeping. Satisfied that he had won, Spamton actually stayed out of the way. 

“Your… ‘business’ doesn't run like any of ours. But, the best thing to do, I guess, is capitalize on something you're good at. Something that makes your company stand out from the rest.” 

“For me, that's specialized teas. You still need to know how to actually design and finance a business, obviously, but you can only get so far without a hook to draw customers in.”

Pink finished sweeping, emptying the dustpan into the trash. They went back into a cleaning closet, leaving Spamton with his thoughts for a moment. 

It was fine advice. But, it was broad, and it didn't really help. His plan required him to integrate, not stand out. Though, did selling literal garbage make his “company” stand out? He produced an amused huff at the thought. 

Pink came back with a mop and a mop bucket. “Are you done now?” They asked as they started to wipe the floor.

“ARE Y0U?”

The mop was jammed into the tile harder than he thought necessary. “You're a scammer. Forgive me if I don't trust you.” 

“EAHAHAHAHAHHH ! I WOULDNT. HURT MY [Favorite Customer]!!!” He titled his head. “THEY’RE FAR MORE [Valuable assets] ALIVE.” His voice deepened into a contemplative growl.

For now. As long as Blue didn't learn what they were really helping him do, killing them wouldn't be necessary.

“Is that supposed to be reassuring? You talk like a serial killer.” Pink sneered in disgust. His face displayed the same apathetic smile it always did. 

“DON’T [Actions speak louder than words]?? I HAVE’NT T0UCHED A [[Feather]] ON THEIR [Sweet little head]!!!” Addisons were frail. Weak bones, squishy skin, a throat always in striking range. All they did was talk, talk, talk. 

If he actually wanted to kill them, they'd be choking on their own blood before they even realized who did it. Prey did always taste way better when it wasn't poisoned by the stress hormones caused by a struggle. But, well, that wasn't very “reassuring,” was it?

“You better not,” Pink said. They took the mop bucket back to the closet as they spoke, and missed Spamton's low chuckle. The hell were they going to do? Yell at him? Puff up their feathery fur like an enraged chicken?

He waited silently for Pink to return, glancing at his surroundings with disinterest. He would've rather been on the sales floor. This kitchen felt dead compared to the personal touches of Blue's and even Orange's store. Or maybe it was just the person that occupied it. 

“You can leave now,” Pink told Spamton once they realized he was still there. The scornful glare on their face wasn't subtle. 

“[Splendid]!” he replied, using the happiest voice clip he could find just to be annoying. He didn't look back to see if it worked. Instead, he walked all the way back to the door, entering the dining area. 

The light was still on, but his eyes were already adjusted at this point. He didn't hear a sound from Pink as he maneuvered around the front counter, past the empty tables, and through the front door.

Spamton settled down the usual path he took to the Trash Zone from Blue's store. That could've gone worse. Really, what did he expect? Without Blue there, they could say whatever they really wanted to him.

Why did Blue choose to be friends with such an obnoxious addison? The other two were tolerable from what he knew so far, but Pink's disdain for him hadn't lessened at all. 

Well, Blue had also decided they wanted to be friends with him, so perhaps they just had extremely poor judgement. 

Even here, Spamton could still see the distant flashing lights of hundreds of advertisements clamoring for attention, repetitive commercial jingles crying out as he got further and further away. 

Getting his visit with Pink over with hadn't really made Spamton feel better. But, why? Their distrust of him wasn't anything new. He was used to being hated; their disdain shouldn't feel different.

It must've been the possible threat to his plan. Pink was protective of Blue, and suspicious of him. Chances were, if he did the wrong thing, Blue would undoubtedly side with their friend of however many years, not him. 

And well, he couldn't lose one of the only bits of progress on his plan! 

…That answer didn't satisfy the ache in his chest. He tried to ignore it.

Anything was worth it to be a BIG SHOT again. Anything. Anything. Anything. Anything. Any—

Even if “anything” meant being treated like a person, meant feeling wanted for the first time in his life. 

Even if “anything” meant manipulating, betraying, or even killing the ones who made him feel wanted.

Spamton had to think in the long-term. All of this would pass once he was on top. All he had to do was. Not. Mess. Up.

Strewn across the crumbling concrete was a sickly blue ad, shrunken and long abandoned. The wind of the computer fans must have blown it all the way here, into the Trash Zone. 

His worn sole stabbed into its heart as he lumbered down the long-abandoned highway. The ad shattered on impact, splattering dead pixels across the ground. Then, its remains flickered into a pile of dust, then nothing. It was as if it had never been there in the first place. 

This city used to be so beautiful. He'll make it look just like it did in 1997. And this time, he'll finish the job.

Chapter Text

Weather in Cyber City was strange. Aside from the sky-grid cycling in rainbow colors throughout the day, they had no distinct day or night. There were no seasons, either, just a temperature that fluctuated based on how much Light World activity there was. 

Yet, the city still had piers, rivers, and, by extension, rain. And, like any good city, boy did it rain.

Blue rested at the chair of their front desk, watching and listening to the water droplets pelting across their windows. 

When they woke up to their alarm this morning, Blue had been planning on, y'know, advertising. But, they forgot to check the weather, and they were hoping the darkening of the sky was a suggestion rather than a warning. They were wrong. 

It had been several hours, and the streets were still being showered, water droplets whipping across the ground in a coordinated dance with the wind. Aside from the unlucky stragglers, there was no one outside to advertise to, even if they wanted to.

Blue got up from their chair, yawning as they stretched. They figured they'd be productive while they were stuck here. So, they had worked on counting stock, ordering shoes, and reorganizing the shelves. 

It was the less glamorous part of working as an addison, but, with the sounds of the rain, it was quite therapeutic today. No honking cars, no murmuring of darkners outside, no distant drumming of the constant construction. 

Blue took a sip from their water bottle, glancing over at the digital clock mounted on the wall. It was around the usual time for their lunch break. Of course, anticipating another lunch with Spamton, they hadn't brought anything to eat. 

Thankfully, they weren't worried; Blue had a supply of snacks so large stashed in the back room that Orange had asked them if they were preparing for the apocalypse. Hey, three boxes of granola bars was a reasonable amount! That way, they could have any flavor they want!

Their mind wandered back to Spamton. Was he holding up okay? They had no idea what his living situation was, but he'd referred to some type of home when they tried to subtly ask. They really didn't want to think about the alternative.

Blue had also asked if their lessons had helped, but…Spamton didn't really talk about it. He'd say it was working, but never talked about his customers like he used to when he was scamming people. He… didn't really talk about his life in general.

They smiled sheepishly to themself. They've only known Spamton for two weeks now, yet he'd become such a permanent fixture in their life. They saw him for a mere 30-50 minutes a day, yet worried over him for far longer. Blue couldn't imagine that they were very exciting from his perspective, though. 

Blue shook their head, brushing strands of hair out of their face as they opened the door behind their desk. They grabbed a raisin granola bar without much thought.

Blue sat down, peeled the wrapper open, and took the first bite, listening to the steady drumming of the rain. 

Clang!

Blue slowly swiveled around, swallowing scratchy granola. 

Clang!

They stood up abruptly, rushing towards the front door. As they approached, Blue realized there was some sort of pink and yellow light shining through the foggy glass—oh.

Thank goodness they didn't need the key to open the door from the inside, as it was still in their purse in the breakroom. The bell above the door still rang mockingly as Blue ripped it open. 

Spamton stumbled into their store, absolutely drenched. His fur was molded to the shape of his skull, and his tail dragged behind him, rapidly forming a puddle. He was breathing heavily, voice laced with static. 

“What are you doing here?” Blue exclaimed. 

“L LLe3SssSSsS0n!!” Spamton groaned out, tilting his head. He tried to wipe the water off his lenses, but his mittens were so soaked that it only made it worse. 

“Here, I'll get you a towel,” Blue said, grimacing. They quickly walked back to the breakroom, setting down their half-eaten granola bar. It could wait. 

Thankfully, Blue's anxious tendency to over-prepare came in handy, as Spamton was definitely going to need more than one towel. They grabbed two for now.

Blue promptly returned to the sales floor. “Here you—”

Spamton violently shook his fur out like a wet dog, spraying everything in his vicinity. They stared at the new wet spots splattered across their carpet, dumbfounded. 

While his suit still looked like it had just came out of a washing machine, his hair miraculously spiked back up to normal, and his tail no longer resembled a clump of hair extracted from a shower drain. 

Spamton wheezed as Blue silently handed him the towels. It took him a moment to even register it. He reached toward them with the speed and grace of a buffering WI-FI signal. 

He clumsily gripping the towels in his wet hands, wiping the condensation off his lenses. He sighed in what seemed to be relief once he could see again. 

Spamton tried to wrap one towel over his head, and accidentally dropped the other in the process. It took several seconds for him to even react. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Blue asked, picking the towel up for him. Spamton seemed… lethargic. His normally expressive tail was strewn across the floor, unmoving. The only thing he'd said so far was a single word. 

“Ju5sst c01d,” he slurred, rubbing the towel over his arms slowly. His voice was subdued, and it felt jarring compared to the loud volume they had grown used to. He looked like he was going to fall over, and Blue braced just in case. 

“Are you sick?” They questioned. Why wasn't he shivering? Why was he so sluggish?

“No,” Spamton responded, like it was stupid to even suggest such a thing. He was using the wall for support at this point. 

“Spamton, you don't have to come when the weather's like this! I'd rather you stay warm and dry!” Blue felt kind of bad. Clearly, he took the terms of their shared “deal” very seriously, more than they did. But, it's not like they had any way of contacting him outside of meeting in person. 

He made some sort of “okay” noise Blue could barely hear. They winced. 

“Here, how about you sit down?” they suggested, quickly grabbing one of the breakroom chairs for him. They'd offer the cushy desk chair, but they were pretty sure it wasn't waterproof. 

Well, their currently soaked carpet wasn't waterproof, either, so they were really just trying to minimize the damage. Spamton sighed as he collapsed into the chair. 

He tried to shake out his fur again, but it didn't do much—his clothes were the problem. He groaned like it physically hurt to exert himself.

“C@n I $Till g3t FreEe [Lunch]?” Spamton asked. Blue stared at his hunched over figure. They were starting to seriously consider that he cared more about getting a meal than the lessons he insisted on doing. 

“I've got granola bars,” Blue suggested. They left briefly to grab one for him and pick up their own half-eaten one. Blue unpeeled the wrapper for him. 

Spamton had been getting better about eating less like a… feral animal for lack of a better term. Despite that, he practically swallowed the granola bar whole, and stared at Blue as they finished their own.

“There definitely aren't any restaurants open right now,” Blue said, gesturing at the windows. “But, I can make something at my apartment, if you want to come.”

“W w WHAT!??? YOU—Y^0UuU [[Wants]] ME 1N YOUR [3 Bedroom Home]!?!?” Spamton exclaimed, voice raising pitch in shock. That wording was… worrisome. They hoped it was just his usual weird, glitchy way of speaking and nothing else.

“I wouldn't mind having you over!” Blue tried to reassure him. Really, they've been considering exactly that for a while now. The two of them were friends, after all. 

“[[Sure]]! [[Okay]]!” The voices that came out of him sounded significantly more confident than he actually looked, fidgeting with his hands. 

His gaze followed Blue's own as they slowly turned toward the windows.

“Uh, I've got an umbrella,” Blue said. The rain wasn't going to let up for at least several hours, so they were just going to have to brave the downpour. Although his mask hid any actual expression, the look he shot them didn't seem happy. 

“It's not far, I promise,” they insisted. Spamton merely sighed in response, slowly getting up from his chair. They took the damp towels from him.

Blue went to grab the umbrella in question, as well as their purse. They hung the towels on their chair to dry—they would deal with that when it wasn't storming outside.

Spamton followed them through the door, curling in on himself slightly. The poor guy was still out of it, probably still cold from his damp clothes. 

Blue brandished their automatic umbrella, and Spamton watched it like it was the peak of technology as it unfolded.

As the two started to walk, Blue realized that they didn't really think this through. The umbrella wasn't big enough to cover the both of them, and Blue tried to favor Spamton over themself with it. 

Considering how he reacted the last time they came into physical contact with him… Blue was being very cautious. And, as a result, their sleeve was quickly being wet. 

Spamton made a disgruntled sound as the wind surged, battering the two of them with rain droplets. He shuffled away, towards the shelter of the umbrella, towards Blue. 

“Sorry!” Blue said as Spamton flinched away from the arm he brushed up against. He turned to look at them with the same opaque, glowing lenses he's always had. 

“...FO R WH4T?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. 

“For—you said you don't like physical touch,” Blue replied, confusion leaking into their tone. 

“W3LL! I'M—I;VE I—” Spamton's voice was cut off by a mess of garbled feedback. He coughed. “JUST BEEN [[ERR_DATA_EXPUNGED]] SINCE I [[Splurged]]! HAHAHA!” That laugh sounded way too normal—forced compared to the manic giggling he usually made.

“YOUR LIKE A [Space Heater] [[At a great price]]! HEAHHAH—BURNING MY [skin] BURNING MY [eyes] BURNING MY [heart]!” His hand reached towards them, until it jerked backwards and he smoothed his hair down instead. 

“I, uh…think you just run kinda cold, Spamton,” Blue replied after taking a moment to process his word vomit. ‘Data expunged?’ How long has it been since he—?

They leaned closer, and the umbrella finally covered both of them. Spamton's arm brushed against them again, and, while he tensed at first, he relaxed with another nervous laugh. 

The guy really was cold. His hand had been absolutely frigid when they shook it the day they met, and his arm wasn't much better. Though, the dampness of his clothes probably didn't help. 

“IT'S JUST [The Weather],” he dismissed, and Blue wondered what he meant. Unless he was cold blooded, like a snake or something, what did the weather have to do with it? Must be his glitch.

Wait, don't lizards, and whatever else, like, get all sleepy if it's too cold? No, they're thinking way too much into it. It was probably just the cold from his wet clothes making him uncomfortable.

Their thoughts were interrupted with a grimace as they sidestepped around another puddle. If only they wore one of their pairs of boots instead of their flats today. 

“Okay, today's lesson is to check the weather before going to work,” Blue said as a trickle of water went down their sock. 

“HA! WISH I KNEW WHEN THE [Heavens Above] ARE ABOUT TO [Dunk Tank] ME!” Spamton replied, glaring at the sky briefly for added effect.

Oh yeah. They already knew he didn't have a cell phone, or any method of contact, for that matter. But, for a Cyber World darkner, Spamton seemed to avoid all tech like the plague.

“Yeah, uh, not many people go outside when it's raining this badly,” Blue continued. “So a lot of stores will close until the weather gets better; you're missing out on hardly any customers, anyways.” 

“WHY W3RE YOU WORKING, THEN???” Spamton asked. 

“Oh, uh, well, I forgot to check the weather,” Blue admitted. He laughed, as intensely as ever, but it felt lighthearted. 

The rain was still coming down fast, but at least the wind wasn't too bad. Blue was just glad there wasn't any lightning; they knew it was absurdly rare, but the fear of getting struck still prevailed. 

Maybe their body heat actually was doing something, because Spamton seemed much more lucid now, keeping up with their footsteps and talking at his normal volume. 

Whatever the case, he'd certainly feel better out of the rain, and their apartment building thankfully came into view through the fog. 

Spamton looked over the small plaza and numerous tall buildings. “BEEN A WHILE SINCE I [You are 1000th visitor] HERE,” he commented.

“Is there anywhere you haven't been?” Blue asked playfully. The guy seemed to recognize every place they've ever brought him to, even if he could never recall the street names. 

“IN THE [Welcome to Cyber City]? I OWN THIS [[HellHole]]!!” Spamton said confidently. “...JUST NOT. INSIDE.”

“Well, you definitely haven't been in my apartment before, so it'll be new,” Blue replied. They opened the lobby door, thankful for the overhang over the entrance that was blocking the rain. They shook out their umbrella and folded it up, then followed Spamton inside—

Actually, they were glad they hadn't gone in yet, because the first thing he did was violent shake out his fur like a dog again. His hair spiked up and then somehow smoothed itself autonomously.

Spamton looked around with what seemed to be confusion until Blue beckoned him over to the elevator. He watched the door close as Blue pressed the desired button. 

“WHY ARE WE [[Stand by]] IN H—” Spamton cut himself off with a short screech as soon as the elevator started moving. He pressed flat against the wall, head whipping around in panic. 

“Hey, it's okay!” Blue said, trying to figure out what set him off in the first place. Spamton gripped the metal railing tightly, turning to look at them. 

“Have you…never been in an elevator?” Blue guessed. 

“NO!? WHAT [[#&%$]] WOULD WANT TO USE THIS [D34TH trap]????”

“Uh, I mean, isn't this better than walking up several sets of stairs?” Blue responded. 

Spamton considered their words for long enough that the elevator stopped before he replied. “SURE,” he said as the door automatically opened, his tone contemplative.

He dutifully followed Blue to their apartment's door. “Here we are,” they said, holding the door open and bowing with more fanfare than necessary. 

Spamton walked inside, noticing their several racks of shoes first. Blue kind of wished they cleaned up before inviting him, but, then again, Spamton didn't seem like the type to care. 

As Blue took their shoes and jacket off, he cautiously stepped onto their carpet like the floor would collapse if he put his weight in the wrong spot.

“You can take your shoes off if you'd like,” Blue tried to hint. He did not take the hint. 

Well, uh, guess I'll show you around, then!” They continued awkwardly. They thought about giving Spamton a towel, but it probably wouldn't do much more for him.

Blue started with the living room, as it was connected to their front door. They had a well-loved plush gray couch accompanied by two wooden end tables. Both the TV and the game console under it were a little outdated at this point, but they didn't mind. 

Blue picked up the two controllers that were left on the couch, putting them back inside the TV stand’s cabinet. Then, they fixed the position of the couch's throw pillows. 

Spamton observed his surroundings, pausing at the bookshelf filled with trinkets, small plushies, and, of course, books. 

“Oh, do you like these?” Blue tried to conversate. They picked up a fluffy pink tasque plush, the most recent addition to their collection. Paws-itively adorable! …Is what it said on the tag.

“I HATE THOSE [Slimy] [Hairballs]!” Spamton spat, tail lashing behind him dramatically. 

“Cats are super sweet! You just gotta gain their trust first,” Blue argued. The mental image of a cat going from hissing to tolerance to purring came to mind as they spoke, and…

“Kind of like you,” they added, smiling. 

“I HAVE NOTHING IN [Creative Commons] WITH TH0SE [#^%&] [$^@&!$] [$^@*] [#^@*%#]!!!!!!” Spamton sputtered, his tail bushing up… exactly like a cat. They couldn't help but laugh a little bit. 

“Hey, I love cats—it's really a compliment,” Blue reassured. The guy literally hissed when he was upset—what else were they supposed to compare him to?

“I've always wanted to get a cat, but my apartment doesn't allow pets,” they continued, putting the plush back on the shelf. 

“DON'T,” Spamton said, and it sounded rather threatening. And, yup, there was the hissing. The animalistic sound was off-putting, but they preferred it over the random screams of pain that replaced parts of his sentences.

“Why do you hate cats so much?” Blue asked, taking a step backwards. They could see the light reflect off of a white claw that had poked out of his mitten. The fabric was quickly moved back over it. 

‘THOSE [[Beasts]] TR1ED TO [Best Eats] ME!” Spamton huffed. He shook his tail, and his spikey fur gradually relaxed. Was that a spam program thing? Blue's fur only moved when they got goosebumps. 

“EHAHAHA! NOW THAT I’M [[BIG SHOT]], THE ROLES ARE [Revenged],” he continued, voice becoming darker. The same claw poked out of his mitten, and he grumbled as he fixed it again. 

Blue wasn't sure they wanted to know what his words meant. 

They cleared their throat. “Right, well, uh, I'll show you the rest of my apartment,” Blue said, walking to the kitchen. Spamton looked significantly less perturbed than they did as he followed after. 

Aside from their fridge, which was completely plastered with decorative magnets, Blue hadn't done much with the kitchen since they moved here. Most of the customization involved their dishes, and they weren't going to open every cabinet just to show him their mug collection. So, they quickly moved back to the living room. 

Blue briefly introduced the storage closet attached to it, but they didn't bother opening it; Spamton wouldn't be missing out on much.

It was the same story for the bathroom in the hallway. As they pushed the door open, Blue glanced at the small wooden sign on the counter that read “LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE” in swoopy letters. 

“Uh, Pink bought me that. As a joke, I mean,” they clarified for the sake of their reputation.

“OKAY?????”

Finally, Blue took him to their bedroom. But, Spamton paused in the doorway rather than following them in.

“[Your] LETTING ME [[Inside the]] YOUR NESss[Top Quality Mattress]???” He asked like the idea was inconceivable. 

“Um, yes?” Blue replied. Why was their room any more important than the rest of their house? Why was he so shocked that they let him inside in the first place?

With permission, Spamton slowly walked further inside. Blue's room contained even more plushies, most of which were on their large bed. Aside from clothes, their closet was home to the rest of their shoe collection. Their desk, cluttered with stationary, was set up in the opposite corner.

Suddenly, they were struck with an idea, grabbing a small wrapper from a cardboard box on the desk. 

“Here, Spamton, you can clean your glasses with this,” Blue explained, presenting him with a small alcohol wipe. They tore open the packaging and handed it over. 

“SMELLS LIKE [poisin],” he commented. Blue was going to offer him some privacy, but Spamton started wiping his glasses while they were still on his face. They really hoped he wouldn't get alcohol in his eye.

Come to think of it, they've never seen a glimpse of his eyes or mouth under the mask. At this point, it kind of felt like it was his face, in a way. They knew nothing about what was underneath. 

“HMmMMM [5 Star Product]!!” Spamton said, looking around with lenses that were perfectly clean aside from a few scratches. “I CAN SEE [For the first time in]]                       ! DO YOU HAVE AN YMORE!?” His tail tip flicked in what Blue theorized was excitement. 

“Sure, I can always get more,” Blue replied, taking the dirty wipe from him and giving him an entire handful of little packages. Spamton shoved them into one of his mysterious interior jacket pockets, as he did with anything they gave him to keep. Blue had originally bought them to clean their phone and laptop screen, but they were glad that it worked so well on his glasses.

“…SOOOOO [wares] LUNCH?” Spamton asked. Yup, he'd certainly never let them forget about that. 

“We could try canned soup,” Blue suggested—soup was a great way to warm up. Spamton, as usual, didn't really care what they fed him as long as it was edible. And, his standards for “edible” were very low. 

“Though, we should probably work on your wet clothes, first,” they added. “I could put some of your clothes in the dryer?” 

“I'm FINE!! IT;LLL [[Dry clean]] EVENTUALLY!!” Spamton declined. He pressed a hand against his sleeve, presumably checking how damp it still was. 

Blue frowned. They understood his reluctance to show any more skin (or fur, to be exact), but it sucked that he was stuck with damp shoes, clothes, and hair until it dried on its own. 

“Oh! Actually, I have an idea—you could use my hairdryer,” Blue suggested, leading him out of their room and back to the bathroom. They picked up the device in question, and Spamton stared at it.

“I DON'T—[Item Not Found]??!!” He sounded very confused, puppet jaw clicking repeatedly like he didn't know what to say. 

“Do you just want to try? I can help out,” Blue said, unwrapping the cord. By his reaction, they were guessing he wasn't familiar with using it. “It's very warm,” they added, remembering his weird reaction to their body heat. 

“...OKAAY,” Spamton agreed, finally walking into the bathroom. He watched Blue plug the hairdryer in, then flinched away at the noise it produced when they turned it on. 

“Could you, um, turn around?” Blue requested. Spamton followed their instructions, but kept his head turned at what must've been nearly 180 degrees to keep looking at the hairdryer like it would bite him. 

They knew his neck was kind of long, but…didn't it hurt to bend it like that? How could he bend it like that? 

Despite their sudden uneasy thoughts, Blue tried to focus on drying his hair. They moved to the side, but Spamton twisted his head around to face towards it again. 

“Spamton, you gotta face away so I can reach your hair,” Blue said. He made some sort of grumble, but finally relented, looking at the hairdryer in the mirror, instead. 

It was almost comedic how fast he relaxed once they could finally start drying his hair. They could just make out some sort of breathy sigh over the humming of the hairdryer. 

“Is it alright if I touch your hair?” Blue asked. “It'll make it easier to get the water out.”

Spamton hummed, making a sound that was probably supposed to be “okay,” but didn't come out quite right. 

Blue gently touched the mullet(?) part of his hair, and…wow, it was… soft? Considering the state of his clothes, they didn't expect his hair to feel like he used premium shampoo. It felt like they were petting a very long-furred tasque, but he definitely wouldn't like that comparison. 

There was also the fact that his hair wasn't wet. At all. Did spam programs have some hydrophobic properties they weren't aware of? They attempted to fluff it to get the nonexistent water out, anyways.

Spamton melted, holding onto the bathroom counter for support. It was jarring just how content he looked. For the two weeks they've known him, Spamton had always been on guard, far more aware of his surroundings than Blue ever was. 

Blue moved onto his neck, but that long mane of his was just as dry. Really, all they were doing was petting him at this point. Not that Spamton seemed to mind. 

They carefully shuffled around his tail, which was in serious danger of getting stepped on; the thing practically took up the whole floor, a good amount longer than his entire height. 

Blue froze as they felt the sensation of tiny legs scuttling across their ankle. When they looked down, they realized it was just his tail. It felt like they were watching in slow motion as the tip snuck under their pant leg and slithered across their ankle, wrapping around their leg with a firm, but not tight, grip.

Blue instinctively shuddered. They didn't realize his tail was prehensile. And, the way it moved, curling and twisting more and more of itself around their leg. They could see and feel it squirming underneath the green fabric like a wriggling worm. 

They grimaced, regretting that mental image immediately. Not that Spamton was being gross! They just hated all creepy, crawly, squirmy, slimy things, and their mind was just trying to scare them, that's all. 

“Hey, um, Spamton?” Blue called hesitantly. His eyes were half closed; was he even aware of what he was doing?

He produced… some sort of sound. It was reminiscent of the chirp sound they've only heard from him a handful of times. But it was longer, changing in pitch. A warble? Whatever it was, it was something that couldn't be produced by an addison's vocal chords. 

Spamton flinched violently, his eyes suddenly wide open. His tail tightened around their leg, then abruptly jerked away. They turned the hairdryer off.

“I—1'M S0ORY# I—” he gasped, backing further and further away. 

“Spamton, it's okay!” Blue said, raising their palms. He's never said anything like “thank you” or “sorry” to them. He sounded horrified. “What's wrong?”

He stared at them for a painfully long moment, gripping his own tail tightly like it would move on its own if he let go. 

“H4HA AHAHA!1!! 3VERYTH1NGG GG'S GR3@ TTT!!! WH ER3'S MY [$0up]???” Spamton was even louder than he normally was. They watched as he stumbled towards the living room. His tail curled behind him tightly. 

Blue frowned, putting the hairdryer away and following after him. That sound had been unnatural, even compared to the computerized noises that usually came out of him. But… there wasn't anything harmful about it, right? Why had he freaked out so much?

Blue entered the living room, discovering that Spamton hadn't gone very far. He didn't meet their gaze. 

They grabbed 2 cans from their “pantry” (it was really just a cabinet), then hooked their blunt claws under the tabs, peeling them open. Blue poured the chicken noodle soup into two ceramic bowls silently, hearing the tap of Spamton's quiet footsteps growing closer. 

He stayed on the opposite side of the kitchen counter, silently observing as Blue heated up the bowls in the microwave. 

“I like your fur. How do you get it to be so soft?” Blue asked, trying to distract him with a light conversation. 

“HH HUH? I [Licked clean] IT, I [[guessed]].” Spamton looked away, smoothing his hair down with one hand as he often did. He patted at the streak of white fur down his neck. “...IT JUST GROWS IN [Like] THAT.”

He “cleans” it? Incredibly vague, but what else did they expect from him at this point? 

“Alright then,” Blue said, carrying the two soup bowls to the dining table. They grabbed spoons and napkins as well. “Here you go,” they said, pulling out a wooden chair for him. 

Spamton carefully sat down, then began eating his food. The dark wooden table was small and round, fitting just four chairs. And, really, that was all the space they needed.

Well, they might need a fifth chair if Spamton was going to become a permanent member of their friend group. Blue wasn't too sure; Orange and Yellow had been polite to him at the Cyber Grill, but immediately expressed concerns the moment he was out of earshot. But, Orange must've warmed up a little bit, because they expressed interest in seeing him again. 

And, Pink was, well, Pink. The day after they “hung out” with him, Blue woke up to like 50 messages in their shared group chat from Pink arguing about him to Orange and Yellow. 

Blue understood Pink's concern about Spamton and whatever his background could be. But, if he really was dangerous, wouldn't it be better to treat him nicely than to antagonize him?

Without the noise of a hairdryer or the microwave, Blue could listen to the drum of the rain against their living room window.

They drank the remaining warm broth, setting the bowl down with a clink. When Blue looked up, they realized that Spamton had only eaten half of his soup so far. 

“Does it taste okay?” Blue asked, mildly concerned. They've never finished their food before him. 

“I DON'T G3T IT,” Spamton said. “ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO [$1.00 off drinks] OR [[Chews]] IT???” Blue watched him shove a spoonful so far down his throat that his hand was touching his mask's teeth, and wondered how he wasn't choking. 

“Uh, both, I guess? I can get you something else, if you want,” Blue suggested.

“I'LL [[Finished]] IT! JUST GIVE ME A [One moment]!” Spamton declined. 

Blue stood up, taking their bowl and spoon with them, since it would be awkward to sit there while he ate. They put both in their dishwasher and pretended to be busy. 

They turned back around when they heard the sound of Spamton getting up. That was… faster than expected. Though, knowing just how fast he could scarf food down when he wasn't holding back, he probably just didn't want to eat it like that in front of them. 

Regardless, Blue finished cleaning up for him. They turned around as they heard the comedically loud sound of Spamton sniffing the air. They couldn't imagine he could smell much in that mask of his. 

Blue soon realized the thing he was trying to smell was their fruit bowl. It was mostly empty by now, with the exception of two apples that had probably been in there a little too long. 

“You can have the apples, if you want,” Blue told him. “I'm gonna go sit down.” 

They did exactly that, collapsing onto their usual spot on the couch. A quick glance at their phone's weather app told them they had some time to kill. 

Blue looked over at Spamton as he padded over, now holding both apples. He stood in front of the couch as though he wasn't sure he was allowed on it. 

They patted the couch cushion as an invitation. “We've got a few hours before the rain's supposed to stop.” Honestly, they had no idea what Spamton did in his free time. The last time they asked if he had any hobbies, Spamton had instead talked about his trash scavenging endeavors. And, they certainly hoped that wasn't his idea of a hobby.

He climbed onto their couch cushion strangely, standing on all fours. He crouched in a way that looked extremely uncomfortable, limbs contorting past their theoretical limits. Then, he looked at Blue—their body, not their eyes—and slowly twisted into an approximation of a sitting position. Mimicking them.

Before they could process whatever they had just seen, he loudly crunched into the first apple. As he pulled the fruit away from his face, Blue thought the bite indentations didn't look quite the right shape. Too large, too deep, too… violent.

It was such a small thing. They were too far away to really tell. And, the remaining part of the apple was shoved in his mouth before they could get a better look. 

“HOLY [[Cungadero]]!! THAT's [5 Star Hotel]! THESE TASTE WAY [Better not] WHEN THeiR NOT [Rapidly decomposing]!!” Spamton said, eying the waxy surface of the second apple. 

At this point, Blue was already confounded, and their mind barely acknowledged that last sentence. They stared blankly as Spamton somehow fit the entire second apple in his mouth, and listened as it was chewed and swallowed with ease. 

“Spamton? You're, uh, not supposed to eat the seeds,” Blue said blankly. Thank goodness they already took the stickers off. “They've got, like, poison in them.” His head turned, focusing his forever-blank pink and yellow gaze. 

“I mean, I think you'd need to eat like an entire pound of them to die, but… still,” they rambled, staring at their hands.

He snorted. “I'VE [[Lived]] THIS LONG!! TAKES MORE THAN [Is that all you've got] TO [[Killed]] ME.” Spamton chuckled a little, head twitching with a glitch. The sound wasn't very comforting. 

“I;m NO>T GOING ANYYWHERE.”

The way he enunciated that last sentence implied far more meaning than Blue had the context for. Context he wasn't keen on providing. 

“Sooo, um! TV! Would you like to watch something?” Blue pretended to smile, desperate to change the subject. 

He turned to look at the black television screen, albeit eerily slowly. “EHAHA, WhY NOT?? NEVER REALLY [Haha! I love watching TV!] BEFORE.”

Oh yeah, they remembered Orange mentioning that. Blue grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, deciding that their best option was to scroll through their streaming service and find something he liked. 

Technically, only Blue and Yellow had accounts, and all four of them shared them—it was cheaper that way. So, Blue never knew what they were going to find in the recommended section.

“Any ideas on what you want to watch?” Blue asked. They had some recommendations, but weren't sure what he'd actually like. 

“[Orange juice] MENTIONED [[The Zombie Apocalypse]],” Spamton said. He prodded at the throw pillow before ultimately picking it up and hugging it against his chest.

“I, uh, I think Orange would prefer to watch that with you,” Blue suggested. They knew none of it was real, but Blue couldn't stomach any sort of gore.

Blue slowly went through the various tabs, explaining the genres featured. They ignored the several horror movies that showed up, hoping he wouldn't notice one. Thanks, Orange.

“THE [&#$@] IS THAT???” Spamton gestured at the screen, which displayed a massive reptilian monster.

“It's a giant monster movie. The monster goes around, destroying the city… y’know, I don't know what the actual plot of these is,” Blue admitted. They've never seen one of them. How does the monster even get there in the first place?

“LOOKS [Fun for the whole       ]!” He said as a preview of the monster blasting a skyscraper played. Blue glanced at the rating. It shouldn't be too bad. If there was blood, they could always just close their eyes. 

Blue clicked on the film, settling in as it loaded. They opened the recliner, and grabbed the fluffy gray blanket off the top of the couch. They took one end for themself, and offered the other end to Spamton.

The movie started off slowly, introducing a group of scientists that were undoubtedly going to be the ones responsible for the monster. 

Spamton watched in complete silence. Blue was used to their friends chatting during movies, so it was a change of pace. From the way he was shuffling around on the couch, he looked kind of bored. 

That was, at least until the monster showed up. During its debut, Spamton leaned forward, eagerly watching the start of the property destruction. Blue could hear him giggling to himself, even as fake darkner bodies fell out of the crushed, burning buildings. 

Then, he was back to looking half-bored as the movie switched to the perspective of the darkners trying to stop the monster. 

This repeated several times, consistently throughout the runtime. Really, it seemed like Spamton would get more enjoyment out of a destruction compilation than the movie.

“HEY!! WHY'd THEY [[Killed]] IT!!??!” he finally spoke as the movie entered its final scenes. 

“Um, because it was destroying the city and killing everyone, I guess,” Blue said slowly. Was this his attempt at a joke? Was he serious?

“THOSE [$4.99] SLIMES BROUGHT IT UPON [theirself]!!! IT WAS JUST TRYING TO [[Survive? In this economy?]]!” Spamton argued, gesturing passionately. 

Blue wouldn't consider citywide destruction a survival tactic, but he seemed so genuine they decided to humor him. 

“The monster was still hurting people, whether it wanted to be there or not. What else could the survivors do?” Blue said after considering his words. 

Spamton grumbled. “WELL YOU CAN'T [Accept all the blame] IT FOR [[Revenge Kills]]” he responded, and Blue wondered how a dead monster would get revenge. 

“Guess that'll be the plot for the next five sequels,” Blue said jokingly, but it didn't seem to land. They glanced at the time on their phone briefly. 

“We've still got some time,” Blue said. “Could I pick something next?” They were getting the impression that his developing taste in movies was going to become completely different from theirs. 

Spamton's head turned towards the window, where the rain was visible. He adjusted the pillow he was still holding. “B3ATS BEING [A little out there]!” he said, looking at the paused screen again. 

As strange as hanging out with him had been, Blue was glad Spamton at least seemed to feel better after whatever had happened in the bathroom.

They decided to pick an animated family movie that was an absolute classic. Everyone's seen it! Except Spamton. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” Blue asked as the opening credits came into view. Spamton declined.

They silently left to grab a soda from the fridge. By the time they returned, the blanket was significantly closer to Spamton. Well, they could always grab another from the storage closet if they really wanted to.

Blue reclaimed their spot on the couch, setting their can on the end table. The movie had your usual “don't treat a book by a cover” plot, featuring a cast of Cyber World animals. 

A maus, a tweet bird, a tasque kitten, and a code python learned to set aside their differences and work together in order to defeat the villain. It was a simple story, but Blue liked the interactions between the characters, as well as the story's message. 

Spamton seemed to fully settle in as the maus character was introduced. They couldn't see much under the blanket, but it kind of looked like he returned to that strange crouch he had attempted earlier, resting on his stomach. 

The pillow was under his chest. His arms rested on top, his hands curled toward himself like a… loafing cat? Sure, that was a much more pleasant image than their recent memory of the way he contorted on the couch earlier. 

It was strange how stiff and awkward most of Spamton's body was, yet his neck and tail had such a wide array of motion. His body just… didn't squish. They've still never seen his chest move once with his breath. And, when their arm brushed against Spamton's own, it had little to no give.

Blue didn't really know what to make of it. Outside of particularly nasty glitches, he didn't seem to be in pain. Spamton was just Spamton. …Whatever Spamton was. 

Maybe he had been in a malware attack? They knew something like that could corrupt code, potentially causing physical alterations in the process. It would explain his permanent glitches.

Whatever the case, Blue hoped that one day he'd be comfortable enough to open up. But, for now, they were content to focus on developing their friendship. 

They adjusted their position on the couch, trying to focus on the movie. Blue had seen it countless times already, so it wasn't hard to tune out. But, it felt more respectful to actually watch the movie than speculate about their friend while he was two feet away. 

At some point, Blue noticed that the slight pink and yellow glow in their peripherals was gone. His glasses had gone completely dark. Was he capable of shutting them off, or were his eyes just closed? 

“Spamton? Are you still awake?” Blue asked. He wasn't even facing the screen, head resting on his arms. As a particularly bright scene came into focus on the screen, they realized the pillow had a wet spot under his mouth. 

He made some sort of response, but it didn't seem to contain any words. A lump twitched under the blanket—his tail, presumably.

Was the movie seriously boring enough that he fell asleep? Well, regardless, Blue figured the nicest thing to do was let him be. They've never seen him look so peaceful, free of any glitches. 

Spamton didn't seem fully conked out, as he'd respond to bright scenes by adjusting his position. After a particularly loud section, his eyes had fully opened, yet he was still sitting there like he was asleep. 

Blue waved their hand at him, and Spamton slowly turned his head towards them. “How was your nap?” they asked. 

He didn't respond.

Instead, he started to sit up. Like a bird of prey, his head stayed locked in position even as his body moved. 

“Spamton?”

He took a “step” forward with his arm. Then, television static flickered across his glasses as Spamton panicked. The pillow was chucked off the couch as he fought with the blanket. His limbs thrashed around as he even tried to bite the fabric.

Then, he started clawing at his mask, blindly trying to pull it off. 

“Hey, hey! It's okay!” Blue said, gently touching his forearm in case he reacted violently. He flinched in response, but ceased movement afterward. “You're okay.”

Spamton pulled away, finally sitting up normally. He carefully adjusted the elastic strap keeping his mask in place. 

“HOW DID I…?” he trailed off, looking at the pillow on the ground.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Blue asked, pausing the movie quickly. Though, how could he experience a nightmare with his eyes open?

“YYEAH! [[Something like that]]!!” Spamton agreed too quickly. He stood up, haphazardly placing the blanket and pillow back on the couch. “S4Y; I;SHOULD RE@L1Y [Take a ride around town] OUT OF H3RE!! EHAHA! [Business waits for no one]!!!” 

“What are you—” Blue started as he backed towards the front door. 

“GOODBYE!!” Spamton cut them off, waving at them like he always did. He faltered when they didn't return it. 

Did they do something wrong? It'd probably be selfish to ask. He didn't seem angry, just stressed by what had occurred. 

“Do you want help with the elevator?” Blue asked instead. 

“OH! EHAHAAA—[That old thing]??? I I I GUESS [[Request Accepted]]!!” he agreed, avoiding eye contact. 

Blue led him through the hall and into the elevator, and Spamton followed silently, twitching nervously.

They could tell he needed an out. Spamton hated showing vulnerability, and letting them pet his hair and then falling asleep on their couch was the opposite of that. 

Spamton once again had a death grip on the elevator railing once it started moving, but didn't say anything else. 

Blue let him be. They knew he cared deeply about maintaining his sleazy salesman persona, but they were glad they got to see a softer side of him. Even if it came with a lot of strange biological questions they didn't want to unpack. 

Spamton walked out of the elevator the moment it opened. 

“Goodbye, Spamton. I'd love to invite you over again,” they said, waving goodbye. Honestly, he was the only one they physically waved to. It was their own little shared thing; he got upset anytime Blue didn't do it. 

“REALLY????” his head snapped around, once again bending at too large of an angle. “I—[[Goodbye]] [Half-price blue-ray DVDs]!” He turned around to properly wave. Then, with a slight glitch, he hurried out the door.

They chuckled. Yeesh, that might've been one of his worst “nicknames.” Blue hadn't told him about it, because it was probably an involuntary product of his vocal glitch, but they kind of liked that he had a different name for them every time. The range of clips he had was impressive—other than his favorite “big shot” and “#1 rated salesman 1997” clips, they've never heard the same audio twice. 

The elevator was taken back up. Once they were back in their apartment, Blue decided to just turn the TV off; they already knew how the movie ended. 

They refolded the blanket and put the throw pillow back in its place. They were going to pretend it didn't still have drool on it. Just like they were going to pretend he hadn't put his dirty wingtip shoes all over their couch cushion. 

Okay, there was a lot they were ignoring, but that was because Blue knew he wasn't going to provide an answer. 

And, that was fine! Spamton just wasn't used to socializing, that's all. He wasn't some dark web criminal or whatever Pink was speculating about! He was being sweet! Spamton just needed someone to give him a chance!

Blue took a swig of their soda, trying to bury the pit that formed in their stomach anytime they thought about who—or what—Spamton was. 

Chapter Text

Cyber Grill bustled with the buzz of the Friday night rush, indistinct chatter and pleasant aromas filling the air. 

Yellow thanked their usual waiter, Tangent, for their glass of iced tea, unwrapping the straw and taking a refreshing sip. A passing glance at their smart watch told them that it was about time for the other three—err, four to arrive. Blue had once again invited their strange new friend to their group’s weekly Cyber Grill outing. 

Yellow was unsure how they felt about Spamton. They’ve heard the other three addisons talk about him plenty, but have only actually seen him once. And, what a jarring experience it had been. 

They were shocked when they saw Blue cheerfully approach a man that looked exactly like the shady type of figure you’d expect from an anti-malware PSA. Then, he started to speak in multiple broken voices, pixels flickering across his twitching form, filtered through a decrepit, smiling puppet mask.

Yellow had done their best to be courteous. There had to be some reason that Blue would trust someone that looked and sounded like that.

The answer didn’t come in the voices Spamton manipulated. Despite the glitchiness, he really did have the voice of a salesman—confident and aggressive, masking his true feelings and intentions. At least, when his volatile temper didn’t get the better of him.

No, it came in the way he held himself. Yellow had seen the way Spamton watched every shadow, looked over every exit. How he fidgeted with his tie, desperate to keep his hands busy. How he subtly shifted towards Blue, yet avoided every other darkner with a deliberately wide berth. An anxious core that peeked out from the gaps within his manufactured persona.

“What’cha thinkin’ about?” Pink asked loudly, sliding into the booth. It appeared the others were arriving.

“Blue’s new friend,” Yellow replied, taking another sip of their tea. Pink made a face.

“Oh, joy,” Pink said with obvious sarcasm. They clearly hadn’t wanted Spamton to come to the Grill again, but were outnumbered. “That guy acts like he was raised by werewires.”

“Well, yeah, he’s definitely out of his element,” Yellow retorted. Between their own observations and what Blue has said about him, it was clear that Spamton was used to being a loner.

“Spamton?” Orange guessed as they, too, arrived, sitting down in the booth. Yellow nodded. “He’s really jumpy. I still can’t believe he’s gone his entire life without watching a movie.”

Yellow agreed. Spamton’s lack of any form of contact was still the most baffling thing about him. No phone number, no email, no website, obviously no social media, and, on top of all that, he didn’t even have a mailing address. Or, at least, an address he was willing to give them.

“Can we talk about, like, anything else?” Pink asked, tapping their fingers on the table impatiently. “Actually, where the hell is Blue? They’re the one that’s usually here 20 minutes early.”

“They’re waiting for Spamton to show up outside,” Orange explained. “Blue said he… uses the sky-grid to tell the time?” That sounded… inconvenient, to say the least. Pink muttered something, annoyed that he would be late.

Yellow slipped into business talk, placating Pink. While their week had been busy, it went pretty well. Most of Yellow’s time had been dedicated to filming, and the process had gone smoothly. No significant retakes, fumbled lines, or drops in audio quality.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Pink nodded. “Did they make you put on a pound of makeup again?”

Yellow chuckled. “It’s not that bad! A few touch-ups here and there make a huge impact in video production!”

“Well, I think you look great without it,” Pink said, crossing their arms in a dramatic pose.

“Thanks,” Yellow replied, not really needing a self esteem boost. They leaned back, lazily gazing at the black walls and neon lights. 

As Pink and Orange ordered drinks for themselves, Yellow thought of their plan to get to know Spamton better. The other two had only invited him over to their stores for an hour, but Yellow planned something more involved.

A shopping trip. Now, they were aware that Spamton didn't have a lot of money, but buying him a couple things wouldn't be a big deal. As an addison, they've learned that you can tell a lot about a person based on what products they're interested in. 

It was clear Spamton kept his cards close to his chest. If Yellow wanted to learn what the guy's deal was, they'd have to be subtle about their prodding. 

Blue and Spamton finally arrived, and Orange urged them over to order drinks before their waitress left. Despite his short frame, his black fur swallowed up the light and made his presence far more oppressive, twin pink and yellow reflecting across their glass cup.

“Oh! It's you again! Is that, like, a cosplay you're wearing?” Tangent asked cheerfully with an oblivious smile, turning around to greet him. Halfway through entering the booth, he turned his head to look at her, perched on the vinyl like a strange gargoyle.

“NO,” Spamton replied, sounding like his teeth were tightly clenched, tail slithering across the floor. He glared at their waitress while Blue ordered a glass of water for him. Once she left, he visibly relaxed in his seat, finally sitting properly.

“So, um, did I miss anything?” Blue asked, politely folding their hands on the table and desperate to move to a different subject. Yellow didn't miss the way Spamton veered away from Blue's elbow as it moved in his general direction.

“Nah, we were just talking about the usual,” Orange said, briefly looking up from the menu they were looking at. “You didn't miss much.”

“Good old business talk? I'm afraid I don't have much to add this week,” Blue replied. “Uh, except for that rain storm on Tuesday.” They looked at their hands with a sheepish expression. 

“Did you forget to check the weather again?” Pink guessed, doing an expert job of avoiding eye contact with Spamton. 

“Yeah…” Blue admitted, “Buuuuut it turned out okay! I keep an umbrella at my store for a reason.”

“You really gotta download a weather app or something,” Orange sighed, though it was lighthearted. 

“I know, I know,” Blue dismissed. Just then, their waitress returned with everybody else's drinks. 

“JUST GET ME THE SAME [[TVdinner]] I GOT [Last episode],” Spamton said before Blue could finish asking him if he needed more time. He didn't bother to even look at the menu. 

Tangent took a step back upon hearing his vocal intrusions, ears flattening against her steel wool. Blue quickly relayed Spamton’s “chicken protein bowl” order from last time. 

Yellow felt a little sympathetic as Spamton huffed in annoyance once she left. They could imagine that having his words replaced with random inserts was quite frustrating. It surprised them the first time they heard him speak, but he wasn't impossible to understand as long as they paid attention.

“Spamton and I actually hung out at my apartment,” Blue said, still in a good mood. Spamton suddenly sat upright, looking much more alert.

“You what?” Pink burst out. 

“EHAHAHA! YUP, JUST A [littol] [[Bus1nes5 m3et1ng]]!!” He explained, leaning forward. “ATE [Cereal is a soup]! ATE [Home Video Entertainment]! AND [That's all, folks]!”

Spamton looked towards Blue, and, from their facial expression, he seemed to silently communicate something even through his blank mask. 

“Yeah, we ended up watching TV,” Blue said, sharing the names of the two movies they apparently watched with him. 

“Oooh, that one?” Orange replied, always drawn in by the discussion of movies. “I thought the plot was kinda corny, but the monster special effects looked great.”

Once again, Spamton relaxed, resting his hands on the edge of the table. Yellow sensed that something else must've happened at Blue's apartment for him to be so nervous, but it wasn't any of their business. No need to pry.

“NEEEDED MORE [[Visceral destruction]],” Spamton said. Blue winced, but Orange chuckled. 

“I feel like you'd like Blood Crushers. I've got the whole trilogy on disc,” Orange offered. Knowing them, Yellow bet they already had an entire mental list of movie recommendations for him. 

“I'LL THINK [about what you've done],” Spamton said dismissively, looking away. 

“I'd definitely have to skip out on that,” Blue chuckled nervously. “I, uh, don't really like gore. Or any blood. At all.” 

Spamton squinted at Blue. “WHAT?? YOUR FULL OF [Blood & guts]! HOW ARE YOU [[Scarily good deals]] OF IT???”

“It's fine as long as it stays inside the body, where it's supposed to be,” Blue replied. He snorted, unimpressed. 

“Well, you're all invited to a movie night, whenever that ends up happening,” Orange said. Pink glanced up from the match-three game they had been playing on their phone. 

“Eh, sure, I'll come,” they said, feigning indifference. “No point passing on free snacks.”

“That feels like something Spamton would say,” Yellow replied. He turned to look at them, tilting his head like he was confused that he was being included.

“MAYBE I WILL [Accept offer?]!! AND NONE OF YOU [[Sponges]] DESERVE MY [HardEarned] KROMER ANYWAYS!” Spamton stuck his nose in the air dramatically. 

“Your money? Aren't you a scammer?” Pink said, setting their phone down just to cross their arms.

“EHAHAHA!!!! WHO SAID IT WAS ABOUT [[It's about the journey]]??”

“That phrase literally means the exact oppos—whatever. I'm not dealing with your ass.” Pink concluded. It sounded less angry and more annoyed than anything. 

Maybe Yellow should be more concerned about his scammer status, but that was kind of what spam programs were known for nowadays. At least he wasn't selling anything malicious. 

“He's not scamming people anymore,” Blue said, but they didn't sound that confident. They looked at Spamton in hopes of confirmation. 

“YUuuUUP! SP SPAMTON G. SPAMTON IS [HonestMan]!! EVERYONE [Love]] ME! CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF [Award_Losing_Smile]!!!” 

He held completely still as he spoke, voice devoid of uncertainty. Yet, from context clues, Yellow knew he was at the very least exaggerating.

“Well, that's good,” Blue said politely, while the rest of them collectively decided to ignore him. 

From the state of his clothes to his insistence on free meals, it was clear Spamton was struggling. Did he think the addisons actually believed that he was a “#1 rated salesman,” or was it just a coping mechanism?

They didn’t have long to think about it before their food arrived, thankfully catching everyone's attention. The group was still silent as they began to eat, but the vibe shifted towards something more comfortable. 

Yellow picked up their bacon avocado chicken sandwich. They had tried everything on the Cyber Grill's menu (except the kid’s meals, obviously), and practically had it memorized at this point. 

They were a little distracted by Spamton shoveling food down his throat like a man on the brink of starvation. Granted, he'd done that last time, too—it was impressive how someone could look so feral while still using a fork.

Everyone else ate at a regular pace. The voices of other patrons, the quiet music, and the ever-present sounds of silverware clinking against ceramic blended together into a familiar atmosphere.

Once his bowl was scraped clean, Spamton rested at the table, keeping a watchful eye on all the people around them. Yellow couldn't see his facial expression, but the action seemed quite paranoid. 

He didn't participate in the few short exchanges the addisons had as they ate, perhaps feeling as out of place as he looked. Despite his dark fur, Spamton certainly stood out in a group of average-looking addisons. 

The steam of hot food faded away, and the napkins under their drinks became wet with condensation as the addisons ate their fill. Blue began sorting their plates and cups into stacks, a tradition started by Pink to make the lives of the food service workers slightly easier.

“YOU GONNA [Stop and eat] THAT??” Spamton asked, the tip of his nose getting awfully close to Blue's plate. 

“Um, I was gonna save it,” Blue responded. “Are you still hungry?”

“ALWAYS,” he said, moving a fraction closer. They looked down at their plate with a contemplative expression. 

“Blue, no,” Pink groaned. “Please don't fall for that.”

“Hey, you're not the one paying,” Orange said, lightly elbowing Pink as they usually did. 

“Oh, yeah, it is my turn,” Blue mused. They shook their head, pushing the plate toward Spamton. “You can have the rest of my sandwich; it doesn't taste great microwaved, anyways.”

Spamton eagerly tore in…with a fork? He stabbed the whole sandwich, then somehow fit the entire thing in his mouth at once without choking. The plastic jaw of his mask slid back into place as he swallowed.

Well, he had to keep those white mittens clean somehow. Sandwich-on-a-fork it was. Orange looked a little intrigued, Pink sneered in disgust, and Blue looked unfortunately desensitized, and embarrassed as a result.

“[Hits the spot]!” Spamton sighed contently. His tail seemed to loosen a little from its tight spiral, but it was hard for Yellow to see from the opposite side of the table. 

Though, it immediately tightened as Tangent returned with the bill. She politely ignored her volatile customer, handing it to Blue. 

“[#&%&@%] COSTume?” Spamton muttered loudly once she left with Blue's card. 

“It's probably because you're wearing a mask,” Yellow said, and he jumped like he didn't expect anyone to hear his extremely audible remark. 

Spamton… eventually crossed his arms dramatically like Pink often did. It took him a significant amount of time to pose, like he wasn't quite sure how to move his limbs properly. 

“THIS IS MY [[SignatureLook]]!!! THE [[BIG ONE]]!! NOT A [consume]!!! NOT ANYONE [Else]!!!” Spamton insisted, adjusting his faded pink tie. 

Actually, with his pink tie, multi-colored glasses, suit, black fur, white face… Spamton kind of looked like Swatch, the head butler of Queen's mansion. But, only if you squinted so hard he looked like a smear of color in your vision. Yellow didn't think he'd appreciate that comment. 

As anyone probably was, Yellow was curious about his mask. The long nose and pointed cheeks made it quite addison-like, though its blocky structure and exposed teeth  were more ventriloquist dummy adjacent. 

An interesting choice—usually when shady darkners wore masks, they chose ones that concealed their species, not ones that mimicked it. 

Spamton seemed to puff out his chest as Blue chuckled, but his spine was so stiff that it was hard to tell. 

“Spam, you gotta stand up so I can get out,” Blue said, grabbing their purse from where it was wedged in-between the two of them. He began to shuffle out.

“WH‐[Spam mail clogging your inbox?]? THAT'S NOT MY [Username],” he said as his long tail slid off the purple booth, tilting his head at an uncomfortable-looking angle to look at Blue.

“It's…just a nickname, I guess. It, uh, just slipped out, sorry,” Blue said, slowly joining him outside the booth as the other three watched. He paused, considering.

“[[Whatever works]]! FINE! JUST [Don't Forget] MY ACTUAL NAME!” Spamton responded, moving over so the rest of the addisons could get out of the booth. None of them dared get out until the glitchy pixels that lingered in his wake dissipated.

“You got it, ‘Spamton G. Spamton,’” Orange said, amused.

“Is that actually your full name?” Pink said, squinting at him with scrutiny. 

“COURSE [it is]!! I [[Choose]] IT MYSELF!” he declared, then bristled as Pink couldn't contain their laughter. 

“What's the ‘G’ stand for?” Yellow asked. It certainly stood out compared to his identical first and last name. 

“HEY! THAT'S [preemium] INFO! YOU G0TTA [Suscribe to] [3 easy payments of] [[Th3 numb3r5 0n th3 b4ck]] FOR THAT!” Spamton replied. 

“I think I'll pass,” Yellow said, wondering if he was actually serious about wanting their debit card numbers. Considering he was a spam program, you could never tell.

“YOU’RE LOSS! [These deals will expire in -2147483648 seconds!]!!” Somehow, they got the impression he used the wrong “your” even through verbal speech. 

Yellow chuckled. Spamton seemed weird, definitely a little abrasive, and certainly hot-headed, but he had his moments. Y'know, if they avoided the fact that his appearance was deep in the uncanny valley. 

“Spamton, could you wait?” Yellow requested as they group left the Cyber Grill, Spamton far ahead of the rest of them. Yellow directed the other three addisons to go on without them.

“THE [[$%;@]] DO YOUU WANT, [Potential buyer]!??” He demanded, shuffling around. The grin spread across his mask did not match his tone whatsoever. 

“You planned to meet with me, remember?” Yellow said, raising an eyebrow. They didn't show any outward negative reaction to his hostility. 

“...Oh.          THAT I DID! A DEAL'S A [[steal]], ADDISON!” Spamton smoothed his already styled hair down with a hand, adjusting his lapel with the other. “WHAT [Business meeting] DIDJA HAVE [In stores 0ct0b3r 6nd, 1999]?!?” 

He tilted his head to the side eerily, and, in the empty outside air, they could hear every click of his mask's jaw as he spoke.

“Shopping? I was thinking we can just walk around, checking out any interesting stores. And, of course, we can get food whenever you want,” Yellow began, looking at his nose rather than making direct eye contact with his strange glowing lenses. 

He made a sound of disgust. “THAT [%%;#] [All we do is advertise] DISTRICT?? I'D RATHER [It burns! Please! Help me!] THAN [Mingle] IN THAT [9 Circles Of Hell]!!” Spamton said vehemently, slamming his fist into the brick wall next to him for emphasis. 

Yellow raised their palms. “I meant more like going down Main Street.” they clarified, a little concerned about his sudden show of violence. “Trust me, I don't like dealing with the addisons over there, either. They're a little scary,” they chuckled. 

“HA! I CAN [Take them out back]! THOSE [Pests] DON't DESERVE MY [Finashally Secur] KROMER!!!” Spamton grumbled.

“If you find something you like, I can buy it. It's not a big deal,” Yellow said. He looked concerningly excited as soon as the words left their mouth, vibrating in place. 

“WOWWW! ALL THE [Yum yum] [[delicis]] KROMER IN THE    ! EHAHAHAHAHAHAH! THANKS FOR THE [0143]!!” Spamton exclaimed gleefully. Ah. They forgot who exactly they were talking to. 

“Wait—is that Orange's pin number? Why the hell do you know that?” Yellow asked.

“WHY DO YOOOOU [Know all that]?????? HUH? H UH!? YOU SOME [Sore] OF [[Cyber Criminal]]!???” Spamton accused. “I'M AN HONEST [FBI's Most Wanted]! [[Please submit your account details]] ARE SAFE WITH MEEEE!!” He held his hands out like he expected Yellow to hand him “kromer” then and there. 

“Hmmm,” Yellow pretended they were actually considering his authenticity. “I think I'm putting you on a budget, actually. You get 500 D$, max.”

“TOUGH [Skull] TO CRACK, EH? DO I GET THE [[Spare change]]!?” Spamton bargained, clasping his hands and tilting his head in an attempt to look innocent that just made him look even less trustworthy. 

“Nope,” Yellow said immediately. Even if they did trust him, they wouldn't feel like counting out the change. 

“FINE! [Take the deal]!!” Spamton shouted, extending his left hand, fingers spread wide underneath his mitten. 

“You know you're supposed to use your right hand for handshakes, right?” Yellow asked.

“[Turn left] [right], WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE???” He pretended he was merely using his left hand to smooth his hair down again, then put his right hand out. Yellow humored him, holding out their own.

Suddenly, Spamton snatched their hand, violently shaking it up and down with shocking strength, his cold fingers digging into their palm. Surprised, Yellow had to actively yank their arm away from him. 

“[[Congrulations]]! YOU’RE BETTER AT THAT THAN [Why so blue]!!!” Spamton said, unfazed. 

“Thanks?” Yellow said. They furrowed their eyebrows in consideration. “I'll pick you up tomorrow from Blue's store, then.”

“I'LL BE BACK, [100 Customer],” he said in a weirdly ominous tone, stepping out of the streetlight’s reach and into the darkness. 

Yellow blinked as his glasses faded out, and his figure melted into the darkness off the alley across from the grill. They double checked that their wallet was still in their pocket and that nothing had been removed from it. 

Okay, perhaps they got the wrong impression of Spamton from the Grill. Outside, when it was just the two of them, they were starting to get what Pink meant about him. 

They weren't too sure that Blue's teachings had really rubbed off on him. Maybe trying to scam people was just engrained into his code, and it was a hopeless endeavor. 

Yellow turned around, heading to their car. Blue still believed in him, and Yellow was willing to give Spamton a chance. There was clearly more to him than what they had seen so far, and the only way they'd be able to pick his brain was getting to know him better.

They unlocked the door, stepping into the driver's seat. They headed home, still intrigued by what Blue had gotten themself and their friends into.

———

The next day, Yellow found themself driving to Cyber Shoes II. It was a little later than they would've liked, but, well, Spamton wasn't exactly easy to get a hold of. 

As they finished parking, Yellow saw Blue outside just in front of the door, saying something they couldn't make out. A few seconds later, as Yellow approached, Spamton's presence was announced by the pleasant jingle of the bell about the door. 

He pushed the door open with his body rather than his arm, squeezing through the smallest gap possible. 

“Hi, Yellow,” Blue greeted politely. 

“HEY [Yellow carpet stains]!!” Spamton interjected, nearly cutting Blue off. Yellow raised an eyebrow. Blue winced.

“Sorry,” Blue apologized for him. “He, um, can't control… that.” 

“YUU#UUUP!! JUST A [Slip of the]!! EHAHAHA! [14719!7!%] UNTENTIONAL!!” Spamton laughed, his glasses switching colors rapidly. Yellow decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“You ready to go?” Yellow asked Spamton, idly spinning their car keys around their finger. He watched the glinting metal move with more interest than they expected. 

“LET'S [Go get this over with],” Spamton said, walking forward. Yellow curiously tried to touch one of the flickering pixels he left behind, but it didn't seem to have any collision. They jogged for a second to catch up to him. 

“WHY'D YOU [[Snitch]]?? I LOST MY [Free lunch for kids under]!” Spamton demanded once Blue was out of earshot. They realized he was referring to the fact that Yellow told Blue they'd be picking him up today. 

“We're going to get food, Spamton,” Yellow replied. “Didn't you eat breakfast?” 

“NO! THAT WAS MY [Want a break from the ads] YOU LITTLE [Worm]!!!” He lashed his tail, startling Yellow with its sheer length. Yellow’s seen a handful of spam programs, albeit not in person, but they don't remember their tails being that long. 

“Alright, we can eat early if you want,” Yellow said, wondering if he was just a late sleeper or normally skipped out on breakfast. 

They led him to their car, something sleek and black that was getting on in its years, but still worked just fine. He just stood there and stared as Yellow got into the driver's seat. 

“You gonna get in?” Yellow asked, holding their door open so that he could hear them. Finally, Spamton slowly pulled the door open, and crawled in on his knees. He shut the door so slowly that it didn't even close, then sat in the seat stiffly. 

“Spamton, have you been in a car before?” Yellow couldn't help but ask. He looked at them, opened his mouth to respond, then abruptly started to freak out as the engine turned on. 

He splayed his limbs across any surface he could reach like a spider on the wall, his breathing heavy and filled with static feedback. His glasses flicked to black, and Yellow only realized his eyes had closed once pink and yellow slits came back into view.  They thought his knee, or where his knee was supposed to be, looked like it wasn't quite bending the way it should. 

“0F COU>RS3 I;VE B3EN IN a [Cungadero]! JU5T. N0T. 1NE [Fully functional],” he sputtered, making an effort to pry his limbs off the headrest, door, and center console. 

“Oh. Is the engine what's making you… upset?” Yellow guessed. They were gonna say “making you scared,” but he didn't seem like the type to admit to that. 

“Y3ESSSSSS,” Spamton hissed. He was looking at the floor, but his tone made it seem more like a glare. “STUPID [Vibration mode]!! I CAN FEEL IT IN MY [HAIR]! IN MY [TEETH]! IN MY [EYES]!” he grumbled. 

The engine's vibration was freaking him out? Maybe that spider comparison was more accurate than they thought. 

“Are you gonna be okay in the car? We can walk to somewhere closer, if you want,” Yellow offered.

“I'll [[Single-Player Survival]],” Spamton said, taking a deep breath, then sighing loudly. He held his knees to his chest, wrapping his tail around himself. “THE [Coming soon] THIS IS [it's over], THE B3TTER.”

Yellow showed him how to close the door properly, as well as how to plug in the seatbelt. The poor guy looked like he thought he was about to go on a multi-inversion rollercoaster without a lap bar, not a short car ride.

It was kind of smooth sailing from there. Spamton hadn't moved from his crouched position on the seat. He was covering his ears with his hands, and his glasses had gone black again. But, he was sitting still, and wasn't particularly glitchy at the moment.

“So, what's a ‘cungadero?’” Yellow asked, in case a distraction might help. They tried to take turns slowly, and actually respected the speed limit only for his sake. “Is that a brand?”

They saw the pink and yellow hue of his eyes opening in their peripheral vision, and were glad he could still hear them even with his ears covered. 

“THAT'S A SPAMTON [[The Original]]!! [Take a Ride Around Town in our] SPECIL [Cungadero]!” Spamton said. 

“What, you're selling cars now?” Yellow decided to humor him. He lowered his hands. 

“I CAN SELL [[Anything Goes]]!” Spamton gloated. “ANY [Car insurance]! ANY [[High QualityProduct]]! ANY [Worthless Garbage]!” 

“Why do you only sell recycled stuff now?” Yellow asked. They didn't want to be rude, but they just didn't understand why he was so insistent he was an amazing salesman when he was visibly tight on cash.

Spamton paused for a while, and, when Yellow glanced at him, they realized his glasses had turned gray. 

“SALESS GONE [Down the drain, drain],” he began. EHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHA!!!! [Prices so low] EVERYONE I KNOW IS [[Dead]!!!”

“You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” Yellow said, trying to ignore the colorful pixels obscuring Spamton's face. What the hell did that second sentence even mean?

“I WAS [[BIG SHOT]]!!!” Spamton continued, ignoring Yellow. “MY [Ugly mug] WAS [Plastered] ALL OVER THIS [[Big city]]!!!” He sat up, tail relaxing from where it had been tightly coiled around him. 

[[Soon in theaters]] I’LL HAVE MY [Comeback Specil]!!!” Spamton's head twitched back and forth, his words interspersed with maniacal giggles. “I’LL GET SO I’LL GET SO I’LL GET SO I’LL GET SO—”

The darkner behind them loudly honked at Yellow, presumably because Yellow was going the speed limit, and they weren't. 

“[[Car_honk_sfx]] YOU!!!” Spamton shouted, whipping his head around to glare at the rear window. 

Yellow couldn't help but laugh at the fact that a different car honk came out of his throat. How did he even do that?

“Are you feeling better?” Yellow asked, glad that most of his glitching had faded. 

“YOUR [Cungadero] IS STILL [Bad merchandise]!” Spamton declared, though he looked way calmer than when he entered.

“Ouch,” Yellow said, not actually bothered by his comment. 

“I’M JUST BECoMING [Desanitized],” he finished. 

“Desensitized?”

“SURE! [$;%&]! WHO CARES!??!”

They chuckled, leaving the last minute of the drive in silence. So, according to Spamton, he was a "#1 rated salesman," but was just down on his luck nowadays? They weren't sure they believed he was as famous as he said it was, but they could believe the rest of it. 

Every darkner lost their purpose eventually. It was a fact of existence. As digital programs, addisons could adapt better than most, but they certainly weren't immune. They could only hope the best for him in that regard. 

Finishing the drive, Yellow parked in a place where they wouldn't have to pay. Spamton sighed in relief as the engine shut off, slouching in his seat. 

He started trying to violently rip the seatbelt off, so Yellow reached over and pressed the button for him. After that, Spamton stepped onto the pavement, legs wobbling before he regained his balance. 

Yellow shut the door for him, since he neglected to do so. Spamton jumped at the short beep the car made as they locked it, and they didn't mention it for the sake of his pride.

“Alright, I was planning on doing a figure eight so that we land back at my car,” Yellow explained. “You wanna go left or right?”

Spamton looked both ways, seriously considering the question. He chose left, and Yellow wondered if it had to with the fact that it currently had less people. 

He chose to walk behind Yellow instead of next to them, which felt strange. They couldn't tell if he was looking at any stores, because they had to turn around to even see him. 

The two of them got through half the first street without Spamton saying a word. 

“This store's a favorite of mine,” Yellow said, pointing at a clothing store. “They even have some of Orange's designs here.” 

“I ALREADY HAVE [Clothing on sale],” Spamton said, looking through the store's windows as they passed. 

“Alright,” Yellow said, a bit confused by his adamant tone.

“Just let me know if anything catches your eye,” they said, already having second thoughts about their idea to bring him here.

It was fairly busy today, but that was to be expected in the city. A colorful assortment of darkners flowed around them, enjoying the weekend. With his dark fur, Spamton blended into the background easily. 

Well, except for his muttering as he dodged around darkners like touching them would kill him. Yellow assumed that he probably disliked the busy streets the same way he disliked the people around him at Cyber Grill. 

“Woah!” Yellow exclaimed as a virovirokun bolted down the street in front of them, scrambling to get out of the way. Not an uncommon occurrence in Cyber City. 

Spamton instead lunged at it, snarling in incomprehensible bitcrushed noise. The virovirokun shrieked in response, slipping into a sharp turn away from him. The ambyu-lance behind it followed in hot pursuit, its noisy siren following after.

“EHAHAHA AHAHA! WORKS EVERY TIME!!!” Spamton laughed, entirely unconcerned.

“What just happened?” Yellow questioned, staring at Spamton. Did he not know how much danger he just put himself in? No wonder he had permanent glitches.

“I HAVE THAT [Affect] ON [17 viruses detected],” he said casually, adjusting his lapels. “THOSE [SlimeBalls] ARE… [[Banned]] FROM MY [Homemade Storefront],” Spamton said vaguely. 

“I thought you didn't have a storefront,” Yellow said, even more confused. 

“LOOK! LOTS OF DARKNERS [crying and screaming] AT THE SIGHT OF [#1 RATED SALESMAN 1997]!!! I DON’T DO [Doing business] WITH THOSE [[TYPE]]!” Spamton explained.

Okay, that kind of clarified things. When was he speaking in sales metaphors and when was he actually talking about sales? Yellow had no idea how Blue understood this guy. 

“Uh, fair enough?” They responded. “I wouldn't pursue a customer if they reacted like… that. Either.” What in the name of Light did this guy do to make viruses afraid of him?

Something wasn't adding up. There were too many missing variables to solve the equation, and Spamton wasn't keen on providing anything more. 

His insistent decision to walk behind them, out of view, felt as uncomfortable as ever. Even as Yellow glanced behind themself, and saw him inconspicuously look at the glowing store signs around them.

Right before they turned around, Spamton suddenly made a bee-line for one of them, the bright sign above reading “Paws and Claws.” 

The pet store? He pressed his face as close to the glass as he could, considering the plastic nose of his mask didn't bend whatsoever. 

Yellow realized that the thing he had seen was a bundle of tiny tasque kittens visible through the display window. A few were asleep, others were playing, and one met Spamton's gaze with curiosity.

“HEY! DOES MY [[House budget]] COUNT [Food & Drink]?” Spamton asked suddenly, not looking away from the kitten. 

“Depends how much you try to make me spend,” Yellow said. Their first thought was to not have a food budget, but, no, they absolutely did not trust Spamton with that in any way. 

“Do you try to swindle Blue out of their money, too?” Yellow questioned. Spamton took his eyes off the tasque.

“NO! I [[Treat your loved one to a] MY [Favorite Customer] WITH [The Power of Friendship]!!!” He clasped his hands together in a failing attempt to look innocent.

Maybe he was nicer to Blue, but that kind of just felt like manipulation if this was how he treated everyone else. They'd have to ask Blue about Spamton, because the man himself provided more questions than answers.

“I WANT TO LOOK AT THE [2,000 calorie meal]!” Spamton determined, pushing the pet store's front door open. 

“The what?” Yellow trailed after him. 

“EHAHAHA! JUST [[Just kidding]]!! THE [Larvae] ARE’NT WORTH 1T!” Spamton replied, the employee at the front register shooting him a strange look at the sound of his loud, incoherent giggling. 

“You just want to look at the pets?” Yellow confirmed. They weren't sure they shared his sense of humor, if that really was supposed to be a joke. Maybe he'd get a light chuckle out of Orange. 

“YUP! [You see it you buy it]!” Spamton was back to staring at the tasque kittens as he prodded at the airholes in the plastic glass. “SMELLS [Delicis] IN HERE,” he commented, sounding way too genuine. 

“You gotta work on your delivery, bud,” Yellow said, feeling kind of lost. Honestly, they were glad he just wanted to look at the animals, because so far he didn't seem like he could be trusted with small creatures unsupervised. 

Spamton's jaw clacked repeatedly as he made weirdly accurate coos at the kittens, tail tip flicking behind him. Yellow had to give him a wide berth to avoid stepping on it. 

Eventually, he lost interest, wiping his mask's mouth with his sleeve and wandering further into the store. Spamton ignored the shelves with decorations, instead walking straight towards the other animals. 

From the short time they've known him, Spamton walked strangely. Barely bending his knees, hobbling around, yet keeping pace. But, now that he must've forgotten to keep his tail curled, he looked far more graceful with its fully extended form gently swaying as he eyed the animals. 

Spamton stopped at the first exhibit, his arms held in front of him like he was an animal trying to balance on its hind legs. Yellow leaned in closer to look at what had caught his attention. The sign taped to the glass read:

‘DUST BUNNIES - Indoor only - Small size habitat - vulnerable to water and mild wind’

Below it was a bright yellow sticker that read: 

‘CAUTION: This is an exotic species that should never, under any circumstances, be released into the Cyber wild. Perpetrators will be fined up to 60,000 D$.’

“ONLY 600,00 KROMER?!?!?” he exclaimed. “WHAT A F-[ifty percent off] STEAL! YOU'D THINK THIS [Happy Town] WOULD CARE MORE ABOUT [Highly invasive species of] AFTER             !”

Yellow waited for the rest of his sentence, but it never came. 

“I'm actually surprised they sell these,” Yellow said. As the darkner version of dust, dust bunnies were rather invasive in Cyber World, though they were mainly an issue in the less maintained portions of the city. 

“I suppose they're pretty marketable.” Aside from their nasty shedding problem, the fluffy brown/gray rabbit-like darkners were pretty cute. The ones in the cage watched passively with oblivious black eyes. 

Spamton tapped on the glass, trying to get the dust bunnies to do something. “TOOO MUCH [Hair loss treatment]! [0 star meal]!” he said. A bit ironic, considering how long his fur was. 

He went to find some different animals to harass, Yellow following after him. They've never had a particular interest in pets, and were too busy to pay attention to one, as most addisons were. 

Spamton skimmed past the colorful tweets, even as they angrily squawked at him. “WHERE'S THE [Mice]??? EVERY OTHER [Pest control] IS HERE!” he questioned, looking back at Yellow. 

“I don't think they have live maice, but they probably have dead ones for feeding purposes,” Yellow said. 

“OH,” he said, looking off presumably in thought. A moment later, he moved on to the aisle with the reptile terrariums. 

It was mostly filled with code pythons, lazily moving across their enclosures in 90 degree angles. They also saw a qwertle, its key-cap shell visible from where it was floating in the water. 

“Spamton, you're not supposed to poke the glass. It stresses the animals out,” Yellow said as he started aggressively tapping at one of the python cages.

“ONE OF THESE [Silly strings] TRIED TO [eated] ME!” he claimed. “THIS IS [[R E V E N G E]]!” His tail lashed across the discolored tile floor. 

Yellow blinked, unsure how to process that. 

“You know, if an employee sees you doing that, they're going to kick you out,” Yellow said. They were exaggerating, but they didn't know how else to get him to stop. 

Spamton huffed out the verbal equivalent to an eye roll, finally sparing the innocent snakes from his wrath. He got to the back of the store, taking the time to glance at every single species of phish the aquariums had.

Yellow sighed as he resumed poking on the glass, laughing erratically every time the colorful phish darted away. They glanced around to see if there were any other witnesses. Maybe they should just let him get it out of his system.

Spamton found what Yellow was hoping was the last section, where live computer bugs were kept to feed the other animals. He watched the insects move around for a moment, his tail draped to the side and mostly still. 

“I think that's everything,” Yellow said as he lost interest. “If you just want to look at animals, maybe we could take you to the zoo,” they suggested.

“[All Expenses Paid]???” Spamton tilted his head, tail tip flicking back and forth. “THAT'S—I'LL THINK ABOUT [Add it to the queue],” he mumbled, tail still twitching. 

Spamton briefly looked up at the security camera, then began the short expedition back to the front of the pet store. He tried to pull the door open, made a censor bleep sound effect, then pushed the door open properly. 

Yellow watched as he rolled his tail up like a tape measure as soon as he was outside. They resumed walking, and he took his spot behind them.

“Why do you keep your tail like that?” Yellow asked, and he looked startled by the question when they looked back. “You looked much more comfortable in the store.” 

“WELL! IT'S IT'S IT'S NOT [[Professional]]! MAYBE IT DOES [A little cup of pain in the morning], BUT [Beutiy hurts] HAHA!” Spamton said, sounding uncomfortable about the subject. 

“BE$IDES, IF ONE 0F THESE [Morsels] EVER [5 Steps To Success] ON MY TAIL AGAIN, I MIGHT JUST [Killed] EM!” he exclaimed loud enough that several passing darkners shot him concerned glances. At least one abruptly turned the other direction.

“I, uh, suppose that's fair,” Yellow replied, assuming he was either exaggerating or getting mixed up by his vocal glitch. 

“Still, I’m certain none of us mind if you let it stretch out. I like how expressive it is,” they reassured him. They weren't sure what any of his tail movements meant, but it felt like there was a language behind it. 

“WHAT? IT D>OES;NT MEEAN ANYTH1NG! NOTHING [at all]!!!1!!” Spamton said, sounding flustered. He must've been caught too off-guard to keep up his salesman persona.

Yellow laughed lightly in response. They wondered if the main reason he kept his tail curled was to bring less attention to it. Because, even ignoring its absurd length, his tail looked nothing like an addison's past first glance.

It was abnormally dexterous, and covered in black fur that matched the rest of Spamton, but didn't resemble the feathery stuff addison tails had. It tapered to a thin point, the tip flaring out like a spiky black fern.

The longer Yellow looked at Spamton, the more he felt like merely a rough approximation of what a spam program was supposed to look like. Yellow thought they weren't supposed to look that different from regular addisons, but Spamton was the only one they've met in real life. 

Regardless, they were more curious about the who of Spamton than the what. A blatant scammer dead-set on his ways? A washed-up salesman trying to get back on his feet? Some enigmatic hermit that refused to use technology? A lonely soul adapted to hiding his vulnerabilities? 

Or, all of the above, twisted together into the strange, conflicting character trailing behind them with eerily quiet footsteps.

“HEY [Stop The Presses]!!!” Spamton spoke abruptly, startling Yellow from their thoughts. Honestly, he had shown so little interest in the stores they passed that their shopping trip had turned into more of a walk. 

The building that had caught Spamton's eye appeared to be an arts and crafts store. Through the windows, an entire rainbow of colorful supplies was visible. 

Spamton hesitantly gripped the door handle, and cautiously stepped inside. 

“You're an artist?” Yellow prompted, following after him. It took him a moment to respond, seemingly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of supplies being displayed. 

Most addisons had some basic understanding of the principles of art and design in order to make appealing ads. But, art was the last hobby they'd expect him to have.

I'M A [[World Class Salesman]]!” Spamton corrected. “IT'S JUST A    JUST A THING I [[do]],” he added relatively quietly, looking at the floor.

“What kind of art do you make?” Yellow asked, actually curious. 

“DRAWING? WITH WHAT3VR I [Can you find them all?],” Spamton responded, folding and unfolding his tie. They thought he would've jumped at the chance to brag about his skills, like he normally did, but Spamton's confidence had abruptly drained out of him. 

Yellow hummed, skimming through the signs above the shelves. They actually had been here with Orange once, but didn't remember a lot. Yellow's area of expertise leaned more towards film production than this form of art. 

They guided Spamton to an aisle primarily stocked with sketchbooks and pencils. He gradually flitted around, examining different items, and Yellow was getting the sense he didn't really know what he was doing. 

Yellow watched him silently, feeling more like a chaperone than anything else. At least there weren't any animals for him to harass in here.

Eventually, Spamton opened one of the blank sketch books, audibly gasping. 

“You good?” Yellow asked, wondering if they were missing something. 

“IT'S [Blank slate]!!!” Spamton said excitedly, his tail unfurling. “THERE's NO [Lined paper]! YOU KN0W HOW [[Expert Level Difficulty]] THESE ARE TO FIND IN THE [Second hand]!??!?”

Oh yeah, it probably was hard to find a sketchbook second hand. Has he never had one?

“Orange told me these ones are the best,” Yellow said, grabbing a different brand from the one Spamton held. Orange had been very opinionated about which brands were good and which ones “felt like drawing on tissue paper.”

Spamton accepted the new book, opening it and tracing his hand across the white expanse. He tilted his head, as though imagining the possibilities as he outlined invisible shapes known only to him. 

He tried to turn the page, but the mittens he wore made it exponentially more difficult, and the paper slipped, forming a harsh crease across its surface. 

Spamton shuttered, a glitch traveling up his body in reaction. He shut the empty sketchbook quickly. 

“THIS [You and I will] DO [Oh so wonderful~] THINGS!” Spamton suddenly exclaimed, the sound grating in the previously silent atmosphere. 

He held the book up, looking up at the ceiling, or perhaps through the ceiling. “A Fu::TuURE SO [[Bright]] WE'LL SEE PAST THE [dark… it's so dark…… i can't see my] AND INTO H  E  A  V  E  N”

Spamton started laughing feverishly, loud enough that everyone in the building could certainly hear him. 

“Alright, I think that's enough, bud,” Yellow said, trying to placate him. They reached out to gently put a hand on his shoulder. 

Spamton physically recoiled as they came into contact with him, producing a glitchy, animalistic snarl similar to the sound he made at the virovirokun. He was hunched over, holding the book protectively against his chest. His tail, the fur now spiked up, curled defensively around himself. 

Then, within seconds, he reset his posture back to normal, twitching like a malfunctioning animatronic as pixels flicked around his form, that uncomfortable puppet smile always present. Spamton smoothed his hair down with a single hand. 

“HEY. [[Good pal]]. THAT WASN'T. IN THE [Disclosure agreement],” Spamton grit out. 

“Touching your shoulder?” Yellow questioned. With how he shook their hand, no, entire arm like a ragdoll yesterday, it never occurred to them that something so small would make him react like that. 

“YEAH? HAVEN 'T YOU [Sign up to hear about our new deals] ABOUT [personnel space]?????” Spamton replied, and Yellow didn't think it was worth arguing with him. 

“Sure. Sorry?” they said. 

“WOAOOAOOW! [0 Stars]!! I [[dessert]] A [99% off coupon] FOR THAT [Excuse of a]!!!” Spamton replied, turning his head away dramatically. 

“Okay, I'm no longer sorry,” Yellow amended. He was seriously still trying to squeeze money out of their wallet?

“Now, can you give me the sketchbook so I can actually pay for it?”

Spamton let out an annoyed huff, but did comply. Honestly, Yellow just wanted to get out of here; painfully aware of how much attention Spamton's… little moment was no doubt drawing. 

The young addison at the front register looked at Yellow with dread, then confusion, then terror as Spamton eventually came into view. 

“Y-your, um, y-y-our total is 120 D$,” they squeaked, subtly shuffling in the opposite of Spamton's direction as he not-so-helpfully directed his cold stare at the kid. 

“Thanks,” Yellow said, making sure to hold the pin pad away from Spamton after swiping their card so he couldn't see what they were pressing. “I don't need a bag, but I'll take a receipt.” 

They doubted Spamton would want to return the sketchbook with how reverently he was holding it earlier, but better to have the receipt than not. 

Spamton accepted the sketchbook eagerly. He also snatched the receipt for himself, startling the cashier. 

“Don't worry, he doesn't bite,” Yellow said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“OHOHEHAHA I [[Absolute]] DO!!! BUT YOU’re NOT [Worth a single cent]!” Spamton leaned closer, and the young addison yelped. Yellow was (jokingly) tempted to grab him by the tie and drag him away with it like it was a leash.

“Spamton!” Yellow scolded, and he laughed, entirely guilt-free. He walked to the front door, tail swishing behind him. Yellow followed after with one last apologetic glance at the cashier. 

“TOLD YOU I GET THAT [Live Reaction] ALL THE [99.999991% probability]!!!” Spamton said once the two of them were outside again. “I'M [[surpised]] [Blue highlighter] DOESN'T GET DOESN'T GET DOESN'T GET—” his repeating voice cut off as a violent glitch rearrange the pixels of his entire head.

Of all the concerning things about Spamton, the glitching was probably the one that scared Yellow the most. The idea that a darkner can survive with such damaged code. It looked painful, yet Spamton was so clearly used to it. 

His face stabilized as he breathed a staticky sigh, Yellow figuring out what he meant to say. Blue hadn't shown or talked about fearing him at all, but Yellow would be surprised if they didn't. 

“Well, if I know Blue, they'd definitely feel bad about being scared of you,” Yellow said, slowing down to walk next to him rather than in front. 

“You know, they didn't say anything about your appearance before the rest of us met you,” Yellow added. “The only thing they really mentioned was your job and personality.”

That got a snort out of him. “SERIOUSLY? AND THEY'RE THE 1 [Submit a complaint] ABOUT MY [100% Geuine] [[False advertising]]???”

“Heh, Blue just wanted us to give you a chance,” Yellow said, smiling.

“They really care about you, you know that?”

Spamton inhaled sharply, looking down at the cover of his new sketchbook, filled with empty pages of possibility. The pink and yellow light across its surface faded as his glasses turned to a flickering gray, like TV static. 

He shuddered violently, gripping the book tightly. When he looked up briefly at Yellow, the colors were back, but their glow had dimmed. He looked at the path straight ahead as he finally spoke. 

“THAT'S WHaT—THAT’S WH4t [[Friends]] are f0r,” Spamton finally responded, each word spliced together into an emotionless patchwork quilt. The static feedback of his voice lingered, wavering in intensity.

“SAY! ANY [Fine dining] AROUND HERE?” [I'm so hungry I could] EAT A [[530,000 dead frXm thX eXail wXXm crXsXs]]!!!” Spamton said much louder. 

Why would the idea of Blue caring about him upset him? Why wouldn't he look at me when he called them friends? Why does he want to change the subject?

Yellow frowned. They so badly wanted to know what his deal was, but it felt like they were trying to untangle a thin, fraying mat made of a single string that could snap at the slightest touch.

Normally, they'd say they were good at reading people; it came with the job description. But, Spamton was so conflicting. They trusted Blue, and he did show signs of that “good heart” Blue spoke about, but it came at the cost of ignoring everything else about him. Every alarm bell, every red flag, every second thought. 

“Sure, I've got some suggestions,” Yellow said, masking what they were actually thinking about. All they really could do was wait it out. Outside of his sometimes threatening language, Spamton hadn't done anything harmful outside of trying to scam them. What did he want from Blue if it wasn't a genuine friendship?

———

As they probably should have expected, Spamton didn’t have much opinion on where they went for lunch as long as he got fed. It was kind of impressive how fast he could eat. 

On the way back around to Yellow’s car, he showed interest in a few (non-food related) places, but didn’t commit to entering. Most interesting was a plant store he kept looking at long after claiming he didn’t care for “15% off all gardening tools.”

Overall, Yellow had gotten the sense that Spamton didn’t spend a lot of time walking through the city for casual means. He knew where things were, but only because he went all over the city selling things. And, while he could be loud when he wanted to, he also went through long bouts of complete silence.

“YOU NEVER GAV E ME YOUR [Life Advice],” Spamton said at some point during the walk back, still carrying his sketchbook.

“My w—oh,” Yellow replied. Right, that’s what Blue asked them to do. But, they were designed for video ads, and he was designed for email spam, two things that didn’t exactly go together. Then again, with his lack of magic to produce advertisements with, Spamton’s style strayed from what they’d expect for his kind. 

“Have you thought about selling your art?” Yellow suggested. Granted, they had no idea what his art even looked like, but it was the best suggestion they could think of given how little they knew about him.

“WHAT!? IS ALLL [you] ADDISONS CARE ABOUT [[Monetization]]?? WHAT;S NEXT? [Throw it out] MY [[Beating Hearts]] OUT ONTO [The streets] AND REQUEST [5 Kr0mer] PER [[CURBSTOMP]]???!!??!” Yellow paused and turned around at the intensity of his reaction.

He gestured angrily, stomping his foot at the last word for emphasis. His tail lashed behind him like an enraged snake. 

“It was just an idea. I didn't mean to upset you,” Yellow said, taken aback by Spamton's sudden rage. He made a sound like a hissing steam vent, holding his empty sketchbook against his chest. 

“And, you're a spam program. Aren't you hardly different from any other addison?” 

“I AM NOTHING LIKE YOU,” Spamton sneered, but his anger continued to dwindle. 

“TH3RE'S [[Spot the Differences]],” he said, curling his tail back up and adjusting his posture. His free hand clenched and unclenched, then reached up to gently touch his mask. 

Spam programs were just an offshoot of addisons adapted to, well, spam. Rare enough that they were thought to be merely some code mutation. Yet, Spamton insisted that spam programs were different. That he was normal as a result. 

Spamton shook his head, glancing around at the people around them, then walked a little faster. “[Contractual obligations under paragraph 4] ARE DONE. LET'S GET OUT OF [[This joint]]!”

Yellow glanced at the time on their smart watch, easily keeping pace with him. “I suppose it has been a while. I expected Pink and Orange to do something more involved—okay, maybe not Pink.” 

“YEAH,” Spamton scoffed after a long pause. “[[Don't wait! Call now]] YOU KNOW I HAVE [9-5 Work] TO DO!?”

“Hey! I bought you lunch and a sketchbook! Doesn't that count for something?” Yellow replied, thankful for the change in mood. 

“...DOES MY [Remaining balance: -$49.34] HAVE A [Expiration date]???” 

Seriously? Back to that?

“Hmm. Depends how much I like you.”

“AND? [[Spit it out]], [[Lemon Drop]]!” Yellow has caught up to him by now, and could see Spamton rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain.

“I'm undecided.” Yellow said, shrugging. How did they feel about him? Confused? Intrigued? A little concerned? 

“You're not the worst company I've had, but you've also tried to rob me several times.”

“IT'S NOT [Bank robbery]! ITS [Suggestive selling]!!!” Spamton insisted. Wow, spoken like a true capitalist.

“IF I WANTED TO [Break all of your limbs] I WOULDA [Already done]!” he said cheerfully, clasping his twitchy hands. 

“...Uh huh.” Yellow stared at him. Were his constant mentions of death and violence a result of his vocal glitch? The more they listened to him, the more it seemed… intentional. 

Spamton was certainly… interesting company, and Yellow was thankful when their car came into view. He flinched as the engine turned on, but recovered quickly. 

Aside from forgetting the seatbelt existed, it took far less time to get him settled in their car than it did the first time.

“What address do you want me to take you to?” Yellow asked as they settled in their seat. 

“JUST [[Take me away]] TO [Blue lemonade] STORE,” Spamton replied, looking out the passenger window. 

“You sure?” Yellow said. Did he not want them to see where he lived? What was he worried about?

“I CAN WALK,” Spamton huffed. “I DIDN'T [Before they hatch] YESTRDAY.”

“Alright,” Yellow replied, looking at the road before beginning the ride back. Spamton made a few glitchy yelps as the car started moving, but Yellow didn't mention it.

Yellow glanced at him a few times while driving for a lack of anything else to do.  He kept the sketchbook in his lap, looking awfully fidgety as he watched the window. 

Then, they heard the window lower for a split second, and he went completely still, and he slowly tilted his head all the way around to look at Yellow.

“That button opens the window,” they said, trying to not laugh at the fact that he was acting like he had just totaled their car by pressing a single button. “If you pull up on it, it closes it.”

“OF COURSE!!! EHAHAHA! [Automatic] [Alternate escape route]? WHY DID;NT I THINK OF THAT!??” Spamton tapped the window button again a few times, then discovered he could just hold it down. 

Yellow listened as he closed the window. Then, he opened it again. Then closed it. Then opened it—after like the fifth cycle, they turned on the child lock and manually closed it. 

“HEY!!! YOU'RE [[Window Shopping]] IS [brocken]!” Spamton kept trying to push the button. 

“I'm not worried about it,” Yellow replied, finally pulling up at Cyber Shoes II. It was still open, but Blue must've been in the back, because they couldn't see any movement from the front windows. 

Once he remembered how to unbuckle the seatbelt, Spamton shoved the car door open and clambered out. 

“BYE [[Y—”

Whatever he said was cut off as he slammed the car door closed five times as hard as he needed to. Yellow watched him turn around, scramble into the alley next to Blue's store, and disappear into the darkness. 

With nothing better to do, Yellow turned around and headed towards their own home, allowing themself a loud sigh.

All day, they've been trying to figure out how to even describe Spamton as a person. And, the closest they've come to is that he acted like an alien trying to fit in with society. Familiar with scams, stealing card numbers, and manipulation, yet enamored by everyday things like a car window and a pet store.

They couldn't think of a reason why he was like that, but it explained his behavior somewhat. He was still really weird regardless.

Spamton wasn't in their top 1,000 guesses for the type of person Blue would befriend. Blue hadn't connected well with anyone outside of their tight-knit group of four in years, yet this weird little scammer had wormed his way into their heart day one, and was intent on staying.

Once again, Yellow couldn't help but wonder what exactly they were all getting themselves into. 

Chapter Text

“We could get dinner, too, if you like!”

“How was movie night with Orange? We could watch another movie, if you want!”

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

“You've never played a video game? I could show you, if you'd like.”

“I wouldn't mind if you stayed after! I'll be bored cleaning the store, anyways.”

“I'm trying out a new cookie recipe! You don't know how to cook? That's okay, you can just watch, I wouldn't mind. 

“Any restaurants you like?”

“Wanna get coffee? I'm falling asleep over here, haha.”

What

would 

you 

like

to

do,

Spamton?

…

He didn't know what to do. He really should've expected Blue would want to get closer to him after they invited him into their ne—home. HOME. Not nest. You are the only one with a nest.

Spamton nestled into the mass of torn fabrics, flattened pillows, discarded clothes, electrical wire and whatever else he could find. Burrowed between the layers, his body rested peacefully while his mind paced. 

He couldn't have a repeat of what had happened. Some long-buried instinct he didn't even know he had resurfaced. 

The warmth, the gentle warmth soaking through his cold muscles. A gentle hand, the first and only time he's been preened by someone other than himself. In that fleeting moment, for once, he felt… safe. 

His mind had slipped. Spamton had dozed off, but his body was still very much awake. He remembered making a warbling call—the same half of a song he's always known, but would never be finished by another. 

The only response was an addison trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. And, Spamton then realized that his tail had coiled around their leg, trapping them, and he finally woke back up. 

It was a miracle he hadn't hurt them—no broken bones, no dislocated joints, no bruises, no blood. And then, it happened a second time on the couch. 

Perhaps that instance was even worse, because his half-asleep self hadn't registered that he was wearing his suit, and had started mindlessly clawing at his mask in a panic. If Blue hadn't stopped him, he…

It couldn't happen again. Avoiding touch his entire life clearly hadn't worked, so he had to get used to it, instead. He needed Blue alive, and it would be quite the shame if he chewed off their arm in his sleep.

It's been weeks since then. And, there hasn't been a repeat incident. When he initiated touch, was the one in control, he could stay focused. And, he may have… snapped at the addisons a few times when they initiated touch, but he recovered before anything messy happened. 

They were avoiding coming into contact with him. Even Blue. Don't they believe he's a spam program? Why did they react with fear? Why didn't they assume he couldn't hurt them, like he wanted them to?

Spamton chittered to himself, rolling over and slithering out of his nest. He hated thinking about this. He didn't trust Blue, or any of them! How the hell did he fall asleep in front of them?

A guttural sound of frustration came from deep within his chest as Spamton crawled down the wall and through the long tunnel that connected his nest to the outside world, walking past his suit. 

Spamton needed to kill something. Then, he'd feel better. 

The pads of his bare feet gripped the uneven, broken concrete better than his shoes ever could. He gracefully leaped up the side of a long-abandoned building, climbing up to the flat roof. 

Segmented white legs reflected pink under the magenta glow of the midnight sky-grid as he prowled the rooftops with ease, unseen to the few souls he sensed below. 

Spamton had already eaten, so he was looking for something small to take out his rage on. He licked his teeth at the memory, even though the blood was long gone and the meat was halfway digested.

It was always a good night when he caught a tasque. The scrappy strays usually bolted long before he could get into position, but sometimes he'd find a plump one used to being fed by sympathetic darkners, and far too comfortable approaching them. 

During one of their lunch walks, Blue had spotted a tasque. Of course, Spamton had sensed it way sooner, but was hoping they wouldn't notice the irritable creature.

He had tried to keep his hiss down while Blue cooed at the treacherous little thing. It rubbed its pheromones across his addison's leg as they preen—petted it without an ounce of the fear they had when he—

When he was hunting the night after, he realized that Blue's soft, gentle tone had been perfect for luring out the tasque. And, it had ended up working so wonderfully, granting him a full meal in mere minutes.

He'd never used their voice before that point, knowing they'd probably freak out if they ever discovered he could. 

Spamton sighed, still looking for a midnight snack. Just another thing on the infinite list of things no one else would ever know about him. At least Blue was too shy to ask most of the questions he couldn't answer. 

Finally, he smelled a maus and carefully approached. It was out in the open, and he had no need to lure it out with fancy voice tricks. 

Spamton crouched, legs poised carefully as he gradually crawled halfway down the side of the building he was on. His hindquarters and tail wriggled as he prepared to strike, eyes locked on the target. 

Then, he leaped, his body sailing through the air in a precise arc. His long claws reached out, the maus having too little time to react as he snatched it off the ground and clambered back up the building in a single swoop. 

The pitifully small creature struggled in his grasp, uselessly kicking at his thumb. Spamton couldn't help the bubbling giggles of excitement that poured out of him as he pinned the maus's head and speared it through the brain. 

He relaxed as he dug into its still warm chest, slurping up the wonderful essence of its tiny soul. Maice were small enough he could practically swallow them whole, but it was far more enjoyable to savor them. 

Spamton ate the rest of his meal, already feeling better. He stretched and yawned, unhinging his jaws. He leaped back home faster than he ever could in his suit. 

He'd gone from alone to surrounded by darkners he normally hated within days. It was a large adjustment, but he was used to adapting. Used to surviving. 

———

He carefully crouched against the wall, an instinctive habit to remain unseen. He tasted the air, catching the flavor of the soul he had become so familiar with. 

Was it possible to recognize someone by soul alone? His own soul felt unique, but he didn't exactly have any data to compare it to. Their soul wasn't different from any other addison, yet somehow he could find it even in a crowd. 

Was it because of their closeness? The fact that they had actually came into contact with him? Or had he simply tasted it so many times that it had developed a signature of its own?

Blue peeked into the alley, taking a moment to spot him. “Oh! You are here. Hi, Spamton!” They smiled at him with far friendlier teeth than his own. 

They had told him the day before that today was their day off, and their usual addison attire was replaced with a baggy dark blue sweater and black pants. 

Spamton stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. “H HEY, BLUE!” he said, testing out the word for the first time. 

Their eyes widened a little in surprise, and, while they didn't say anything, their smile remained. 

Spamton figured that he was in for the long run; it's already been well over a month since he met Blue. So, he'd finally made an effort to practice saying their actual name instead of relying on voice clips. 

“Are you ready to go?” Blue asked. 

“[[When]] AREN't I?” Spamton replied, stepping behind Blue. Yesterday, they had asked him if he wanted to come to the park with them, but he didn't know which park they were referring to. 

“I dunno,” Blue replied. “How much stuff do you even have in all those secret pockets?”

The pen he stole, for one. The alcohol wipes. A black wallet full of cards that had other people's names on them. A decent amount of kromer in case he needed a snack. 

Several granola bars he stole when Blue wasn't looking. A weird-looking ring made of thorns. A frayed bow tie. A rusty pocket knife he never used. Other things he could potentially sell. 

A small sketchbook with yellowed pages and a worn leather cover, one of the best things he's found in the trash. 

The crystal gift that let him see through shadows and into Heaven. Normal stuff.

“WHATEVER I [You need something?]!” Spamton replied, keeping the details of his pocket collection to himself. 

“I guess I'm like that too,” Blue said, beginning the walk. So far, they were heading in the same direction as their apartment. “You never know when you're going to need a bandage, or hand sanitizer, or tissues, or sticky notes, or scissors, or anything, really.”

Spamton was carrying none of those, but he understood what Blue meant by it. He made a hum of acknowledgement.

He felt conflicted about interacting with Blue and the other addisons outside of their “lessons.”

It wasn't working. No matter how friendly he pretended to be, there was always still fear, discomfort, annoyance, disgust. Even the nicer ones were just trying to get away from him as fast as possible. 

Spamton prodded at the pink tie wrung around his throat, always needing something to do with his hands.

He was learning more body language around the addisons, right? Hand gestures, poses, head movement, even trying to express what little he could through his eyelids. There was a purpose to it. A reason for him to be there. 

Spamton was still shocked that he'd been invited into Blue's home. Did they not value their own safety? Did they really trust him that much? And, after the fact, they kept inviting him. More and more. 

It felt… nice to be included. To interact with a world he's been alienated from his whole life. Even though he knew it wouldn't last.

“WHAT'S [[At the]] THIS [Parking spaces], ANYWAY?” Spamton asked, shaking his head as if to clear the mess of thoughts from it. His tail brushed against the ground behind him, providing some grounding.

“It's pretty quiet,” Blue said. “There's a little playground, but the kids usually aren't too disruptive. I like to read a book while I'm sitting on the benches there.”

“My favorite part is the huge tree near the center,” Blue added, playing with a strand of their long hair as they spoke. 

“THERE'S A [Tree]?” Spamton prompted, his interest suddenly growing tenfold. 

“Yeah! It's a real tree, too. I think it was imported from Card Kingdom? It grows these fruits year-round that taste like marshmallows.” 

“THAT'S A WAY B3TTER [[Sales Pitch]]! WHY [don't you] START WITH THAT???” Spamton felt his tail tip twitch, realizing that the entire thing had unraveled behind him. He forced his tail back into the curled position it was supposed to be in. 

“Well, I'm afraid the fruits are too high up to pick.” Blue admitted. “I could get you one from the store, though, if you want to try it.”

He thought of the apples. Of sinking his teeth into delicious, sugary flesh, of licking sticky sweet blood from his fangs. Blue had bought more afterwards, and he ended up eating all of them in a single sitting, much to Blue's bewilderment. 

“CAN;T BE [So much] WORSE THAN [[My favorite]]!” he replied. 

“I'm, uh—I'll put it on my grocery list.”

Spamton directed his attention to the cracked, uneven sidewalk. 

Trees. Unnatural in their naturally unnatural world. Starting out as a tiny sapling, yet growing to the size of a building. Roots, digging deeply into the ground, anchoring it to reality. Even if the top was cut off, killed, the portion underneath would always remain. 

There were a select few trees in the city, but they were always inaccessible. Too public, too exposed. In his current state, he couldn't do much climbing with all of his claws covered. 

But, he always wondered what it would be like. To climb up, free from the self-imposed restrictions of his mask. To curl around the dark bark, fur brushing against the leaves, watching the ever so small darkners below. 

Was it smooth, or rough? Would the leaves feel like the dried-up, dead ones he found blown all the way to the Trash Zone? Would it hold his weight, or bend? Would his claws bounce off, or leave deep score marks?

Spamton screeched out a yelp as his foot suddenly gave out, turning his head to the side to protect his nose from impact. A jaw clamped around his foreleg, and a set of claws dragged him backwards.

He hissed loudly, violently thrashing until the intruder let go. He whipped around, his teeth fully displayed and his fur spiking up. 

But, the only thing that graced his vision was a particularly large chunk of missing sidewalk, and a scared addison. 

“—Sorry, you tripped and I didn't want you to get hurt, I just—” Blue was in the middle of apologizing, keeping their hands visible as they took another step away from him.

What the hell was wrong with him? A slight distraction and this was how he reacted? Sure, he didn't exactly feel relaxed while walking down a public sidewalk, but this was a harmless little addison!

“STOP ST!STOP[[STOP]]P!!!!!  1'M FINE, SEEE3e???” With each breath, he felt their elevated heartbeat.

“EHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! WHY [Blame yourself] WHY [Obsess over]??? BLAME WHO EVER [[Demolitions]] THIS!” Spamton slammed his foot into the cracked ground angrily. Concrete dust crackled underneath, and Blue, already cowering away from him, flinched. 

“I MEAN [[C’mon]]!!” Spamton continued, desperately gesturing at the broken sidewalk. “DID SOMEBODY [[Unexpected item in baggage area]] THEIR [Cungadero] ONTO THE [[Pavement]] REPEATEDLY???” 

“...What?”

“A [300 counts of vehicular manslaughter]!”

“Heh.” Blue was visibly trying to regain their composure. “I guess that's one way to put it? Honestly, I don't think this street has been redone since the city was first built.” 

He relaxed as their heartbeat gradually slowed to a normal rate. The problem he caused was fixed. They were just trying to catch his fall, and he had blindly snapped at a nonexistent enemy in response.

They smiled nervously, always trying to cheer him up regardless of how little he gave in return. “I promise the sidewalk's a lot better near the park,” Blue said. 

“GOOD,” Spamton responded, still distracted. Distortions flickered across his form, obscuring his vision with sickly red and blues. He shook his head violently, trying to recover without Blue noticing. 

His code was old, still trying to run on a modern system, getting worse every year he outlived his purpose. It was a miracle that blood still steadily flowed through his veins.

…

His thoughts, a mess of broken, unoptimized code, halted as he turned around the street corner and saw the tree. He got closer and closer, each step he took feeling insignificantly small in comparison to its sheer height. 

Hundreds, thousands, of tails reached towards the dark sky, twisted together into a curving, branching form. A cloud of black leaves obscured its form. Dragging down the cables were red stars, attached by thin stems.

The ground was strange, feeling spongy and uneven under his shoe soles. His tail instinctually trailed behind him, correcting his balance. Indigo blades grew out of the ground, an unfamiliar pelt that squished under his weight. 

“Spamton?”

He picked a discarded leaf off the ground, tracing the paths of its red veins with his eyes. It crackled, breaking easily in his shaking hands. The pieces twirled through the air as he dropped them, settling back in the grass. 

He stumbled forwards, finally touching the looming figure. Unable to feel through his covered hands, he ran his tail across the rough surface of the bark. 

He scraped his claws against the wood, gazing at the canopy above him with aching longing. To shed the restricted form he was trapped in, to curl up in its branches, to escape into its enveloping embrace. 

“Spam? Hey.”

It would be so easy to snag the fruits if he was alone, if he didn't have to hide himself. He wouldn't even have to climb, just unfold his mandibles and let it reach up, extending to its full length. 

A blue hand suddenly appeared in his vision, obnoxiously blocking his view of the tree. Spamton growled, audibly snapping his teeth.

“Did you just try to bite me?” Blue exclaimed, as if it was the weirdest thing he's ever done. 

“NO,” Spamton replied, stepping away from the tree's base. “I WOULD'NT'VE [Missed shot]!” He paused, realizing how different this reaction was compared to when he tripped earlier. If he actually wanted to bite Blue, their hand would no longer be attached to their arm. 

“...What?” They took a moment to regain their composure. “You—you said you wouldn't…”

“HEY! I'M [[Off the clock]]! I CAN S4Y WHATEVER [Keep Yourself Safe] I WANT!” he said. Wow, they really did believe he could become a sweet little innocent program, didn't they? It was kind of sad.

He looked around at the rest of his surroundings, spotting the aforementioned playground. There was a simple path cutting through the grass, a couple benches, a trash bin, and an assortment of other darkners roaming around. 

Spamton shuffled in place, not used to the sensation of the grass. He knew what it was, but he's never actually touched it. He was still used to hiding in shadows and avoiding open areas, years of habit burned into him.

“If you're mean to people, then they're not going to trust you when you are selling stuff,” Blue preached, and he tried not to make a sound of annoyance. 

They walked over to a bench, its plastic surface contrasting horribly with the nature around it. Eyeing the people around him warily, Spamton decided he had no choice but to follow. 

Blue sat down on one end, and he climbed up the other end on all fours. He was about to get comfortable when he remembered that look on their face when he had formed the same pose on their couch. 

It had been so pleasantly soft under his feet, and it was just the two of them, the constant threat of the outside blocked by apartment walls. He had decided to finally let himself relax. 

Then, he saw that expression on Blue's face. He wouldn't quite call it disgust. It was more like confusion mixed with discomfort. The sure-fire sign that he was doing something weird, strange, wrong.

Instead, he got up and sat on the bench as normally as he could, letting his legs dangle uselessly above the ground. 

“It's good to treat other people how you want to be treated,” Blue said, and he had somewhat forgotten they were in the middle of talking. 

“YEAH??” Spamton grit his teeth. 

“Y—?” Blue—

“Y3AH!??! AND HOW DOES [[The scum of the earth]] TREAT [[#1 RATED SALESMAN]]???” Spamton cut them off, curling his claws into fists before he gouged a hole in something. 

“I'VE BEEN [Stabbed], [[Crushed]], [[E4ten @L1ve]], [Shot], [Slammed against the wall], [[Starved]]—EHAHAHAHAHA!!!! WHY SHOULD;NT I> [Return to sender]??!!??” Spamton gestured angrily, wishing he had something small and breakable to enact his rage onto. 

“It's always better to—” Blue attempted to timidly argue. 

“YOU D0N’T GET IT!!” Spamton screeched, a hiss building up in his throat. “NOT [[YOU]] NOT YOUR [[Friends]]!!1!”

“WH3RE H4S [K1ndn3ss] EVER LED YOU!?” 

He's starving. He's always starving. Stomach clenching painfully as it's filled with rotting garbage in an attempt to curb the pain. Cold metal digging into too-sparse downy white fur as he feebly licks at his freshly blood-soaked and mangled body. Choking down strangled chirps and whimpers of pain, knowing he will not be able to escape if he is found again. 

“SCREAMING FOR [Please help me! It hurts! Please] AT THE [[Bottom]] OF A GODDAMN [Garbage Can]???” Spamton stood on top of the bench, twisting his neck to stare down at the blue addison next to him, cowering away from the discolored pixels flicking off of his form. 

His tail slithered around the bench legs, anchoring himself as he gestured grandly. “NO! EHA HAH!AEHAHHA HA!! I'll BE [[BIG SHOT]]! SO [BIG] SO [Bright] I'LL FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY FINA—[[Hyperlink blocked]]!!!”

“W0ULD YOU [Quit] LOOKING AT ME [[Like that]]!?” Spamton said, lowering into a crouch. Blue was pressed against the opposite end of the bench. “I ALREADY [Telled] Y0U I'M NOT [Highly contagious]!”

“It's not that—you're just… a little intense sometimes,” Blue said, making an effort to physically relax. They tucked a strand of hair behind their cheek. “And, I'm, um, not.”

He snorted, breathing more deeply as his polygons returned to a normal state. He slid back down into a regular sitting position, resting his tail in his lap. 

“Are you alright? That looked kind of—your glitches, I mean—”

“YOU G3T USED TO IT,” Spamton said. Would they quit asking if he's okay? He's sick of answering.

“Oh. Well, um, I was hoping for the park to be a place to relax, if you, uh, want to talk about something else,” Blue said, wringing their hands. But, before he responded, Spamton noticed a small darkner walking towards them. 

It appeared to be some very young addison. Peachy pink fur, long unruly hair sticking in every direction, and a loose black dress. He resisted making a sound of disgust.

“Mx. Banner!” the little grub called, and it took him a moment to remember that was Blue's actual name. They pivoted to Blue, giving Spamton a wide berth. Not that he was complaining. 

“Poppy? Shouldn't you be in school?” Blue questioned. 

“We got an extended weekend!” the kid declared, the strands of the bow in their hair swaying. Two more sticky little children followed behind them, one of those electrical socket-faced ones with the pink fur and one of the bat things with the file folder wings. 

“Are you the guy that was screaming like 2 seconds ago?” Socket-face asked cheerfully while the bat hid their face in a fluffy scarf. 

“Sparky! You can't say that!” the pink addison exclaimed, whipping around and stopping their tiny, pathetic foot against the grass. Spamton glanced at Blue for any hope of an explanation. 

“Poppy's family lives in the same apartment building as me,” Blue explained. “I babysat her a few times years ago, but… I haven't really spoken to her parents since.” They shrugged.

Oh. He didn't know what “babysat” meant, but at least this little creature wasn't related to Pink. Spamton mostly avoided interactions with children; they never had any money, anyways.

“Byte's sick, and we need someone to voice the villain!” Socket-face, who was apparently named Sparky, said. “Can Mr. Weird Guy do it, pleeease?”

His tail twitched in pure bewilderment as those pleading black eye sockets were directed at him. “HAVEN'T YOU H3ARD OF [[StrangerDanger]]? KID?”

“Uh, can't one of you three do it?” Blue asked as Poppy yelled at Socket-face again. The last kid was still silently watching with wide black eyes, massive ears twitching. 

“We can't do any good evil voices!” the little addison said, eyes closed as if she was preparing for a sales pitch. 

“THE [[#&$@]] ARE YOU EVEN [Doin]?” 

“We're playing with our toys,” Sparky explained, holding out a little animal figure with an oversized head and large, sparkly eyes. It smelled like plastic. 

“It sounds lame when you say it like that,” Poppy complained, folding her arms. 

“Okay, everyone hold on,” Blue said, sounding exasperated. “Why doesn't everyone introduce themselves properly?”

“I'm Popup! But, everyone calls me Poppy,” the little addison said confidently. She pointed. “His name's—”

“Hi! I'm Sparky!” the second one said before the addison could finish for him. “Um, I like Super Smashing Fighters.” 

Poppy tried to speak for the last kid, but Sparky put a paw over her mouth.

“I'm Jay,” the bat-like darkner said, hiding behind their wings. Spamton tilted his head, determining that this one was the most tolerable out of the three. 

“HEY EVERY    ! IT'S ME! [#1 RATED SALESMAN 1997] SPAMTON G. SPAMTON!” He prattled off a version of his usual introduction. 

“So can you voice the bad guy?”

His claws twitched. 

“I'm sorry, but we can't,” Blue answered far more politely than he ever would. “We came here to just relax.”

“Fiiiiiine,” Poppy grumbled, gesturing to her friends to come back with her to whatever corner they crawled out of. 

“Sorry about that,” Blue said to him. “Heh, I’m surprised Poppy even remembers me.” They threaded their fingers through their hair.

“HA! WHO WOULD [[Don't Forget]] YOU?” Spamton replied, keeping his hands busy by fidgeting with his tail. When he made it BIG… Well, he could grant them some mercy. They were a business partner of sorts.

And, they were such a wonderful host to him. Blue would certainly be one of the first taken if he didn't interfere. They were his , and he still liked them alive.

“Ha, thank you,” Blue said, looking away bashfully. “I mean, I don't really know a lot of people; it's just been the four of us for a while now. Well, I suppose I have a group of five now.” They smiled at him.

He felt a twinge in his stomach at “five.” He always knew that this friendship of theirs was temporary, but they were just so confident about it. Somehow, they completely believed him.

Their attention was directed to the three kids as they returned, and… sat in the grass between their bench and the tree. They dug out more of those little pet toys and a couple tiny props out of a sparkly backpack. He couldn't see too well from his distance, but they appeared to be setting the stuff up in the grass. 

Poppy cleared her throat. “The three heroes, Cherry, Lime, and Mango!” she announced, pointing at a red, green, and orange toy respectively. 

“And… the other one, Rat!” The last toy looked virtually the same, but was a dark gray. 

“That's the bad guy,” Sparky added, and Spamton finally realized the group of three was trying to talk to him and Blue. “But, no one knows they're totally evil!”

“They're a shapeshifter,” Jay finally spoke again, their voice muffled by the scarf. “They can turn into a big monster.”

Frankly, he wasn't that interested. He didn’t exactly have time to play pretend when he was younger. But, there wasn't anything else to do here but half-heartedly listen. It was at least marginally better than being alone with his thoughts.

After their little introduction, the kids focused on voicing their characters as they went on a “quest to reach the Giant Tree.” The heroes met with the gray creature, the only one who knew the pathway to the tree. 

Their characters conversed, with the addison ending up voicing the fourth member. They moved the toys along, acting out side-quests that he had little interest in. Still, his tail lazily flicked as he watched. 

Eventually, a scruffy stuffed animal was pulled out of the bag and set in front of the other toys. 

“It's a monster!”

“We don't have any weapons…”

“What do we do?”

Spamton watched as the gray animal toy was repeatedly jabbed into the stuffed animal in an attempt to “fight” it. 

“Rat, you've saved us!” Sparky cheered as Poppy chucked the stuffed toy across the ground. It landed near Spamton's feet, and he curiously picked it up with his tail. It resembled a rabbit, and was one of the least threatening creatures they could've chosen.

“Can we have that back?” she asked, already reaching for the toy. 

“HEY! [Find her] KEEPERS!! IT'LL [[Cost ya]]!” He moved the toy to one hand, and very carefully pushed her hand away with the other, not wanting to accidentally hurt a tiny limb. 

“Wh—Spamton, please just give it back,” Blue said. 

“C'MON! THEIR [5 days old]! THEY GOTTA LEARN [Valuable life lesson]!” Sitting here was boring. What was wrong with having a little fun? 

Blue sighed, and Spamton watched gleefully as they pulled a single dollar out of their wallet. 

“DEAL DEAL DEAL DEAL DEAL D3AL DEAL!!!!!” He snatched the dollar, throwing the plush back in the general direction of the addison kid. 

He slotted the dollar between his teeth, swallowing it whole. 

“Woah, you can do that?” Spamton tilted his head as Poppy looked at him with curiosity. 

“YEAH? [Anything else?] ARE YOU GOING TO DO [w/] [Delicis] KROMER ?!” 

She took a moment to decipher his speech. “Um, pay rent? Food? Taxes?” 

“[[Sales Tax]]?? TAKE IT FROM, ME,, KID. IT,S YOUR [Cold Hard Stacks]! THE [[Government Scandal]] DOESN'T [dessert] ANY!!!” 

“Can I try a dollar, Mx. Banner?”

“Oh my gosh,” Blue groaned. “You can't eat money! It's covered in germs—you'll get sick.” 

“But, Mr. Spamton ate it.” At this point, the other two kids had walked over, wondering what the fuss was. 

“Spamton, um, isn't a good role model,” Blue said, sounding like they felt bad for admitting it. 

“MAYBE WHEN YOUR [Ages 18 and older]!” Spamton said to the three kids, amused by Blue's exasperation. Why did they care? These weren't their kids. 

He continued watching the make-believe game while Blue succumbed to their boredom and pulled their phone out. Socket-face used the backpack as a tent for their little characters, moving closer to the tree. 

“Oooh! Betrayal time!” the peach addison said, smiling as the plastic characters gathered around a “fire” that was really a circle of rocks. 

“I'm glad the beast is dead!”

“Yeah! We're really close to the Great Tree now.”

“All thanks to you!” The toys’ heads were turned to look at the gray one. 

“You've done so much for us,” the bat darkner finally spoke again. 

“You've defended our lives.” They manipulated the oversized head of their toy as if it was their conduit as they spoke.

“You've become like a family member to us,” they said to the expressionless gray creature that had always planned to betray them. 

“We love you.”

He squeezed his tail between his hands as his breath stuttered. They were really laying it on thick, weren't they?

He could do nothing but watch as the toys were dragged to the root of the tree, and the gray animal was switched for another plastic figure of a far larger and toothier beast.

He could do nothing but listen as the three did their best impressions of screams of horror (completely terrible by his standards), plastic figures bumping into each other as they replicated a fight scene. 

He could do nothing but think of words that would never be meant for him. 

“—Would've been cooler if someone voiced the evil guy,” Poppy said, flopping backward into the grass. Apparently, they had finished their game. 

‘AR3N'T YOU AN ADDISON? YOU [Soft-shelled] [Grubs] SHOULD KNOW [[Nothing comes free in this world]]!” Spamton smoothed down his tail fur, forcing himself to regain his composure. 

“Yeah, whatever,” she pouted, sitting back up in order to put the toys back in the backpack. 

“I brought my Pocket Creature cards,” Sparky said, and he watched with confusion as all three scampered off back to a spot by the playground where they had apparently left their belongings unattended, completely forgetting about him and Blue.

“Sorry about that,” Blue said, finally looking up. 

“I'M [[Alive and well]], AREn’T I?” Spamton replied, sliding off the bench and stretching his tail. He didn't care for the unsupervised larvae of strangers, but sitting silently next to Blue felt much more… relaxing than having to deal with their fretting, worrying, questions, looks of fear—

Spamton stepped towards the tree once more, breathing whatever earthy scents he could through the suffocating plastic of his mask. His gaze turned up and up, towards the chirping birds flitting across power lines and the red fruits tethered to the branches of the tree. 

He wasn't quite sure what his relationship with the addisons was morphing into. He's gone through more new experiences this past month and a half than he has in years. No matter how many times he thought he'd ruined it, they still wanted him as their friend. 

He pressed his palm against the tree, hearing the rough surface snag on the thin fabric. 

Spamton heard Blue get up and approach, their footsteps sounding different on the grass. 

“Y'know, I was thinking; my magic has collision. Maybe I could pull one of those fruits off the tree with it,” they said, face twisting in consideration. 

Spamton tilted his head, watching as their right hand reached upwards. A flash of blue light spread out into the long rectangular shape of a banner advertisement. 

He roughly knew how addison magic worked, even if he couldn't cast any of his own. Their ads were persistent enough to last years, yet could be broken easily. He couldn't say an addison's ever done more than one pathetic point of damage to him.

Blue carefully maneuvered their relatively small ad upwards. Their hand shook as they concentrated. 

“Sorry, I’m, uh, not used to using my magic like this,” Blue commented, the ad getting stuck on the branches a few times as they moved towards a low-hanging fruit. 

Spamton didn't have any experience using magic, but he did know that he could've already grabbed that fruit a minute ago if he had his way. Hell, he could probably reach it from the ground if there weren't so many potential witnesses. 

“Um, okay, I don't think this is gonna—” Blue cut themself off as the fruit was finally freed from the tree. 

Instinct kicked in, and Spamton pounced on it with perfect predatory precision. His tail trailed behind him, brushing against the ground as he crouched down and tore into his prey, stomach long empty from the maus he ate last night. 

His puppet mask got in the way, as it always did, but he managed to sink his teeth into a good amount of flesh. Sugary sweet blood filled his mouth, quickly dripping through the gaps of his mask. 

He hungrily dug in, swallowing as much delicious syrup as he could. The soft meat was saturated in it, oozing as his teeth cut past the skin. He swallowed the last morsel, finally remembering that he was supposed to be paying attention to his surroundings. 

Spamton licked at the sticky juice all over his mask, rising from the crouched position he had taken and rotating his head backwards to peer at the darkner next to him.

“Oh!” Blue took a full step back, and he flinched in turn as he saw the look on their face. 

“Sorry, sorry!” they said quickly. “All that dark candy juice is deep black, y'know?” They held their palms out, a gesture they usually did when trying to placate him. 

“...WHAT?”

“It looks kind of, um… bloody.” Blue winced as though the admission of that was a crime. Oh.

“EHAHA!” Spamton laughed nervously, hyperaware of the drying juice still stuck to his face under the mask. “WHERE’ D THAT COME FROM??? [[Bloodstains]]? ME? TH4T WOULD BE [Unprofessional]!!!!!” 

They squinted at him, and he made an effort to fix his posture and tilt his neck the right way, unsure what exactly they were scrutinizing. 

“Is your tongue… blue?”

Spamton twitched as a glitch started to build up the second he heard the last word. GOD DAMNIT!

“IT'S NOT A—N0Tt T 4a—” he cut himself off with garbled electronic noise, realizing that it was the worst possible thing he could say. 

“Hey, it's okay,” Blue said. They reached towards him hesitantly, then decided against it, which made him feel even worse. 

“It just surprised me, that's all. Since your fur's so, uh, dark and all,” they mumbled, offering a faint smile. He breathed in, resisting the urge to claw at his own head. 

They didn't know anything about spam programs. It was just an innocent question. 

“YE Y3AH! IT’s NOT [Re:important] SO DON'T. BRING. IT. UP. DEAL?” Spamton grit his teeth.

“Um, okay?”

“DEAL?”

“...Deal.” Blue looked at him, confused, and he could only hope that they would actually listen to him. 

Spamton turned around, hiding his face behind his sleeve for extra security. He'd gotten lucky that they thought it was a tongue, that they must've only seen it for a single moment

And they'll never see it again, he thought, as his second mouth extended past his sharp mandibles. Its long, segmented form slid across the juice-stained mouth of his mask, strands of saliva left behind in its wake. 

It brushed against the taste buds along the roof of his mouth, leaving a faint trace of sweetness. Then, its vibrant blue surface fully retracted back into his jaws, hidden from view once more.

Spamton wiped the spit off his mask, turning around and presenting Blue with the same plastic smile he's always had. 

“SO! [[Where to]] FOR LUNCH???” Spamton asked with as much enthusiasm as he could fake, brushing the debris off his pants. 

“Wh—Spam, that dark candy was, like, the size of a watermelon!” Blue said, miming the size of it with their hands.

“AND? WE HAVE A [[Hot Deals]] , BLUE!!!” He positioned his hands the same as theirs, then widened them. He was given an amused snort for his efforts.

“Alright, alright,” Blue said, smiling for real. “I swear, you're like a bottomless pit sometimes.” 

“HEY! ITS [Honest Work] MAINTAINING THIS [[Handsom Body]]!” Spamton said. Blue laughed, and it made his chest feel weird, but not necessarily in a bad way.

He just wasn't familiar with the feeling of making someone happy. 

He smoothed his hair down and adjusted the lapels of his suit, the concrete feeling cold and harsh on his feet as the two of them left the grass. 

“……HOW ABOUT WE [[Take]] A DIFFERENT [[@&$&]] [Walkable Infrastructure] TH1S TIME???”

Chapter Text

C'mon, c'mon! 

Couldn't he have been early instead of late today? The sooner they could leave, the better. Maybe it would leave if they left?

…Or, it would still be in the building, the only difference being that Blue wouldn't know where it was anymore.

They shuddered, glancing at the corner where they last spotted it. Well, ignorance was bliss. Maybe if they couldn't tell where it was, their fear would disappear alongside it. 

Blue checked the time on their phone again anxiously. If it wasn't the middle of the workday, they would've been tempted to call Orange and ask them to deal with it. Their friend was far less squeamish than they were, that was for sure.

They internally screamed for joy when they finally spotted Spamton peeking out from his favorite alley.

“HEY BLUE!” he greeted, tail swishing behind him as he walked towards Cyber Shoes II.

“H-hey, Spamton!” Blue replied, their voice definitely shakier than usual. He paused.

“WHAT R YOU [[aFr41D…]] 0f?” 

“There's a spider in the store,” Blue admitted, wringing their hands. “By the back shelves. I know I should get rid of it, but, um, I-I just…”

“[Where in the] IS IT??” Spamton asked, shoveling past the door and into the store on his own. Blue followed, confused by his sudden eagerness. 

“It was right over there,” Blue said, dramatically pointed towards where the middle shelf met the wall.

Spamton surged forward with confidence, tail sliding back and forth across the carpet. He peered into the darkness between the shelves with not even a millisecond of hesitation, and they were almost jealous of his lack of fear.

“SER1USLY?” he scoffed. Blue jumped as his hand lunged into the gap. They could see legs moving in the darkness as he dragged his arm back out.

Ew ew ew why why why why why?

“YOUR AFRIAD OF [[This]]!!?” Spamton scoffed. Blue took several steps backwards as his arm retracted from the shelf. He was holding the spider with his bare hand—mitten! Whatever!

 A gross layer of cobwebs and dust coated his sleeve, several chunks falling to the floor. The spider, bigger than his palm, twitched its disgusting legs aggressively as Spamton curiously poked at its large abdomen with his thumb.

“EAHAHA! IT IS’nT EVEN TRYING TO [Get a Bite to Eat at]!” he said, holding the spider uncomfortably close to his face. Its two long, sharp fangs flexed angrily as it failed to defend itself, very clearly trying to bite him. 

“I know they don't usually bite people,” Blue replied, deciding that the spider being manhandled by Spamton was a reasonable exception. 

“But, they're just so creepy!” Blue exclaimed. “Where do I even start? The fangs—” they glanced at the writhing spider again, then quickly decided to look away. ”Teeth shouldn't be able to move like that! And, I hate how… uncomfortably hairy they are.”

“The way they crawl all over the walls, the way they hide in the dark,” Blue rambled. “And, the legs. Nothing in this world needs that many legs!”

“8'$ N0T E^0U6H!1!” Spamton claimed, voice suddenly sounding more glitchy than usual. He gripped the spider tighter, almost curling in on himself. 

“Y0UV3 G0T Y0u'VE gOT You'v3 G0T F0RE 4ND YOUR ONLY US1NG 2!! [[Who you gonna call]] IF 1 GETS [Injured? Call now]???” 

“So do you,” Blue pointed out. Spamton briefly looked down at his own body as though he somehow needed to double-check how many limbs he had.

“EAHAHAH AHA SUR3 DO!” he said, head violently jolting back upwards. “BUT I;M NOT [[DENIED]] The [supereority complex] OF [Baker's dozen] LEGS!!” 

“I mean, I guess an extra pair of hands would be useful sometimes, but a ‘dozen’ seems a bit excessive,” Blue said, deciding to humor him. His glitching seemed to usually correlate with stress, and they wondered what had upset  him. 

“YEAH, SEE???? ANYTHING'S [2's better than 1]!!” Spamton insisted. They couldn't help but be distracted by the live spider still caged between his fingers. It appeared that he noticed it, too. 

“SPEAKING OF [DYEING]!” he stated abruptly. Blue waited for the second half of his comment, but it never came. 

Instead, Spamton quickly went back out the front door, still tightly holding the spider. Blue trailed after him at a much slower pace, and stopped in the doorway. All they saw was the last half of his tail as it disappeared into the alley that he came from.

Was he… getting rid of the spider for them? That would be nice of him. Usually, Blue would call Orange and they'd summon an ad to pick up the spider with and put it outside. 

As Blue awkwardly waited for Spamton to return, they came to the realization that they regretted shaking his hand that first day more than they already did. 

Eventually, he poked his head out of the alley, and walked back to Blue, thankfully spider-free. 

“Um, thanks?” Blue said. Spamton looked much calmer now, the jaw of his mask click-clacking open and closed, accompanied by several crunches and squelches. 

“Uh…” Blue started.

“JUST [[Deep Cleaning]] MY T33TH!” he said innocently.

“Aaaaalright then,” Blue responded. Maybe he had a snack in his pocket? What else would he be chewing?

…

As usual, Blue took Spamton out for lunch. He held his take-out box possessively on the way back, then practically inhaled the whole thing as soon as he sat down. It was all standard procedure by now. 

They were having Spamton practice making actual advertisements by drawing out concepts on paper. Blue was starting to learn that, while he was a fast learner, most of his customers just didn't like him. 

Whenever they took him to the Advertising District, Spamton would do a great job following their advice, but it just… didn't work.

Blue couldn't change how he looked, or spoke, or acted, and he shouldn't have to change aspects of himself. It was unfair how he was treated, but all they could really do was watch as he grumbled in frustration over every last failed attempt. 

So, they were introducing him to less aggressive ways to sell his products. Namely, good ol’ flyers to hang around the city. Cheap and simple.

Blue took a seat next to Spamton at their break table, not sure what exactly to expect as he pulled a stack of crumpled and messily folded printer paper out of his jacket.

“[Quality Designs] STRAIGHT FROM MY!” he commented as he unfolded the first one, struggling with his mittens. Blue had given him some paper to draw ideas onto, and Spamton had insisted on taking all of it home with him, complaining about Blue's lack of art supplies. 

Given his homemade business card, perhaps they should've expected him to have an interest in art. And, yeah, Blue didn't own a whole lot of art supplies, since the most they've done is follow some kits and occasionally fill in a coloring book page. 

When he finally got the paper open, the first thing Blue saw was a drawing of himself, done in the same sharp and jagged style as his business card. 

One hand was visible, drawn with three pointed ends, reaching towards the viewer. His entire figure was surrounded by incoherent black scribbles, giving the entire drawing an ominous feel. 

The rest of it was filled with Spamton's angular yet shaky handwriting. At the top, in bold, pointy letters, it read:

‘ALL ALONE ON A LATE NITE?  ABANADONED FOR THE SLIME YOU ARe? A DEAL FOR! LONLY HARTS LiKE YoU!!!’

The letters started out big, but got smaller as he ran out of space and had to improvise. Below the messy, frantic drawing of himself staring directly at the viewer was a section with much smaller text:

‘BUT WAIT THEREZ          ! WHY BE A LITTOL SPONGE THAT HATES ITS LIVE WEN YOU C AN BE A BIGSHOT! ’ 

‘#1RATEDSALESMAN1997 SPAMTON G SPAMTON’

‘I will find you.’

He held his “poster” eagerly, like a child presenting a drawing worthy of being taped to the fridge. Blue was at a loss. 

“Wow, it's…um,” Blue stalled for time as Spamton tilted his head in that bird-like way he always did. 

“It's very ‘you?’ I guess? It reminds me of your business card.” He narrowed his eyes, fur starting to puff up.

“I mean–I just think it needs more direction? Like, a description of your products. Or, um, an actual location?” Blue continued. 

His atrocious grammar and spelling could also use some work, but… one step at a time.

“WHAT [To know your location]???” I CAN FIND [[Meat fresh from the deli]] JUST FINE!” Spamton argued, the sound of his tail thwacking the carpet beneath the table evident. 

“I know, I—the point of making flyers is so that the customers come to you, not the other way around.” Blue frowned. “Do you need help finding somewhere? I—”

“[[Trash Area Closed For Repairs]]!!!”

“What?”

“TtR< ASs#HH ZONE! WHERE [[Or else]] DO YOU THINK I GET ALL MY [Baked goods] FROM???” Spamton said, patting his jacket for emphasis. 

“Isn't it kind of… dangerous there?” Blue questioned. The Trash Zone was, well, a dump. Those mountains of waste could not be stable. 

“I [Don't you know?] WHAT I'M DOIING! [[Beside]],, IT'LL JUST BE THE [[Grand entrance]]!” Spamton picked up one of the posters, then plucked a marker from his jacket, the cap covered in tooth marks. He started writing, the marker looking like it would dry up any second.

“You're left handed?” Blue prompted curiously. His fingers twitched, and he quickly switched to his other hand. 

“You're ambidextrous???”

He paused. “IS TH4T tTTtt   t—  DOES IT MATT3R????”

“...No?” Blue said. “It just surprised me, that's all.”

He visibly relaxed a little, continuing to write with his right hand. Spamton went through his collection of posters, adding ‘TRASH ZONE’ onto each. 

Honestly, Blue was impressed by the sheer amount of flyers he made by hand. All of them were unique, but varied in quality, with some fully colored and others barely touched. 

Blue's attention was yanked back when Spamton frantically flipped over the next sheet, hiding whatever was scribbled on it. The other side was blank. 

“I'm not gonna judge your drawings, Spam. I mean, I can't even draw a stick figure,” Blue said, shrugging. 

“ITS NOT [[Important notice]]!!!” he said quickly, clenched fingers crumpling the paper more than it already was. 

Blue was curious what he drew, but they didn't want to force him to show it if he wasn't comfortable sharing. 

Eventually, though, Spamton made a sound of frustration, and flipped the paper back over. “FINE! WHATEVV3R!!! I NEEDED A [Broke] FROM MAKING [[Advertising Production]]! ITS NOTHIN6 [Specil]!”

He looked down to the side, tail curling tightly in… embarrassment? Blue glanced at the creased paper, the edges torn and frayed.

All that was on it was a relatively small pencil sketch of two figures in the corner. The first they immediately clocked as a drawing of Spamton, done in the same way he usually drew himself. 

Next to him was a smaller figure. The broad shapes of it were similar, as though he used himself as a base. Closed happy eyes were scribbled over circular eyes. The hair was longer and flat on the top. The teeth were rounded rather than sharp. 

“Did you draw… me?” 

Spamton flinched at the question, continuing to avoid eye contact. 

“I JUST I JUST I JUST I JUST I [Don't] DRAW [[Advertisement slots available]], OKAY??!?” he gestured nervously with his hands. “THAT'S A [[Product prototype]]! WAS GONN4 [Discard immediately]!”

“Um, if you don't want it, can I maybe keep it?” Blue asked. They carefully picked up the paper, and he didn't stop them. “I really like it.”

After a moment of silence, Spamton looked up slowly. “WELL W3LL WELL! THAT'S [[One of a]]!!! THAT'LL COST [Auction price]!” He cupped his hands in front of himself, all nervousness gone. 

Blue sighed, and fished a single bill out of their purse. As soon as it landed in his palms, his fingers snapped closed around it like a Venus flytrap. Spamton brought the dollar to his open jaws, and swallowed it whole.

Right. That was something he did. Should they even be surprised at this point?

Spamton hummed contently, tail flicking in enjoyment as he shoved his drawing to the side and placed the rest of his posters in a pile. Blue gently picked up his drawing and carefully folded it, slipping it into their purse. 

“Do you want some tape to borrow to hang those up?” Blue asked. 

“I'LL [Management changes]!” Spamton said, folding the papers and shoving them in his jacket. He slid out of his chair, ready to leave for the day.

“GOT [People and places] TO BE!” he added, walking towards the door. He'd always say he was busy, yet never what he was actually busy with. Sales? Advertising?

Perhaps he was drawing? Spamton's art didn't speak of years of professional experience, but it was clear he had passion for it. They were curious why he'd never mentioned it when they asked about his hobbies. 

The two of them said their usual goodbyes, waving at each other. Blue offered a soft smile as Spamton left, letting his tail move freely behind himself. 

The journey was far from over, but they were glad to see him getting more comfortable around them. They had been a bit weirded out at the time, but, looking back at it, that moment with the hair dryer was the happiest they've ever seen him. 

It was clear from how Spamton reacted that he hadn't wanted to react like that, but they hoped that one day he'd just allow himself to be happy. 

They hoped that one day he'd grant them the same trust they put in him. Even a little bit. All of his physical barriers were still in place—his mask, his gloves, he wouldn't even take off his jacket—Blue still knew so little about him, even now. 

It was probably their own fault. No matter how much they tried to suppress it, Spamton somehow always knew when they were uncomfortable, weirded out, or even scared. Sometimes it felt like he could literally hear their beating heart. 

No wonder the poor guy wore a mask. Would he ever want to take it off? Certainly not in front of them. He got fruit juice on his face and the first thing their brain thought it would be was blood.

Blue took the folded drawing back out of their purse, careful not to smudge the graphite. They wished they could be a better friend to him. But, their little group of four was the only friends he had, and he must've valued some aspect of that.

…Enough to draw a smiling Blue next to himself, a hair-length away from touching, with his tail, drawn much longer than it actually was, circling around both of them. 

Had he made himself taller than them on purpose? The silly idea was enough to prompt a small laugh. 

Blue decided they'd have to hang the drawing up on the cork board in their room, right next to Spamton's little business card. It was a place where they kept all their photos of their friends, a collage of happy memories. 

Come to think of it, they didn't have any pictures of Spamton. With no phone of his own, he'd never expressed interest in it. Perhaps they'll have to finally capture a photo of their newest friend and add it to the board. 

With that thought in mind, Blue returned to their work, their view of the future tentative yet hopeful. 

———

“Hi, Orange!”

“Blue?” Orange questioned, opening the door of their workshop and squinting at them. They took their ear buds out. “Heh, surprised you're not hangin’ out with Spamton,” they teased lightly. 

“I have other friends, you know,” Blue said, rolling their eyes playfully. “Besides, who else is going to hang out with him?”

“Hey, I invited him for movie night! Doesn't that count for something?” Orange replied. They took a sip of an energy drink, and Blue really hoped it wasn't their second can. 

“That guy's a riot,” Orange grinned. “Kept rooting for the zombies. Cheered when the one guy got infected. Which you know, I can't argue with, cause that dude was pretty annoying.”

Blue winced. “Yeah, that, uh, sure sounds like Spamton alright,” they said, remembering their own experiences trying to watch movies with him. 

They had at some point found out he liked documentaries, especially on animals. Which they thought was a perfectly innocent interest until he started passionately describing in detail how to kill each animal they looked at, tail tip twitching excitedly the entire time, made worse by the fact that he referred to them as "customers" half the time.

“Yeah,” Orange agreed, then paused. “He actually got really quiet during the one lab scene when they were curing a zombie. Like, he was just completely frozen.”

“And, when there was that close-up scene of the needle with the antidote, his glasses went gray. It went away, but… have you seen him do that before?”

“...Yes,” Blue admitted. “I don't know exactly what triggers it, um, if anything? But… it's nothing good.”

It honestly scared them when he was like that. Sometimes it was accompanied by heavy glitching, sometimes he would just stand there, seemingly lost in his own head. Sometimes he'd speak in a quiet, wavering voice that sounded wrong coming out of his mouth. Sometimes it would last for a second, sometimes it would last for countless minutes. 

“Maybe he's afraid of needles?” Orange suggested, still sounding unsure. 

“Maybe. It's just… hard to imagine that a guy that picks up venomous spiders with his bare hands is afraid of anything,” Blue said quickly, laughing nervously at the thought. 

“Eh, who knows? He's certainly full of surprises,” Orange replied, taking another sip. Blue had told Orange about the spider incident the day it happened, and they were significantly less concerned. Perhaps they shouldn't have expected anything different from an addison also willing to pick up (harmless) computer bugs off the ground.

“What brings you here, anyways? Just checking up?” they added.

“Well, it's my day off,” Blue said, gesturing at their sweater and jeans. “Didn't have anything planned after lunch with Spam, so I figured I'd visit you guys.”

“Damn, you still get lunch with him on your days off? Spamton's got you wrapped around his finger,” Orange ribbed, not actually upset. 

“I like getting lunch with him!” Blue protested anyway. “I think he appreciates it, even if he never, um, says he does. And, he's a good listener!” they insisted. 

“To you, maybe. I had to listen to him bicker with Pink for half the movie trilogy. Those two mix like fire and gasoline,” Orange said. 

“You're definitely his favorite,” they concluded. 

“Huh? I wouldn't say that,” Blue responded, caught off guard. 

“Who else does he like more? Himself? …Actually, don't answer that.”

“What are you working on, anyways?” Blue said, happy to move on from the source of their no-doubt flustered appearance. 

“I started a new project today. Well, kind of new. Do you remember that dress mannequin?” Orange asked, opening the door to the back room. 

“Yeah?” Blue said. They stepped inside, noticing the infamous mannequin stood across from Orange's cluttered work table. 

“How long have you been working on this?” Blue asked, noticing the surprising amount of progress Orange had already made. 

“Um, since about 9 AM?” Orange said, taking a moment to recall. 

“Wh—okay, that's it. You're taking a break. And I’m forcing you to actually eat something, because I know you haven't.” Blue said as firmly as they could muster. 

“Fiiiiine,” Orange said, turning off the sewing machine. “But, seriously, I’ve had clients interested in the dress, but nobody wants to buy the actual mannequin off of me, so I’m finally working on making a pattern for it.”

Orange sat down in their chair, and Blue took the spare one. They still remember how excited a much younger Orange had been to show the frilly dress to the other addisons, trying to get around mentioning the fact that they had accidentally sewn it directly to the mannequin’s fabric skin. Despite being one of their first designs, Orange still kept it in the display windows to this day. 

“I can't believe you still have that thing,” Blue said. 

“Hey! It's still a good example of my work!” Orange protested. “And besides, that thing is way too short for an addison model—I shouldn't have bought it anyways.”

“Actually, considering that I bought it second-hand without any labels, I'm starting to wonder if it’s actually based on a spam program instead of an addison,” Orange mused, patting its sculpted hair. 

“I guess it does kind of look like Spamton,” Blue said, squinting at it. With no legs and the tail already missing when Orange bought it, it was honestly a mystery. 

“It really doesn’t,” Orange said, frowning. “Have you ever seen a spam program other than Spamton?” they said with a suddenly serious tone.

“Not that I know of,” Blue said slowly. 

“Me neither. So, I looked them up,” Orange continued, scrutinizing the old, dingy mannequin. 

“Spamton looks nothing like one.”

“Sure, maybe his fur's the right color and he's the right height, but that's it. ” Orange took their phone out of their pocket, unlocking it and opening a picture of an advertisement to show Blue. 

It predominantly featured a black and white addison—spam program—smiling with their signature closed eyes. Their fur had a similar pattern to Spamton’s, but the scruff around their neck was significantly shorter, closer to the fluff Pink had than the entire mane he had. All in all, they were a spitting image of the white mannequin, while Spamton was not.

“Spam programs are literally just addisons with a few code mutations,” Orange continued, showing another image of a fully white spam program advertising what looked like a virus from the several giant “CLICK HERE” buttons plastered around them. 

Their tail went to their ankles, looking no different from any other addison's feathery tail aside from being slightly longer. And… Blue hadn't thought much about Spamton's proportions previously; there was plenty of variety between darkner body types. But, compared to this authentic spam program, they realized just how disproportionate he really was. 

His oversized tail, as well as the shape of it. How his thin arms and legs didn't match his body. The length and unnatural flexibility of his neck. The fact that his arms and legs were practically the same length. All the parts of Spamton they had gotten used to that suddenly seemed wrong again. 

“He's lying. He has to be. Glitches and corruption can affect code, but not to the degree it makes him look like that,” Orange gestured broadly in place of a description, but Blue didn't need one. They already knew. 

“But, I have no idea what else he would be. He's clearly from Cyber World based on his glitches, but there's no sapient darkner species that looks anything like him!” 

“Um, does it matter?” Blue interrupted, wringing their hands. They didn't know what to do with this information. 

“Yes! Why would he lie? And, why choose a spam program of all things? They're barely a step above malware!” Orange retorted. 

“I just—I don't know. He's a scammer, but he's not seriously hurting anyone. He's not malware,” Blue said weakly as Orange opened up their notes app like a true conspiracy theorist.

“Look, I get it, Blue, but this is important. If he's not a spam program, we have no idea what he's actually coded to do. He doesn't have any of the tell-tale signs of a trojan infection, and he really does act like a spam program but… something’s just not adding up.”

“I like Spamton, weird as he is. I just don't like not knowing. I want to trust him, but there's so little we know about him, and now this… I know you have doubts, too.” Orange sighed heavily. 

Blue brushed their fingers through their hair, in need of something to ground themself with. They didn't want to think about it. They should think about it.

“He hasn't done anything bad,” Blue finally said. “If-if we were in danger, I… I think something would've already happened.”

“And, he's had authentic moments. With me, I mean. There's times he's let his guard down, and he always looks so distressed afterwards.”

“He's been alone for a really long time, and I think he has trouble trusting us,” Blue concluded. 

“Yeah,” Orange sighed. “I get what you mean. It's just… strange, you know? He acts exactly how you'd expect a spam program to act, yet he barely looks like one.”

“I, um. I guess it answers some questions,” Blue said. The noises Spamtom made. His long prehensile tail. His ability to tilt his neck 180 degrees. The fact that his legs bent like an animal's haunches. …His annoyance every time they compared him to an addison. 

“I don't think we should confront him about it,” Blue said, knowing how insistent he was about his spam program identity.

“I won't,” Orange promised. “it's not like he'd provide an answer, anyways.”

“Yeah…” Blue looked down at their lap. The idea that he wasn't a spam program provided some answers, but it came with the much bigger question of what was he?

And, why did he lie? What face was actually behind that mask?

It's…he's still Spamton, no matter what type of darkner he really is. And, above all else, he was still their friend, and that was what mattered the most. …Even if they struggled to focus on that. 

“Hey, you haven't eaten dinner yet, have you?” Orange asked. 

“Oh! No, and I was planning on making you come with me, remember?” Blue replied, thankful for the slight distraction. 

“Well, I was thinking we could cook something together. For funsies,” Orange said. 

“Uh, okay. What do you have in mind?” Honestly, cooking something would be nice; they needed to keep themself busy.

“Eh, we'll figure it out when we get there,” Orange said, drinking the last of their energy drink. “C'mon. I've been here long enough,” they smiled. 

Blue felt relieved as they stood up and followed their friend, taking the short path back to Orange's apartment once they finished locking up the store. 

———

After some time to think, they'd concluded that Spamton was still just a weird guy, regardless of species. In practice, though, it was hard to ignore. Because there had to be a reason he hid most of his features, a reason he wanted to be seen as a spam program. 

Though, as the days passed, it started to weigh less on Blue's mind. They were already used to him not acting like a normal addison, they just had a reason why now. 

Blue stood in front of their store, watching Spamton's favorite alley to pop out of. They swore they heard some sort of shuffling noise, and decided to head over.

They were surprised when they were actually greeted with pink and yellow light peering from behind the dumpster, and even more surprised when Spamton backed away from them. 

“Are you alright?” Blue asked. Something looked… off about him, but it was hard to pinpoint when he insisted on hiding in the shadows between streetlights.

“1'M F1n3!!!” Spamton snapped, “IT’S JUST ITS JU5T IT’S JUST [[Down with the sickness]]! [Signs of _______ Infection]! [Symptoms include]!” 

He stepped forward, just enough that Blue could see him a little better. Spamton's fur almost looked… gray. Like a blue-ish milky film covered it. It was about the last thing they would've expected to be wrong with him.

“Are you sick?” Blue guessed based on the glitchy slop that came out of his mouth. 

“YY YEP!! [[Sure thing]]! IT'S SPp SPAMTON [The Original]! NNn N[[Not]] [Highly infectious pathogens]!” He took several steps back even though Blue hadn't moved, and they could tell from his voice alone how stressed he was. 

“Okay. Uh… what is it?” Blue asked, still confused. There was no virus that made an addison's fur change colors. Another reminder that he wasn't one, and that they had no idea what he actually was. 

“IT’S IT S [Fine]! [[Under control]]!! TH1S [It's happening] SOMETIMESSS!” Spamton said, like he barely had a clue himself. 

“LOOK!! I JUST N33D A FEW [[Business days]] TO [Data Recovering] IT'S NORMM MAL!! [Everyone does it]!!!” He was glitching worse and worse. 

“Spamton—”

“JUST DON; T [[FreakOut]]!! OKAY!? I'LL BE FINE [Coming Soon]!!! IT'S NOT THE [[First time?]]!!!” It almost sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself than Blue. 

“Spamton,” they said more firmly. He didn't step away as they got closer, but he was still shaking. He knew this wasn't something spam programs did, but he was still desperately lying through his teeth.

“I'm not upset—goodness, why would I be?” They gently reached for his shoulder, making sure he could see their movements. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Blue asked, surprised by how Spamton slumped in relief as soon as their hand made contact. 

“NO! JuSST MAYBe [Nonperishables],” Spamton said, shuffling closer while staring at their face. 

“Um, here, I can grab you some granola bars,” Blue suggested. “I can bring you something for lunch if you don't want to go out in public,” they added. 

“I CAn't—I'M NOtT HUNGRY,” he said, which made them even more concerned. They almost tripped on the tail inching towards their ankle as they stepped away. He watched them walk away, eerily still. 

Blue walked back into their store, quickly grabbing as many bars as they could fit in their hands. What did he mean by “nonperishable?” Didn't he have food at home?

When they returned to the alley, Spamton was still in the exact same position, but now his glasses had gone gray. He was emitting an awful static, like a radio without a signal, until a single, quiet voice finally broke through.

“......please… don't leave me…”

Then, before Blue could say a word, he abruptly snapped out of it, glasses returning to their normal coloration.

“WOW!!! [[We thank you for your generous donation]]!!!!1!!” Spamton said, jarringly loud. He made grabby hands, snatching the granola bars and shoving them in his jacket. 

“I [Really] SHO—” he cut himself off mid-gesture as a sickening crunch came from his general direction, like a snapped bone. 

“EHAHAHA!! TH4T>;S F1NE!! [[EV3ryth1n6’s FiNe]]!” Spamton stepped back, then turned around, and sprinted down the alley without another word, doing nothing to reassure Blue.

They spent a good while just staring at the direction he ran off in. They had no idea what this “sickness,” was, but at least he did? With how stressed he looked, it didn't sound like a relaxing experience, whatever it was.

The guy acted like a bottomless pit when it came to food, yet whatever was wrong with him was enough to make him lose his appetite.

Blue took a deep breath, trying to calm themself. There wasn't really anything they could do but wait. Spamton said he'd be back, however many “business days” he meant. 

———

They'd started bringing lunches from home, making sure the door was unlocked during their break just in case Spamton would actually show up. 

Still, they found themself checking his alley regardless, even though nothing was there. They'd seen him everyday since they met him, and it felt jarring to eat their lunch alone again. 

As they absentmindedly chewed microwaved pasta, Blue was startled by the sound of the bell above the front door announcing the presence of someone. They slowly set their fork down, getting up to investigate.

They felt immediate relief when they saw a white nose and dual-colored glasses. Spamton stepped through the doorway, his fur looking completely normal, zero traces of whatever had happened three days ago. 

“Spamton!” Blue greeted him, smiling as they approached. He looked up, meeting their gaze. 

“BLUE? I TOLD YOU [[Not to worry,]]!!!” Spamton replied, fidgeting with his hands as the door closed behind him.

“You looked so stressed, and then you ran off, and I didn't know when you'd come back—”

“HEY, LOOK!! I'M [[Freshly peeled]] NOW! I'M FINE!” Spamton said, holding his arms out for emphasis. 

They sniffled, a million unsaid things behind it. Then, Blue leaned forward, giving him plenty of time to pull away if he wanted to. 

“WH HEY! WHAT'S [Wrong]??? WHAT ARE YOU—” Spamton went stiff as a board as Blue carefully wrapped their arms around him, resting their head on his shoulder. 

“...WhAT [Are you] DoINg?” 

“Hugging? I'm sorry, I can stop—”

NO! I M3AN,, IT,S JuST—JUST JUST I'VE NEver…” he trailed off.

Spamton hesitantly wrapped his own cold arms around Blue, pulling them closer. His soft fur tickled their nose as he leaned in, his neck practically long enough to wrap around their head. 

This close, his fur had an iridescent sparkle to it, shining in purples and blues and greens, and they wondered how they'd never noticed it before.

His body had no give to it, uneven and lumpy under their touch. There was no symmetry to it, no sense of bones or skin or muscle. Yet, they could still feel something unidentifiable moving underneath all of it as he curled around them.

They breathed in the faint smell of what almost seemed to be the poor-quality cologne you'd expect from a sleazy salesman, except something was slightly off about it, too. 

Close as they were, they could still hear no heartbeat from him.

He held them closer, what must've been his claws pricking their back. Though, they could only feel three points on each side. How sharp were they to poke directly through his mittens, their jacket, and their undershirt?

He tensed, releasing his claws and curling them towards his palms. They felt his tail brush against their ankle, starting to curl around them, but he pulled it away quickly. 

He frantically shuffled away, breathing unevenly and Blue let go of him, adjusting their posture. 

“Spamton, I'm not going to be mad at you for something like this,” Blue said, choosing their words carefully. 

“You're not an addison, and there's nothing wrong with that. I like that you're you, Spam. I don't want you to feel like you have to hide, okay?”

He looked up, all emotion shielded by his smiling mask.

“OKAY.”

His voice was apathetic, devoid of anything tangible. An automatic, meaningless response. 

He curled his tail back up. 

“CAN WE GET [Lunch & Dinner] NOW!? I'M STARVING AFTER           !” Spamton spoke with a positive tone that did not match the way he was standing completely still, arms resting at his sides, at all. 

“...Sure,” Blue said, feeling like they knew less about Spamton than ever.

Chapter Text

Spamton muttered under his breath as he pulled open the door to Cyber Café, shoes tapping against the cold tile. Despite it being late enough that the sky-grid was starting to turn red, there were still a few lights on inside, but not enough to hurt his eyes.

For a reason completely unknown to him, Pink had invited him to do some “taste testing,” specifically when there was no one else inside the store. He was suspicious of their motives; surely, after four months, they'd figured out that he was the worst person to ask for food opinions. 

Regardless, there was little they could do to him, so Spamton decided to come anyway. 

“Oh, you actually showed up,” Pink commented as he walked in, looking up from their phone. They stood behind the counter, clearly far more prepared than the last time he came to their shop at night. 

“I'M AN [[HonestMan]], [Pink Lemonade]!” Spamton replied, climbing up one of the bar stools and curling his tail around the metal for balance as it wobbled. 

Pink rolled their eyes. “Wait here,” they said, entering the kitchen without another word. 

Spamton glared at the wall, tapping his claws on the counter impatiently. He put his suit on and came all the way here just to wait?

His quiet hiss died immediately as Pink came back with a tray with four ceramic cups balanced on it. 

“It's tea,” they explained as he watched the steaming cups with interest. “They're infused with magic. It makes it taste… personalized, which is why I need your opinion specifically.”

They picked up the first cup, setting it in front of him. Spamton wrapped his hand around it, feeling the warmth seep into him. He eyed his reflection in the dark blue liquid. 

“Be honest,” Pink urged, and he was compelled to do the exact opposite. He didn't know what their intention was, but he didn't trust it. 

“WOULD YOU QUIT [[Staring contest]]???” Spamton snapped, picking the cup up and turning away from them. He was good at not physically reacting to the taste of things, but he had to make sure they couldn't see him sucking up liquid through his secondary mouth.

The pale blue surface of his proboscis extended past his teeth, the needle-sharp end scraping against the ceramic. It pooled into the bottom of the cup, soothed by the pleasant warmth. Muscles twitched as he began to drink, feeling that fuzzy heat travel through its length and into his throat.

His first thought was that the tea tasted like fruit. Maybe berries? He hadn't had many berries in his life aside from picking out what he could from half-moldy boxes. Regardless, the new flavor still tasted good, and he drank the entire cup. 

He paused as a bitter aftertaste filled his throat, impossible to ignore. As good as it tasted at first, he wasn't sure it was worth the lingering discomfort that came with it. 

“IT'S [A little okay]!” Spamton said as he turned around. He could feel some decent healing magic from the tea, but he was already at full health. It at least made his body hurt a little less. 

“Is that it?” Pink said, squinting at him. “I need a detailed description.”

“WHY'D YOU ASK [Myself]??? I CAN BARELY [Taste test] ANYTHING!” Spamton retorted, reaching for the next cup. It wasn't exactly true; he could taste plenty of awful things, he was just desensitized to a lot of the stronger stuff at this point. 

Did this one even count as tea? It looked like radioactive strawberry milk. He could almost feel it searing his naval cavity despite the plastic mask shielding his nose. Nevertheless, he turned back around and cautiously started to drink.

Despite his initial impression, it was better than he expected. Maybe a hint of fruit, and horribly bitter, but that was it. Unlike the first one, this one was consistent in its awfulness, with no unexpected aftertaste. He drank the entire thing regardless. Food was food. 

“THIS IS [Terrible quality]!” THE [[#$%&]] ARE YOU [Selling] TO DARKN3RS WITH [Weak Stomach? Try out] THAN ME??” he commented, delighted in how defeated Pink looked.

“Hilarious,” they said with a deadpan voice, looking more tired. Spamton picked up the next cup.

It looked like watery orange juice with some specks of indeterminate composition floating in it. By first impressions alone, the first one he tried was currently winning by a landslide.

It tasted a little… earthy? Maybe like moss, but not nearly as tasty. It was a new flavor for him, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. It seemed okay the longer he drank, but he still wasn't sure how to feel. 

“THIS [Number one] TASTES WRONG,’” Spamton declared after he finished, picking up the next one without further input.

The last one looked like milk, but slightly too yellow to be normal. Or, at least, he was pretty sure milk wasn't normally yellow. It also ended up tasting like milk, with maybe the slightest hint of chocolate, and possibly another fruit he couldn't identify. 

It was fairly straightforward, and it was so inoffensive he was wondering if there was something he was missing. It felt tame compared to the confusion of all the others, and left him confused anyways. 

“BORING!” he decided, setting the cup back down and pushing the tray away. At least the bitter taste from the first one was gone. “IF YOU WANT T0 [Cyanide] ME, YOU’RE GONNA [Need] SOMETHING STRONGER!!!”

“I need you to be honest,” Pink replied. “You're seriously going to tell me you hate all of my tea when you drank every last drop?”

“I [Told you so]!! I DON'T CARE FOR [refined palate]! BUT, IF YOU WANT [Honest anonymous answers] NAME YOUR [[Prices vary]]!!!”

Pink narrowed their eyes. “Even if I would do that, I have zero faith you'll actually be honest.” 

“SURE WON'T!! YOU GOT A NYMORE [Cyber Bake-Off] FOR ME IN HERE?”

“No? I just gave you four damn cups of tea.” They sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose. “Look, I've got something else to ask about while you're here.” Spamton tilted his head, unsure how to react, considering how weird the tea tasting had been.

“We go to the City Carnival every year. Just the four of us. But, I just know Blue is going to ask if you can come, so I figured I'd get it out of the way.”

“[[Then there's the]] WHY ARE [You, yes you] ASKING???” Spamton questioned, caught off guard.

Pink sighed again. “I know Blue cares about you. A lot. And, I don't entirely believe that you're not some Dark Web criminal. But, you haven't done anything yet, so I guess that counts for something. …Even if I still don't trust you.”

“You're… tolerable, I guess,” Pink continued. “And, uh, we'll pay for your ticket and food. Because I know you won't.”

Pink referring to him in any positive way whatsoever was about the last thing Spamton expected when he walked in here, even if “tolerable” was still the bare minimum. His tail twitched under the stool as he tried not to show his sheer surprise. 

Spamton had never been interested in the carnival and its rides. Even from a distance, it looked so loud, bright and overwhelming, darkners swarming around like a colony of ants. Not to mention the fact that he'd have to pay to get in. Legally, at least.

Really, he knew he should say no to something that seemed so personal to the addisons; he was already getting way too close by joining their Cyber Grill dinners practically every other week at this point.

He gained nothing by joining them. Even observing the fair from a distance, he knew he would hate going there. There was no reason for him to go.

“SURE! [[Why wait? Call now]] NOT?”

He… wouldn't be alone at least.

———

Two weeks later, as he listened to the sound of Orange and Pink arguing over who got banished to the middle seat, he started to regret his decision. Perhaps Spamton should've assumed that they'd be riding Yellow's car, not walking across the entire city.

“It's my turn to ride shotgun!”

“You rode up front last time we went!”

“That was a year ago!” 

“Fine, rock-paper-scissors for it!’

Spamton gripped his seatbelt tightly, pressed up against the wall. The vibrations of the engine weren't as disorienting as they were the first time, but he still didn't like it. Would Pink and Orange quit arguing? The sooner he could get out of this metal death trap, the better!

“Shit, best of three!”

“You're only saying that because you lost!”

“Oh my god,” Yellow groaned as they opened the driver's side door. “I'm putting both of you in the back. Blue can sit up front.”

“It's fine, I can take the middle seat if no one wants it,” Blue offered. 

“Nope, get your ass in there,” Pink said, lightly pushing Blue towards the front. Then, they got into the seat next to Spamton. “You owe me for this,” they said to Orange.

“Sure, sure,” they replied, and everyone was finally in the car. Some part of Spamton was almost relieved that Orange wasn't sitting next to him. They never really showed fear near him like Blue did, but they were just… curious. Always silently probing, carefully asking questions in an attempt to fish for more information. The less they knew about him, the better.

Pink, on the other hand, didn't spare a single glance at him as they buckled the seatbelt and immediately pulled their phone out. 

As the car started to move, he hugged the wall, trying not to jolt every time he brushed against Pink's leg. He held his tail in his arms tightly, trying to focus on the view through the car window. 

“It'll only be a 15 minute drive,” Blue said, and he briefly turned his head to look at them. “Um, if we can do anything to help, let us know, okay, Spam?” Right—considering the lack of questions about his behavior, Yellow must've already told the other addisons about his dislike of cars.

“I'LL [It's Alive!]!!” he said, looking back out the window. The other addisons continued to converse, and Spamton was glad they didn't try to force him into it. 

“—Let's see; I've got a couple water bottles, tissues, healing patches—”

“—Some motion sickness medication, just in case.”

He stared at the floating, spinning banana in the next lane, watching it slip out of view as they passed by it.

“—Hey! That was one time! It was only because—”

“—Well, better safe than sorry, right?”

He mostly tuned them out, focusing on the view speeding past him. The eight lane highway was blocking most of his vision, but he could still see the sparkling city beyond it. Even though he knew the entire city could be traversed in a day, it still felt so daunting.

He closed his eyes, blocking his view of the road but still keeping in mind how high up he was. For a moment, Spamton tried to ignore the walls trapping him and pictured himself flying. 

Soaring far above the glittering lights, free of danger, free of pain. He shied away from the cold surface of the window's glass, trying to get as comfortable as he could. 

Spamton was roused by a particularly violent bump on the road, groaning as he opened his eyes one at a time.

“Are you seriously sleeping? It's not even a 20 minute ride,” Pink questioned. 

“NO!” Spamton grumbled. He was not nearly comfortable enough for that, especially with the constant movement of the car's engine clouding his senses. 

“Well, anyways, we were wondering if there's anywhere in the park you'd like to go to in particular,” Orange explained. 

“I'VE NEVER [[Visit our 23 locations]],” Spamton explained, squeezing his seatbelt.

“We can figure it out as we go along,” Yellow said. “It's a Monday, so wait times shouldn't be too bad, anyways.”

“We could try the games first,” Blue suggested. “They're a little more tame than the rides; that's usually where I spend most of my time.”

“We don't have to stay in a full group, either,” Orange added. “Though, since you don't have a phone, it'd probably be better if you stuck with at least one of us.”

“EHAHA HAA!! SOUNDS LIKE A [Financial plan]!!” Spamton replied, trying to hide his doubts. This part of the city was too far away for him to regularly explore, and the park itself was something else entirely. Not to mention its proximity to that damn mansion.

He braced himself as the car reached its destination, slowing and coming to a stop in the parking lot. His hind claws curled in an attempt to stick to the seat, but his efforts were rendered entirely useless by his shoes. 

Spamton was relieved to finally squeeze through the car door and onto solid ground, even if the thought was soured by the fact that he knew he'd have to ride again on the way back. 

“We're parked in section C2, okay? Remember it,” Yellow announced, taking the lead as the group walked towards the front entrance. They hadn't even entered, and his surroundings were already getting louder. Music, talking, moving machinery.

Spamton trailed behind the addisons, eyeing the family of four in front of them warily. He stood off to the side, squinting at the bright lights. He wished he had a shadow to hide in. 

The addisons took care of whatever it was they had to do to get in the park, speaking to another addison behind a plastic barrier. He was grateful he didn't have to be involved, because he couldn't even make out what they were saying.

“We gotta wear these so we can go on the rides,” Yellow explained, holding up five bright magenta strips. They instructed Spamton to hold out his wrist, and he felt lost as one of the strips, a cheap plastic bracelet, was fitted to his arm.

“There! You'll need scissors to cut that off at the end of the day, but Blue's got you covered.” Yellow gestured at the park entrance, encouraging him to enter. 

There was no going back now.

As his group moved further into the park, it got louder, just as busy as the Advertising District. Spamton looked around, trying to find landmarks to use as reference so he didn't get lost. There were darkners swarming the place, walking without a clear direction. Everywhere was open, providing zero comfort.. 

They passed a metal monolith, restricted by chain link fences and ‘DANGER! KEEP OUT’ signs. He recognized it as a roller coaster from the numerous other ones like it scrapped and left to rot in the Trash Zone. 

Spamton couldn't fully stop his tremble as a metal car full of screaming darkners shot past along the rails, making what felt like the entire ground shake. 

“Damn, you've never been on a roller coaster, have you?” Orange said. 

“DOES IT [Count to 3] IF IT' S [[Out of service]]??” Spamton determined that he absolutely did not want to go anywhere near that thing. 

“Oh, I have to see this,” Pink said, suddenly grinning and walking straight towards the ride entrance.

“You don't have to if you don't want to. I don't like roller coasters that much, either,” Blue reassured him, gently touching his shoulder. He looked at the line ahead, observing the multitude of young children it contained.

“I'VE LIVED [Through The Flames] WORSE.” Spamton replied, following after the rest of the group. He weaved through a zig-zagging assortment of metal fences, staring at the upcoming massive set of stairs with dread. 

“Says the wait time is about 25 minutes; not bad,” Yellow said, looking at something on their phone. That seemed like a while to Spamton, but it at least gave him time to mentally prepare. 

He watched the coaster speed off into the distance, the darkners inside of it screaming at the top of their lungs as it slid down the drop. Perhaps no amount of preparation would actually prepare him for this.

“You know, people have died on this coaster,” Pink said abruptly. 

“Oh my god,” Orange replied, rolling their eyes. “Don't listen to them.”

“Hey, it's true!”

“Statistically, more people die getting crushed by vending machines than die on roller coasters,” Orange retorted, elbowing Pink. “Also, you're lying.”

Statistically, Spamton was more lethal than either of those things. He opened his mouth, then decided against it.

Their group soon reached the gauntlet of rickety wooden stairs, and he sighed in anticipation. Normally, he'd walk up stairs on all fours if he had to, spreading his tail out for balance, but that wasn't really an option when he was surrounded by strangers on both sides. 

Spamton resorted to clutching the hand railing, focusing entirely on moving his legs correctly. As much as he hated the elevator to Blue's apartment, it was still better than this. If he had it his way, he'd climb up the side of the building and through Blue's window, like any well-adjusted legal citizen should.

They finally reached the top of the stairs, and the end of the line was approaching. It was much louder here, filled with the hissing and clicking of machinery. He listened as the darkners in the cart cheered, getting out of their seats and letting the next group on. 

“Is there anyone you want to ride with specifically?” Blue asked Spamton. “I'm just gonna sit by the exit and hold everyone's bags.”

“What about who I want to ride with?” Pink complained. 

“Spamton gets first dibs because it's his first time riding,” Yellow said matter-of-factly. “Any seat you want in particular?”

“[[Anything Goes]]? AND… YOUR [Littering fines] I GUESS,” Spamton grumbled, stepping closer to Yellow. They were the addison he knew the least about, but they had been tolerable during that day he spent with them.

“Shit,” Pink swore, though it didn't seem directed at him. Orange held out their hand, and Pink gave them a single bill. 

“Told you so,” Orange said smugly, pocketing the money. 

“The hell are you guys betting on?” Yellow asked. 

“Nothing,” Pink and Orange said simultaneously. Spamton squinted at them, equally confused. 

“Have fun on the upside-down sections,” Pink said slyly as the gates opened and the roller coaster was emptied. It felt like they were trying to scare him, but he had no problem crawling on ceilings or being upside-down in general.

“You might want to take your glasses off,” Yellow suggested as they got in, and Spamton wasn't sure how to explain the fact that he had glued his glasses to his mask. They were just another part of his disguise, only there to obscure his eyes, so there was no reason not to.

“I'M NOT [[Please list any concerns]] ABOUT IT,” Spamton replied as he got into his seat. Yellow helped him buckle the seatbelt and push down the lap bar, Spamton wincing as it pressed against his already cramped torso. He glared at the ride attendant as they pushed down on it.

“Try to keep your head against the seat,” Yellow instructed. “Keep your limbs inside the cart. For your tail, um, maybe hold onto it if you have to?” 

Spamton didn't have time to respond before the cart started to move. He tensed immediately as the metal clicking filled his entire body, staring straight ahead. 

The cart continued to steadily move upwards, and it felt unnatural to be tilted while seated. All of his claws, including the ones trapped completely under his suit, flexed in a desperate attempt to hold onto something, but it was useless.

At the absolute top, the cart seemed to slow to a complete stop, giving him a full view of the surrounding park and even the city around it. Then, it started to fall back down. 

Spamton's breath quickened as the wind cut through his fur, only able to watch as the cart hurled towards the ground. 

Then, he was violently jostled as it moved back up. He knew it wasn't going to hit his ground, but his body hadn't exactly caught up. 

He braced himself against the seat as the cart turned and twisted, doing his absolute best to hold on. He couldn't properly sink his claws into the lone metal bar holding him in place. 

Spamton barely registered it when the cart flipped upside down—at the speed it was going, the direction didn't really matter. His body hurt as it was shook around, restrained by unforgiving metal. 

Glitches started to overtake his vision as he hissed with each breath at an unknown enemy, torn between wanting to escape and holding as still as possible. 

Then, it was over. 

But, he was still stuck. Spamton desperately tried to squeeze up and past his restraints, and it wasn't working. He should he able to escape, his body was wrong there was something wrong WHY CAN’T HE—

“Woah, you alright there?” A voice cut through the sludge. A voice he knew. 

Spamton froze, cutting off the snarling sound he had been producing that was decidedly unsuitable for addison vocal chords. He slumped in his seat, staring at Yellow. 

“We probably could've prepared you for that a lot better,” they said, wincing. He looked forward as the cart started to roll forward again, approaching the room they had started in.

“”YEAH, YOU [[Shoulda]]!” Spamton replied, unable to keep the anger out of his tone with how fast his blood was flowing. He was glad his mask covered up how many teeth he had displayed.

The darkners around him cheered just like they did the last time, and he sighed in relief as the metal bar finally loosened up. They must've been screaming the whole way through, but he'd been too focused on the ride itself to really notice.

Spamton fiddled with the seatbelt until he finally got it off, quickly crawling over the seats and following Yellow. He ran a hand over his fur, doing his best to fix his hair. He was not looking forward to spending several hours preening when he got home after this.

“How was it?” Blue asked as everyone else grabbed their stuff. He could practically feel Pink's stupid smug face directed at him. 

“COULD'VE BEEN [Low rating]! I DIDN’T EVEN GET [[Stabbed]] A SINGLE [FunTime]! WHAT'S NEXT????” Spamton said, wishing he could get the adrenaline out of his system faster. His restless tail twitched behind him—he could really use something to chase after. And kill. And eat. How else would he relax?

“We gotta go on another coaster,” Pink said as the group walked through the exit. Spamton was relieved to see that it was a ramp and not more stairs, because the only thing worse than going up them was going down them. 

“I was thinking about going down by the games,” Orange offered. “Don't want to make Blue bored waiting for us all day.”

“Alright, we can split up then,” Yellow said.

“You wanna come with us?” Orange asked him. It was an easy decision to make—he wanted to never touch another roller coaster ever again. Also he was sick of being in Pink's general vicinity.

“SURE! [Let the games begin]!!” Spamton replied, excited to finally be on solid, flat ground again. Both the addisons next to him laughed a little bit at the voice clip. 

He followed behind them, thankful to be further away from the sounds of screaming darkners and coaster mechanisms. It was still far from peaceful here, though. Everything was so colorful that anything he wasn't looking directly at melted into a conglomerated mess.

Blue tried to explain every stand they saw for him, but Spamton wasn't comprehending most of it. Ring toss, corn hole, bean bag toss, claw machines, even more tossing games, one that involved shooting water.

“THESE ALL L0oK LIKE AN [[Advanced level]] WAY TO [Rob people],” Spamton said, looking at the addison running the stand with suspicion. Why spend money on this when you could just buy the damn prize itself?

“I mean, they kind of are scams,” Orange said. “A lot of them are rigged, but you usually don't spend more money than the product itself costs, so it evens out, I guess.”

“It's, uh, more for the fun of it than anything,” Blue added. “It's been a tradition for me to get a stuffed animal from here every year. And, if something catches your eye, we can try and win it, maybe?”

“...SURE.” Well, if he wasn't paying, then it shouldn't matter too much. But, still, he just… didn't want to mess up. His body simply wasn't programmed to throw things with accuracy like most humanoid darkners could. Most of these games would be as fair as random chance if he tried them. 

So, he stayed silent as Blue and Orange looked over the different booths and prizes, quietly chatting to each other. He watched from a distance as Blue obsessed over a tiny stuffed animal inside of a claw machine, feeding more and more dark dollars into it. 

“Are you doing alright? You seem kinda quiet today,” Orange asked as the little toy Blue was trying to get slipped out of the pathetically weak claws of the machine again. 

“THERE'S TOO MANY [Solicitors] HERE! IT'S [[Worse than you think]] THE [Advertising District]!” Spamton exclaimed, baring his teeth at the family of six walking past them as one of them made the mistake of glancing in his general direction. 

“If it makes you feel better, I assure you nobody's gonna worry about you as long as you aren't worrying about them,” Orange said.

“I KNOW THAT!” Spamton snapped, lashing his tail. It wasn't that. He didn't need to blend in perfectly—all of these darkners were too nonconfrontational to do anything. All he had to do was look the part. He wasn't worried about fitting in.

But, he couldn't explain, not to them. He couldn't explain that he was programmed to ambush. That he was supposed to hunt from the shadows. That he was meant to isolate one victim at a time. That being out in the open like this forced his senses into hyperdrive. 

“FORGET ABOUT 1T,” Spamton said, looking away as he curled his tail back up. He felt the bracelet shackled to his wrist with the other hand, squeezing the plastic. 

“Alright,” Orange replied, unaffected by his anger. “Today's supposed to be fun, so, if you're not having fun… let us know if we can do anything.” Spamton didn't fully meet their gaze. 

They weren't trying to test him. They weren't trying to question him. They were just… caring about him, because that was what friends did. 

“Yes!” Blue exclaimed as the stuffed toy they were trying to get finally landed in the box. Spamton walked over, eager to not respond to Orange. 

Blue pulled out the smiley white and green… lizard(?) out of the bottom, hugging it against their chest. Spamton wasn't sure if he'd ever seen them more excited about anything. 

“What're you gonna name it?” Orange asked as they approached. 

“Uuuuuuh,” Blue held out the plush in front of them, looking at it from every angle. “Pickles. Definitely a Pickles.” They nodded to themself as affirmation. 

“Did you find anything you were interested in?” Blue asked him, cradling the plush in one arm. 

“Actually, I've come up with an idea,” Orange interjected. “Follow me.” They smiled, and he wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean. He looked at Blue and they looked at him, equally oblivious. 

“Where are we going?” Blue asked, though they started following Orange without a second thought, and Spamton had no choice but to accompany them. 

“I think there's a game Spamton might like,” they explained. “Right over… here!” 

Orange ran over to a stand with a tent ceiling over it, covered in various prizes just like every other stand. In the center, he realized there was a wide pool, a multitude of colorful rubber ducks floating inside. They looked identical to the ones he's found in the Trash Zone aside from the metal ring drilled into their heads. 

Spamton watched with a bit of confusion as the small group of kids that got there before them grabbed little plastic fishing rods and carefully hooked a duck. There was no loud music, no flashing lights—the addison attending wasn't even trying to hype the game up.

They just sat there in their chair, giving a quiet word of encouragement to the kids every now and then, attentive but lax. It confounded him just how utterly calm it was here compared to the chaos around it, a hidden oasis. Still, he couldn't help but feel reluctant as the obnoxiously loud kids ran off, one of them with a stuffed animal in hand.

“Hello,” the dark mint addison greeted them politely as Blue and Orange walked forward, Spamton following behind. “You here to play ‘Duck Pond?’”

“Hell yeah we are,” Orange replied with a grin. ”All three of us, please.” They forked the money over, handing a plastic fishing rod to him and Blue. Spamton gingerly grabbed it. 

“Your goal is to hook one of the ducks on the fishing rod,” the addison explained as if they'd explained it thousands of times. They probably have. “Each one has a number on the bottom. If you're lucky, you'll get a prize. There's no time limit, so have fun!”

Orange immediately reached towards the pool, but Spamton hadn't moved. He hadn't really gotten a proper chance to say yes or no to doing this, but… it seemed simple enough. It was quiet and calm here, devoid of any pressure. 

So, Spamton stepped closer, holding up the fake fishing rod. He carefully examined the selection of rubber ducks floating through the pond, looking for the perfect one to pursue. 

The sounds of Blue and Orange laughing and struggling melted away as he chose his prey, focused on each and every movement it made. He maneuvered the fishing rod closer gradually. 

Then, it tapped against the duck instead of hooking on, and he held still while he waited for it to mostly stop moving. Then, he carefully moved back towards it, and successfully hooked it the second time.

“YESS! MINE!” Spamton declared as pulled the rod away and snatched the duck off the end. It wasn't nearly as dirty as the ones he sometimes found in the Trash Zone, but it definitely could use a new paint job.

“Oh! Good job, Spam!” Blue said, resuming their own attempts. With nothing better to do, he watched them and Orange struggle before eventually completing the game. He was pretty sure they hadn't taken as long as the group of children before them did, but it seemed pretty close. They looked relieved to be done. 

Blue and Orange handed their ducks over, and Spamton did the same after a reluctant moment. Compared to all the other games, this one didn't seem that bad, especially considering that he'd somehow been better at it than the addisons.

“Oh, hey, you won a prize,” the addison said casually as they looked at his duck. He actually won something? Considering it was random chance, he hadn't really considered the possibility of actually getting something. 

“Ayy, I knew there would be a point to coming here,” Orange said as Spamton walked to the outside of the booth, turning around to look at the prizes.

Most likely, he'd just shred the thing up and use its skin and stuffing to line his nest, but Spamton still was having trouble actually picking one. 

Eventually, he found a group of plushes that resembled tasques, and, despite his innate hatred for them, their fluffy fabric would make nice material. He chose the one closest to the real colors tasques had—it wouldn't be the same as tearing into a breathing one, but it might still be fun. 

He held his hands out, accepting his prize without bothering to listen to the attendant's polite goodbye. He squeezed its limp, boneless form, looking into its shiny button eyes. 

“That sure was an experience.” Orange commented as they continued walking, their group having no known destination. “I'm kind of embarrassed, honestly. How did you hook it so fast?”

“[[Patience is key]]! YOU GOTTA [Lye in weight] UNTIL THE RIGHT [Top 10 moments you won't believe] TO STRIKE!!!” Spamton replied eagerly. He fiddled with the red ribbon bow tied around the plush's neck, then decided to leave it alone after he realized he would not know how to tie it back on if it came loose.

…Wait, no, why would he care what happened to the ribbon?

“What're you gonna name it?” Orange asked. He looked down at the plush. Spamton didn't really have a reason to name it. He wasn't attached. 

“You don't have to name it. It's just something I personally like to do,” Blue added.

“IT'S A [It's a girl!] ITS A [[A word from our]] [Novelty Gold Rubber Ducky] [[Call now and receive one free]]!!” Spamton spat out. 

“What?”

“Ducky? I like it. Sounds fitting,” Orange said over Blue's sound of confusion. 

“SURE,” he said noncommittally. That wasn't what he said, but it was as good of an interpretation as any. He couldn't care less about this thing. 

After what felt like a while of walking, Spamton started to come to terms with the fact that he was stuck carrying this thing for the entire trip. A couple of extra limbs would've been useful if he could use them.

He watched Blue and Orange converse, seemingly content to laugh and chat together with zero disregard for the games. While they were distracted, he uncurled his tail, wrapping it around the plush and finally feeling the texture of its fake fur. It was… nice. Soft. Good nest material to shred, nothing more. 

“Oh, hey, that works,” Orange said, and it took him a second to realize that he was being addressed. Spamton quickly pulled his tail away, squeezing the plush tighter against his chest. 

“Awww,” they cooed. “See, Blue, I have good ideas sometimes!” Spamton started hissing, then quickly replaced the sound with several swears so glitchy they were incomprehensible. 

“I’  M S3LLING THIS FOR [Maximum profit]!” Spamton declared, letting his tail swing angrily a little despite his desire to keep it curled in public.

“Sure,” Orange said, sounding entirely unconvinced. He opened his mouth, preparing another retort, but decided that it wasn't worth it. 

“ARE WE [Actually, it's] GOING SOMEWHERE? OR [[Desparate, are we?]] WALKING IN [Unit Circle]??” Spamton said instead. 

“We already looked at pretty much all the games,” Blue said. “They get a little… repetitive when you've been here so many times,” they admitted. 

“I can see where Pink and Yellow are at,” Orange offered. “We could go get food, if you want.” Spamton perked up immediately, and they laughed at his eagerness.

“HEY! I HAVEN'T EATEN IN [[15 years]] HOURS!” Spamton said. It was a lot easier to wear his suit if he didn't have much in his stomach. More than once he'd been stuck with an awful stabbing cramp from having his abdomen restricted so tightly when visiting the addisons later at night. 

Spamton took a seat next to Blue on the bench they sat on, holding the plush in his lap. Orange sat on their other side, presumably texting one of the other two addisons. 

He stared into its empty button eyes. Spamton did actually have a single intact plush, a tiny little maus with a missing eye. Most of the things he found in the Trash Zone were way too dirty to be salvaged, but it had been in nearly perfect condition. 

Maybe… he didn't have to tear it up. Something in this good of quality was hard to come by in the dumpsters. 

“Pink and Yellow aren't too far, thankfully,” Orange reported. “They're pretty close to the top of the line—we shouldn't have to wait too long.” They got back up, and Spamton begrudgingly followed. 

…

When Spamton agreed to go on this little trip, he didn't expect there to be this much walking. It wouldn't bother him if he wasn't forced to balance all of his weight on two legs, but he didn't exactly have a choice. 

“You actually won something?” Pink questioned the moment they saw him, walking down from the roller coaster exit. He did his best not to react as the coaster itself loudly passed over his head. 

“YESS!” Spamton said with triumph. “AND I [[Soloed]] TH0S3 [Little sponges]!!!!!” He stuck his nose in the air arrogantly. 

“Why are you holding that thing like a child?” Pink ignored him.

Spamton narrowed his eyes, adjusting his arms until he was dangling the plush in one hand by the neck, then squeezed his claws as hard as physically possible.

All he got for his efforts was an unimpressed look. 

“Congrats?” Yellow said, rubbing their forehead. “Ow. I don't think I have another coaster in me today.”

“Please don't throw up,” Orange groaned. 

“I'm not! I'll be fine in a moment,” Yellow insisted. “That was literally one time.”

“So! Is there any spot in particular we want to get food from?” Blue asked.

“Hmm… did you see if they were still selling the kebabs? I kind of wanted to try those last year,” Pink suggested. 

“I think I did. Over by the tea cup rides, wasn't it?” Orange said thoughtfully. They started walking, and the rest of the reunited group followed behind. 

Spamton had noticed the various food stands spread out throughout the place, but he'd been distracted by everything else. He could smell it, but he was more focused on processing the auditory and visual nightmare this place was. 

“Do you want me to get something for you?” Blue asked as Orange found their target destination. Spamton made a sound of agreement as they settled in line. He glanced at the menu, not having much else to do as he waited. 

“YOU CAN CHARGE [300 points] FOR A SODA?” he questioned, looking at the menu again to double check that he read that right. 

“Oh, yeah, everything's, like, super expensive here,” Blue explained. “It's a convenience thing. We usually only buy a few things, tops.”

Spamton really needed to charge more for his S. POTIONS. Homemade, freshly milked, nicely fermented—there had to be a “convenience” factor he could charge for when he was the only one selling such fast-acting poison like this!

He stayed back as the addisons ordered food, watching the darkners around them warily. There was no sense of order to this place. People wandering in random directions, ignoring the path, nearly bumping into each other. Everything felt so open and sporadic, entirely unlike the environment he would've preferred. 

Blue gave Spamton his food, and he held it carefully with both hands, balancing his plush between his arms as their group walked towards a nearby picnic table. The “kebab” consisted of what smelled like chunks of meat skewered onto a long stick that was unfortunately wood rather than bone. It was far too big for the paper boat he was given to hold it with. 

Spamton carefully set his food down onto the table, then placed the plush next to himself on the bench. Blue took a seat next to him, also setting down their smaller plush. The other three crammed onto the other side of the bench.

Spamton mostly tuned out the addisons as he started to eat, the slight seclusion of the area letting him relax a marginal amount. He opened his mouth, preparing to snap the wood in half, but paused as he watched how the addisons did it.

From personal experience, getting splinters in his throat wasn't the greatest, so he decided to copy what they were doing and slid each chunk of meat off the stick one at a time. 

Spamton couldn't see what the appeal of this was. It was like eating meat off the bone, except the bone was entirely inedible and miserable. And these darkners with their weak jaws couldn't eat bone in the first place, so what was the point?

Regardless, it was food, and he finished quickly without further incident. Blue offered him one of the bottles of water they had been carrying, and he chugged the entire thing as fast as he could.

He scooped up the tasque plush again, poking at its abdomen a few times. Its fluffy white organs stretched with its woven skin. He brushed its fur down with his hand, then adjusted the shiny red ribbon around its neck. 

“I'm gonna get something for dessert,” Pink decided once they had all finished eating. He glanced up with mild interest at the prospect of more food. 

“Oooh yeah, I gotta get ice cream from here again,” Orange said, and the other two made sounds of agreement. Spamton immediately lost interest. Cold food was one thing, but frozen? 

“Well, I'm getting cotton candy, if anyone wants to come,” Pink replied, getting up and not so subtly looking directly at Spamton. It was… suspiciously generous of them to actually think of his preferences. Regardless, he stepped off the bench. 

“I can hold Ducky for you,” Blue said, and it took him a second to remember the plush had been given a name. 

“YOU [Break] IT [[you]] BUY IT!!!” Spamton warned, feeling hesitant as he held the plush out and let Blue take it. Logically, they would probably be more gentle with it than he ever would, but some part of him didn't like giving it away, even temporarily. 

“Alright, let's go,” Pink said, already walking off. “There's no microwaves for you to put ice cream into here,” they added with disgust. 

“NOTHING [Need a hand?] TO BE THAT [Arctic tundra]!” Spamton argued, gesturing with his hands even though Pink didn't bother to turn around to see it. 

“It wouldn't taste so cold if you didn't bite into it,” Pink retorted. “You probably just have sensitive teeth.”

“I DO NOTT!!” Spamton screeched in response, fur immediately spiking up. “MY [[PearlyWhites]] AR E [Cooked to perfection] YOU LITTLE       ! I COULD I COULD I C0ULD—”

“Would you calm down?” Pink sighed, sauntering towards a colorful stand. “Stay here,” they instructed, and he stopped and glared as they started talking to the cheerful pink addison selling the cotton candy. 

He was vaguely familiar with what it was, especially now that he could see pictures of it, but he's definitely never found cotton candy in the trash to taste.

Okay, actually buying the cotton candy shouldn't take this long. He walked up despite Pink's flimsy instructions, and they quickly said goodbye and speedwalked away in an attempt to look like they had zero association with him. 

Was his reputation really that bad? Soon, they'd all be begging to be spared even a scrap of his mercy when he—

Spamton followed after Pink, snatching the white paper cone of his cotton candy the millisecond Pink offered it. He shook his head in response to the glitches traveling through his form.

“Would it kill you to say ‘thank you?’” they grumbled, glaring as they crossed their arms. 

“YES! [Every day it hurts] I FEEL LIKE MY [Intestines] ARE [[Succumbing to rot]]!!” Spamton said cheerfully. Pink failed to provide a response other than a look of confusion and a scoff. He ignored them in favor of inspecting his prize.

Despite its large size, the cotton candy was surprisingly lightweight, reminding him of pink colored stuffing. He tried to take a bite, and grumbled as he struggled to fit its wide shape through his mask. He quickly glanced around. Then, he licked the fluffy candy. 

Spamton made a sound of confusion as the tiny piece in his mouth disintegrated into sweet-tasting nothingness immediately. Dumbfounded, he stared at the darkened spot left by his saliva. It was one of the weirded textures he's tried, but the flavor was pure sugar. Despite how closely it represented fiberglass insulation, it definitely tasted better.

When he got back to the picnic table, everyone else was already eating their ice cream, putting into perspective just how damn long Pink spent talking to that other addison. Spamton returned to his seat, snatching his tasque plush and holding it against his chest. 

He continued carefully nibbling pieces off the cotton candy, unable to use his hands without risking getting sticky sugar all over his mittens. He could've easily fit this entire thing in his mouth if it weren't for the plastic teeth of his mask blocking access. 

All of Spamton's attention was dedicated to the inconvenient cloud of cotton candy as he tilted his head and tried different angles to finally get a meaningful bite out of it. He let his jaws fully unhinge, practically shoving the candy in his mouth. 

“Cheeese!” He heard Blue cheerfully say, then looked up towards their outstretched arm and phone as he heard a distinct click sound. 

He realized the blurry image displayed on the phone screen was of himself, surrounded by the four colors of the addisons. A mirror, no, a camera. 

“[Water] YOU DOING??” Spamton asked slowly, voice unaffected by the fluff shoved in his mouth. He finally ripped off the chunk he managed to snag, swallowing it quickly.

“Oh! Uh, I was just taking a picture,” Blue explained. “Sorry, I didn't realize you didn't know—um, I can delete it if you want.” They held their phone in front of him, displaying the moment in time forever captured. 

Blue's happy smiling face took up a good portion of the photo. Pink, Orange, and Yellow were crammed behind Spamton, barely fitting in frame. Orange politely smiled at the camera while the other two were both holding two fingers up behind his head. The head of his plush was barely in frame, mostly hidden by the green table.

Spamton's face… or rather, his mask, was facing directly at the camera, the ever present glow of his eyes shining through his glasses. The mask smiled as it always did, partially obscured by the cotton candy stuck in its puppet jaws.

You don't belong here.

He gripped the plastic cone tighter, denting it.

“Woah, hey,” something moved back and forth in front of the static encroaching on his vision, and he eventually recognized it as a blue hand. 

Spamton jolted violently as his eyes flicked back to their normal state. “EHAHA! WHY DON;T Y ;OU KEEP IT? [Premium Subscription]! DE4Ls LIKE THIS [Limited time only] COME ONCE IN YOU’Re [[Rapidly-deteriorating health]]!!!!” He slammed his fist on the table.

“Um… okay,” Blue said hesitantly, obviously confused. Spamton ignored it, keeping himself busy by chewing more cotton candy. It's just a photograph. It doesn't mean anything more than looking at your reflection does.

He continued to eat in silence as Blue showed the other addisons the photo, tail gradually curling around his dangling legs. How had he gotten to this point in the first place? There was no lesson to be taught, no guidance to mimic, no instructions to follow. No incentive to come to this place that he hated existing in. 

Why'd he say yes? This wasn't worth a little bit of free food. He could've spent this time in the Trash Zone—alone, sorting through garbage, creating more advertisements, spreading his influence—working towards his goal, towards freedom.

Yet, here he was.

“You doing alright there, Spam? You look kinda tired,” Yellow said as he sighed. Spamton looked up to meet their gaze as the last of the cotton candy dissolved in his mouth. 

“We were discussing going on the ferris wheel—it's usually how we end the day,” Yellow continued. “But if you want to go home early, we can.”

“THAT [[Ride Cyber City's ♡ Ferris Wheel ♡]]????” Spamton questioned, looking over his shoulder at its distant form. Due to the lights illuminating it, the thing was visible practically across the whole damn city. 

“What other ferris wheel?” Pink questioned. “You gonna come with us or not?”

“FINE,” he said, untangling himself from the bench and adjusting his hold on his tasque plush as he walked over to the rest of the group. “AS LONG AS ITS NOT A [##%#@%%] [[Carousel]]!!!”

“We don't even have a carousel,” Orange mused. “Actually, why don't we? I swear they were trying to build one ages ago, but there was something about… lobbying? Maybe?” He stopped listening. 

“The ferris wheel will be fun—you can practically see the whole city from up there!” Blue… advertised to him. Spamton made a simple hum sound just to let them know he heard it. 

He'd always wanted to see the city from up high. He'd thought about climbing one of the sky scrapers many times, but they were way too brightly lit and he didn't want to risk being seen. The coaster had also climbed up high, and the view had been vast now that he was thinking about it, but it was overshadowed by everything else about the coaster. 

From what he could tell as they entered the line, the ferris wheel looked significantly slower. And, no one was screaming, so that was a good sign. Spamton settled in for the wait, thankful there were almost no stairs. 

He licked his teeth, but it seemed any remaining sweetness had already dissolved. Then, after looking around, he quickly shoved the paper cone in his mouth. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He froze, turning his head to look at Pink. Strings of saliva dangled from the paper as he pulled it back out of his mouth, and they flinched in pure disgust. 

“[[Dispose of the evidence]]???”

“There's a garbage can right there,” Pink said with exasperation as they gestured at it. He slowly stretched his arm out and dropped it in. 

“Why did you—that's not—” Orange attempted, looking at him with confusion. 

“YOU SHOULD TRY [Doctors hate this simple trick]!! [Microplastic contamination] ARE GOOD FOR YOUR WEAK [[Bones]]!” Spamton nodded his head rapidly in an attempt to look reassuring that seemed to have the opposite effect. 

“Yeah, I don't think it works like that,” Orange said, squinting at him. 

“[You're] LOSS!” Spamton replied, pausing to yawn and stretch his mandibles. Then he looked over with bewilderment as several of the addisons yawned right after. Was that a coincidence? What reason would they have to copy him?

“Oh yeah, we've gotta split, cuz only four people are allowed in a cart,” Yellow said as the ferris wheel gradually unloaded its passengers. 

“I C@N GO [Solo 1v3],” Spamton said immediately. 

“Oh, um are you sure? You don't have to go alone if you don't want to,” Blue suggested. 

“I SAID IT’S FINE!” Spamton huffed. “I CAN GO [3 business days] WITHOUT YOU! I DON'T      !” I don't need you. I can live without you. I'll forget about you when I'm done using you. I don't care what happens to you after I get what I want.

…It was too late. They let him weave his strings, intertwined with their flesh. He wasn't ever going to let go. They were his now.

He stepped onto the metal platform without another word as the gate finally opened, looking away as the addisons boarded.

“Sir, you're not allowed to take any loose belongings onto the ride,” said one of those socket-faced darkners with the pink fur, dressed in a uniform with the place's logo. Spamton gripped his plush tighter as he met their tired gaze.

“[—body found by cyber police this morning, waiting for identification]... [—decapitated, head has yet to be located]... [[—heart appears to have been removed]]... [puncture marks consistent with other reports of]....” Spamton whispered with a low static hum, like a choppy radio signal cutting in and out, using his small height advantage to loom over the ride attendant. 

They met his gaze with an incredibly bored stare. “Sure,” they said with little resistance. They waved him off towards the ride, muttering something about how they weren't paid enough to deal with this. 

Spamton stepped into the cart, immediately lashing his tail out for balance as it lurched back and forth. Unlike the coaster, this one had exactly zero seatbelts and metal bars to hold him down. 

He slowly took a seat as the door closed, holding his plush tightly as he waited. Spamton's cart moved a little further up as a few more people were let on, and he turned his head to look out the window. He let his tail spread out fully across the cold metal floor, no longer having to worry about anyone seeing it. 

Spamton braced himself as the ride finally started to move at full speed, then gradually relaxed as he adjusted to it, peeling himself from the wall. Transfixed, he watched with starry eyes as his view gradually rose. 

The park was quite close to the center of the city, though it was skewed towards the mansion. From here, Spamton could practically see everything. Rigid skyscrapers towering into the sky, twinkling lights that were mere pixels in his vision, flashing advertisements floating across the sky, the reflective surface of the Data Stream River cutting through it all. 

Then, the view gradually diminished as the wheel moved him back down. He looked over the people across the park, every one of them looking so small in comparison. Then, his elevation started to increase once more. 

Spamton craned his neck, trying to spot the Trash Zone. His home was so far away, but he had to be able to see it from all the way up here, right?

But, against the blinding lights blurring his vision, its dull, unilluminated shape blended in with the darkness of the churning black sea that surrounded Cyber World. As much as he strained his vision, there was nothing to be seen. 

As the chill of the cold metal seeped through him, Spamton waited for the ferris wheel to fall and rise once more. He tried to look for other locations he knew, but there were a lot of obnoxiously tall buildings blocking the view. 

So, maybe he'd just enjoy it. Feel the wind flowing through his hair, not worry about anything for these few precious seconds where no one was watching.

Spamtom flicked his tail, absentmindedly brushing the tasque plush's fur down with one hand. He kept his gaze through the window, watching the city continue to move in silence.

Eventually, his time was up, and the ferris wheel came to a stop. Spamton tried to get up, then quickly sat back down as the cart lurched in reaction. He looked down at the darkners getting off the ride impatiently.

He finally reached the bottom, stepping out of the cart the moment the flimsy door opened. Spamton smoothed his hair down with his free hand, relieved to be on stable ground again. 

“How the hell did you get them to let you bring that on the ride?” Orange questioned as Spamton met the addisons at the ride exit, looking at the plush in his arms. 

“WITH THAT [[Hand some]] SPAMTON CHARM!” he replied cryptically, following the addisons back towards the entrance of the park.

“Yeah, sure,” Pink replied with zero enthusiasm, not even turning to look at him. 

“Well, uh, thanks for coming, Spamton,” Blue said as their group crossed the front gate and began the journey back through the parking lot. Were they seriously thanking him for just showing up?

“YEAH, Y3AH!” Spamton waved them off, feigning indifference. “IT WAS FINE!! FAR [Satisfactory] THAN THAT [[-.. .- -- -.]] ADVERTISING DISTRICT!!” He looked down at the plush in his arms, determining that at least he had gained something from this. It wasn't the worst day he's had, far from it—at least his body was in one piece.

“Uh, well, that's good, I suppose,” Blue replied.

“Yeah. It'd be a shame if we wasted all that money on you,” Pink added.

“We didn't pay anything for his ticket in the first place. It was cheaper to buy the bundle,” Yellow said, exasperated. 

“I bought him cotton candy,” Pink argued.

“That's like the cheapest thing they sell here, asshole,” Orange laughed. 

“EHA HAEHAHA HA!!!! [So true]!!! YOUR [Killing] ME OVER HERE! WHY DON'T YOU $PEND MORE [[Retirement funds]] ON [All those poor innocent souls…] SPAMTt ON!” he cackled, silently relieved that Blue and the other addisons didn't flinch or wince in response to his laugh anymore.

The sudden burst of energy made his head glitch, though it was more of a visual distortion than painful. He waited for it to dissipate and for his eyes to stop swapping colors. 

“Yeah, I'm good,” Pink huffed, and he didn't bother entertaining them further. Spamton looked up at the green sky-grid, just starting to turn more yellow, signaling that it was several hours past noon. Oh how he missed being nocturnal—though, with how the roller coaster had thrown him around, it might be night by the time he finished grooming his fur. 

He sighed longingly. Then, he could finally hunt some real food and fill his empty stomach. The food from the addisons was enough to keep his hunger from making him irritable and snappy, but it could only last so long.

“Alright, moment of truth,” Yellow said, putting their hands on their hips. “Did any of you actually remember where I parked?”

“Wasn't it, uh—” Blue started.

“IT'S [In section C2, okay?]!!” Spamton said, then froze as Yellow's voice crawled out of his throat, and four pairs of eyes immediately turned to stare at him. 

Why did he… why did he… He probably didn't have a better voice clip of something so specific, but couldn't he use his actual voice over that? Spamton took a step back, then another, starting to shake as his pixels began to flicker. 

“Ooooh, that's how your glitch works? It's just things you've heard?” Orange asked, and Spamton paused, trying to steady his breathing. He could work with this. Of course they wouldn't come to that conclusion, of course they just thought he had a glitch, why wouldn't they?

It was like breathing; an automatic response to mimic sound when his voice failed, taking from the endless mess of data he'd received over the years and producing a poor approximation of what he wanted to say. He wasn't designed to have a voice, to be a person, but to merely copy, replicate, and spread.

“[[Studies say]] THAT;;S ALL 1T I5!!! I CAN'T I C4N'T 1 cCaN'T I CA^’T i CANttT [Lose control] IT!!” Spamton replied, tensing as he tried to maintain his form through the glitches.

He gripped his head as a particularly violent spike rippled through him, a distressed cry leaking out of him despite his attempts to bite it down. All Spamton could do was curl in on himself and wait until it was over. 

He felt that something was touching him, though it took a moment for him to actually register it. He shied away before recognizing the fuzzy sound of Blue saying something he couldn't comprehend. 

They provided a gentle pressure, not tight enough to restrain him, and he clung tightly, redirecting his grip on his head to whatever was in front of him. The buzzing in his head started to settle as he focused on it.

“Woah, that felt weird,” Spamton heard Blue say as he opened his eyes, the last of the corruption in his vision fading as his pixels settled. He realized that the thing he'd been holding was Blue's torso, and quickly let go, staring at that ridiculous sympathetic face they liked to make at him.

“I,M USED TO IT,” Spamton said as Blue let go of him and leaned down to pick up the tasque stuffed animal off the ground, wiping the gravel off of it. He hadn't even noticed that he dropped it. 

“...Is that normal for you?” Orange questioned, and he remembered that only Blue had seen him glitch this… badly before.

“I'M F1NE! IT DOESN'T EVEN [Oh God it hurts!]!! CAN’T [Fix] IT ANYWAYS!” Spamton spat, smoothing down his hair and adjusting his suit jacket. “CAN WE LEAVE NOW??”

He didn't want to talk about this. His voice, his corrupted code, himself. 

“Yeah, what are we all doing standing around in this parking lot?” Yellow said, starting up the walk back to their car once more. Spamton took his plush back from Blue as they offered it, remaining silent. He didn't want to draw attention to his broken speech any more than he already had.

He almost didn't realize when they reached Yellow's car, as the damn thing looked the exact same as every other scrap heap aside from the license plate. Blue brandished a small pair of scissors, using it to cut off their bracelet and offering it the next addison.

Well, he wouldn't exactly need his anymore, either. Spamton stuck his wrist in his mouth and ripped the plastic bracelet off with his sharp teeth. Then, after a moment of consideration, he ate it. He preferred to get his plastic from bones, but nutrients were nutrients.

Blue offered him the pair of scissors, but, looking at his arm with confusion, they returned them to their bag without a word. Everyone got into the same seats in the car, and Spamton settled in the corner, having to be reminded to plug in the seatbelt. 

“Where do you want me to drop you off, Spamton?” Yellow asked, and he looked up blearily from where he had been pressing his face against the plastic of the door. 

“[Cyber Shoes] 2,” Spamton replied quickly, hoping he could go back to ignoring the addisons. 

“We're not going to judge where you live, Spam,” Yellow said carefully over the hum of the engine.

“Y0U CAN'T [[Driving Simulator]] THERE,” Spamton said rather bluntly. “BUT IF YOU WANT [Rotten glass] IN YOUR TIRES,, BE MY [[Host]]!!!” He couldn't help but laugh a little at the idea of someone attempting to drive through the uneven, cracked, and destroyed road that trailed past his home in the Trash Zone. Would they even notice the abrupt wall of trash blocking the road in the darkness before it was too late?

“You sure there isn't anywhere closer I can take you?” Yellow replied, and he could hear a bit of concern in their voice. 

“I SA1D. [Cyber City's Best!] SHOES 2WO,” Spamton repeated.

“...Okay,” Yellow relented.

“Where the hell do you live, anyways?” Pink asked with a grimace.

“MY [Beach-front property] IS GREAT!” Spamton gloated. “[No solicitors], [[Indoor heating]], [Front lawn], AND [Mini-golf and more]!!!”

‘...Is that your ‘glitch thing,’ or do you seriously expect me to believe you have mini-golf?”

“[[YES]]!”

“Oh my god, never mind,” Pink groaned, resting their face in their hands. 

“FOR [5 easy payments of] 99—”

“No.” Pink cut him off. They took their phone out of their pocket, promptly ignoring him. Spamton resisted the urge to hiss as he readjusted to face towards the wall, also ignoring them. 

He squeezed the plush in his arms tighter, wishing he could actually feel its fur through his suit and gloves. He still didn't know why he agreed to this. He just needed the addisons to think they were friends with him, he didn't need to commit like this. 

Spamton didn't care about them. They were just an insignificant piece of his plan. Their only value was whatever use he could get out of them. 

…And maybe he was getting a use out of them from this. To experience what it was like to be a person. To be seen and heard, to be shown something other than fear and disgust and hatred, as conditional as their “love” was. A fragile balance, held only by the elastic strap that kept the mask adhered to his face. 

He raised a hand to its plastic surface. He'd worked hard to rebuild it, carving out the interior to just barely fit his jaws, crafting a nose barely long enough to contain his own, coloring the cheeks in bright red. 

The prison he'd constructed for himself was the only reason he was here. Just enough they couldn't guess what he actually was, just enough they assumed he was some harmless software, just enough for them to care about him, to fully invite him into their little group. 

Spamton lowered his hand, resting his head on the plush as he watched the city speed by through the car window. He curled his long tail around himself, silently waiting for his opportunity to flee back to the Trash Zone.

All he had to do was keep up the lie.

Chapter Text

Hidden behind the glittering city lights, encased deep in darkness, buried beneath endless mountains of refuse, rested a lone figure. From within the piles of discarded trash, he emerged, squeezing through a meandering tunnel and, finally, into the faint light. 

Spamton breathed deeply, habitually tasting the midnight air despite knowing he was the only thing alive out here. The sky-grid, the only source of light in this forgotten place, bathed the world in its magenta light, coloring his dark fur a deep violet and his white legs a pale pink.

A gutted rusty car groaned weakly in protest as Spamton clambered over it, easily scaling up the mounds of garbage with sharp claws. He followed the vast shadow of the unfinished roller coaster, listening to it croak out a haunting song as the wind pushed across its metallic armature. All these years later, it remained standing, despite the odds. He disappeared underneath the steel lattice, then eventually emerged on the other side, taking in the view before him.

A deep valley gaped across the trash-filled landscape. The very bottom was filled with rain water, creating a miniature lake stained black by its unsanitary environment, resembling darkner blood more than anything. Its stagnant surface reflected an imperfect mirror of the sky, dulled by everything floating across its surface and accumulating at the shores.

Without the bright lights of the city, the sky-grid was free to shine its colorful gaze over the deeper parts of the Trash Zone. The chaotic mess of colors that would normally be present if it were closer to the city was unified under pink light. It felt so unique compared to the repetitive blues of the city and too-bright greens of the fields.

Up above, Spamton walked around the valley's perimeter, the remnants of foil wrappers twinkling like stars as he moved. Chunks of old plastic and paper crunched under his feet, small bits of debris breaking loose and tumbling down towards the lake.

He gently lowered to the uneven ground, draping himself across the top of the hill. It was peaceful here on the outskirts of the dark world, the distant sound of waves crashing against the darkness surrounding them just barely audible in the gentle silence. 

It was just him and the quiet stillness of this empty wasteland. Isolated from the scrutiny of the lightners above, separated from the darkners who scorned him. A place they saw as inhospitable and worthless when he saw a sanctuary. 

Spamton flicked a plastic bottle cap down into the lake, watching the ripples from its impact distort the glassy surface of the water, spreading far further than their source until they eventually faded away.

Would anyone ever appreciate the beauty of this place like Spamton did? No one else could safely navigate the loose mountains of trash without falling off the edges, could climb up without starting an avalanche and suffocating, could move without cutting themself on jagged chunks of broken metal. 

Not that he wanted anyone here in the first place. This was his territory. …His nest was well hidden, but pretty accessible. But, he couldn't really explain it, couldn't share that he lived in a nest instead of a bed and an apartment like a normal—

A strained warble bubbled out of his throat, and he was too surprised to stop it. The sound was shrill, out of practice from years of attempts at repression. Despite never learning his own language, he could somehow always translate it through instincts rooted deep into his code.

It was a call, a song that could only be completed with an answer from another. An answer that didn't—and had never—come. 

He… didn't know why he kept making it, or why it had become more frequent in the past few months. There was no point to it, yet unnatural chirps and chitters flooded out of him anyways. 

Why was he so bad at controlling it? Spamton couldn't explain them away as a “glitch,” he was the only one capable of making sounds like that. All he could do was attempt to repress it as that maddening itch built in his throat, praying that the addisons didn't hear what did slip through. 

Spamton grit his teeth, standing back up. The addisons didn't care about him, who he actually was. All they ever saw was the mask he wore, and that was the only thing he'd let them see. They would never know of his nest, of his home, of himself. They could never know of his true nature, his purpose, his intentions.

He carefully scaled back down, the metallic foil interspersed in the garbage reflecting the pink and yellow glow of his eyes. However, instead of returning to his nest, Spamton continued down the ruins of the road that cut through the Trash Zone. 

He climbed onto the concrete rooftops, claws making a scraping sound as he walked across rundown apartments and empty businesses. Spamton didn't stray far from the Trash Zone, staying on the neglected outskirts of the city as he traveled a path he knew by all his hearts.

The city had done its best to hide the seeping bloodstain on its past. Too cowardly to finish the job, they imprisoned the area in massive barbed fences, laced with hundreds of signs prohibiting entry. They didn't stop him. 

Spamton leaped over, a thick layer of dust billowing as he landed. The miasma of ash and decay started to filter into his lungs as he walked along what had once been a sidewalk.

Long ago, it must've been like any other city district. Smiling darkners populating its colorful streets. A diner here, a playground there, a grocery store down the other road, still recognizable despite caved-in walls and broken windows.

And, of course, the place was still plastered with ads stubbornly clinging on to life. Faded ink, torn edges, but still present, a multitude of them still wishing “Happy New Year 1997!”

Spamton looked up towards a blackened, amorphous shape growing out of the building in front of him. Its form drooped, melted by the fire that had burned it. Nothing more than an empty, gaping hole, the very edges tinged a cerulean blue.

A nest. 

Spamton continued down the road, deeper into the depths. More and more organic shapes burst out of the buildings, some melted into hard, blackened mush, others merely abandoned. Strands of chewed up plastic and specialized saliva—what did the other darkners call it? Rotten glass?—formed a blue-tinted web across the buildings, anchoring the nests in place.  Despite the damage, he could tell they were much larger than his own. Designed not for a single survivor, but an entire colony. 

He stepped over one of the many collapsed powerlines, the wires chewed off with teeth not unlike his own. Up and over a crumpled car jutting sideways across the cracked road. Around the dark black stain where a body had once rested. And, finally, towards the heart of the district.

Far more destroyed than any other, a massive nest sat in the center. Its sprawling form spread across multiple tall buildings, though most of it had completely collapsed, leaving an ugly, bubbly black mass pooled across the ground.

Ground zero. The epicenter. The site of the first nest, the first infection, the first host.

A bricked PC left to rot in the back of the lightners' closet, so worthless it didn't even have a monitor to accompany it. Dented, covered in filthy dust, forgotten. Left to decompose with the malware that infected it.

Spamton stepped away, the air here feeling even more toxic. He didn't know what the nest had really looked like—this place had already been abandoned by the time he hatched. There was nothing here, not anymore. 

He used to explore it when he was younger. A curious hatchling, still able to smell the faint remains of pheromones under the suffocating smoke. Searching for answers, looking through the rubble no matter how much the pollution hurt his lungs. That naive little larva blindly hoped that it would find a survivor. After all, it hadn't been alone! It had been found by another, even if it'd only been a week before—

The same scream of agony repeated over and over like a malfunctioning record as he cowered underneath the dumpster, curled into a tight ball. Terrified, trying to breathe silently even hours later when the sound has ceased, long after the antivirus had left. Watching not blood, but the liquefied, bubbling remains of what had once been alive slowly ooze closer towards him. 

Spamton hissed and snarled, purposefully slamming his weight into the abandoned car next to him hard enough to dent the metal. He breathed heavily, pixels flickering as his claws scratched across its surface and made an awful sound. 

The antivirus. The source of all his problems. Mindless machines built with the sole purpose to kill any malware in their path, only improving as the years passed. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, he—he couldn't get caught. Couldn't get impaled with the “vaccine,” like the rest of his kind that wasn't fortunate enough to starve to death instead.

This empty place was a reminder. A reminder of what this city and its darkners had done to him, and what would happen if he was discovered.

Spamton breathed in the stale air shakily, sliding back towards the dusty ground. A small chuckle rolled out of his throat, which soon escalated into a full on laughing fit as he bounded across the ground, the sound echoing off the dead walls.

A deal's a deal! Why doesn't he pay everything back tenfold? Burn their homes, experiment on their children, dissect their corpses, stab them, kill them, kill them all, feed and infect and spread until it was all his, his city, his world, his—

Spamton leaped over the fence, shaking his fur out as he grew silent. Images of the future and his plan clouded his mind as he walked back to the Trash Zone, the few darkners still out this late into the night entirely unaware of his presence on the rooftops. He breathed in the fresh air, the ache in his lungs starting to fade.

He jumped back down to the familiar road lined with trash, approaching its end. His fur puffed up as he combed through it and searched for any debris, carefully flicking it away. He rubbed his feet and legs together in a distinctly insect-like manner, getting rid of the dirt.

Then, Spamton crawled back into his nest, claws gently scraping across the blue, stringy surface of its walls, maintained, healthy, and free of the black scorch marks that destroyed everything else like it. 

He used his nose to dig through his bedding, burrowing into it. His claws found purchase on soft yet fake fur, and his limbs carefully wrapped around the tasque plush, holding it against his chest. It had smelled faintly like Blue when he first got it, but it was quickly replaced with his own scent.

Spamton closed his eyes, curling into a loose spiral. One day, all of this would be worth it. He'll make it big, finally kill the antivirus… finally, he'll no longer be alone.

———

“Hi, Spam!” Blue greeted him the next day, as cheerful as ever, as he crawled out of the alley he always came from. He couldn't figure out how they still had so much enthusiasm despite just how many days they've met for lunch at this point. 

Spamton returned their greeting like he always did, following into the back of the store as Blue started to chat about their day. At this point, they were barely teaching him anything. He should be more insistent, squeeze more information out of them, leave and find a new toy now that this one was losing its value.

But, he didn't. Spamton followed Blue all the way into the back, sat in the same chair he always did, and waited in anticipation as they pulled two plastic containers out of a lunch box. 

“I've got some chicken and fried rice, ‘cuz I made way too much last night. Um, if that's alright,” Blue explained. 

“I SAID I [Don't mind me]! YOUR MAKING ME SOUND LIKE A SOUND LIKE A SOUND LIKE A SOUND LIKE A [[Brok3n Record]]!!” Spamton replied. He didn't get why they were so shy about bringing food that they made instead of buying something. Hadn't he made it clear that he'll eat anything they give him?

“Okay,” they responded, still managing to sound uncertain as they placed one of the containers into the microwave. Spamton tried to think of another response, but decided against it. He picked up his tie, smoothing its surface over and over with his hands. 

They didn't understand. Cooking wasn't like hunting, but… it was still a way of putting time and dedication into a meal. Time and dedication spent on him. Why did they keep thinking he would hate it? Why couldn't they understand the connotations, what it actually meant to him? 

Spamton remained silent as he was given his food, not trusting the weird feeling in his throat. He expelled all his breath, waiting for the itch to finally dissipate before taking air in again. He held up a forkful of food, awkwardly breathing on it in an attempt to cool it down. 

After the first time he burnt his mouth, Blue had rather embarrassingly explained to him how to make an “o” shape and blow on his food, completely oblivious to the fact that he didn't have lips, or skin, or movable facial muscle in general. He couldn't. So, this was his compromise. And, regardless, burning his mouth wasn't that horrible, anyways. It only took him an hour or two to regenerate something so minor.

“Oh, yeah, before I forget again,” Blue said as their food finished heating, and he paused, swallowing the food he had just shoveled into his mouth. “I was supposed to ask you if you wanted to come to Orange's birthday party? It'll just be the four, err, five of us at their apartment, nothing crazy.”

Spamton spent a moment to consider it. Orange's apartment had been… okay, even if they made him sit on the floor instead of the couch because he refused to take his shoes off. It wasn't like Blue's apartment by any means, but it could be worse.

No. This isn't helpful. You're wasting time. You need information. You need to threaten them pin them down draw blood if you have to anythiNg To g3t RiD 0F T#h@t t  %V$$n/Gg 4NTI;V1RUSssS

“WH3N IS IT?” Spamton asked, taking another bite of food.

“Um… tomorrow?” Blue said sheepishly. “I may have…  forgotten to ask more than once.” Spamton sighed loudly and dramatically in response, but agreed to come as he continued devouring his food. Blue sat down in the other chair and picked up their own fork.

“Say, uh, when's your birthday?” Blue asked after a while.

“DON'T [Remember me]!” he said bluntly, continuing to eat his food.

“You don't… remember?”

“DO YOU?” Spamton asked rhetorically. “I COULDN'T [Exact location found] READ A [Calander app] WHEN I WAS [[Hatched]]!” He took another bite, grateful for the lukewarm center of his lunch that the microwave missed. He still remembers it, but not when. 

What counted as his “birthday,” anyways? When he hatched, born without eyes, a mouth, limbs, lungs, fur—just a wriggling serpentine shape? Or when he emerged, freshly developed mandibles tearing through flesh as he squeezed out of the hollowed-out corpse that had nurtured him, shivering as he felt the light graze his form for the first time?

“Not that, I just…” Blue sounded even more confused. “What about your birth certificate? Or your parents?”

“THEY>>RE [[DEAD]].” Spamton snapped without a thought, breath hitching with the reminder of his last visit to the abandoned district. They probably died before he even took his first breath. He knew from collected newspaper clips that their population had reached single digits by the time he hatched. He could only hope that they starved to death, rather than one of the far worse options.

“Oh, I-I'm sorry, Spam, I didn't…” Blue trailed off, sounding distraught, and he didn't dare look up to meet their gaze. At least they had forgotten to question why he didn't have a birth certificate, or any form of identification in general.

“[Desembur]. IT WAS PRABOABLY [[December Holiday]].” Spamton said, still not looking up as his tail curled around the chair legs. He distinctly remembered being curled up under a pile of broken wooden pallets, trembling as the booming explosions above drowned out his constant weak chirps of distress. The fireworks that were set off every new year; he couldn't remember exactly how many days he'd been alive, but it definitely hadn't been more than a month since he emerged. 

“Oh. Um, happy three-month-late birthday?” Blue replied, their voice still a little strained. “How, uh, what age did you turn?” They asked hesitantly.

Twenty years. Twenty years spent waiting for the right opportunity, hiding in the shadows, practicing being invisible. Twenty years alone. …Or, wait, it was 2018 now, wasn't it? So now it was… “I'VE BEEN [Stuck in a] H3R3 FOR… [21 years and older] NOW,” Spamton determined. 

“Wait, you're younger than me?” Blue questioned. “Sorry, I mean, I just… didn't expect that.” Spamton looked up with a bit of surprise, as well. Did they remember? Surely not; they would've questioned why his favorite year was the one the epidemic occurred if they did. 

The city had done a great job hiding it. Not a single mention aside from vague references after it occurred. A festering wound on its past hidden under a rug that no one was suspicious of enough to look under. As angry as it made him, it truly did work in his favor. 

“YOU CALLING ME [[Finely aged]]?” Spamton asked. “ILL HAVE YOU KNOW IT TAKES [Guts]! IT TAKES [Hone nest work] TO LOOK THIS [Handsome]!!!” he boasted, fingers twitching as a minor glitch swept across him. 

“I didn't mean it like that,” Blue said quickly. "You just talk about 1997 all the time—I didn't realize that was the year you were born.” 

“WELL, I> VE GOT A GOOD [Burning Memory]!” Spamton huffed, finishing the rest of his food. He didn't know just how bad an addison's memory was, but he could still remember the moment he hatched. They were coded to learn, memorize, and mimic as quickly as possible—expected to survive barely one year, let alone… 21.

“I believe you,” Blue said. “I'm kind of sad I missed your birthday, though. Can I still get you a super-late gift?” He looked back up immediately.

“WH4T???!?” What?

“A gift?” Blue repeated. “It's a tradition for birthdays,” they explained. 

Right. Just another addison custom. They're not like you. They don't know what it means. Stop thinking about it. That's not what they meant. You're just a mask, and if it ever slips, they'll—

Spamton shook his head, feeling the beginnings of static. He hated when he got trapped in his head in front of them—it was a miracle he hadn't snapped at them in weeks, especially when they kept touching him, comforting him—

“EHAHAHA HAHA!AA!! SURE! [I.D.] LOVE A [[Genoris]] [Business donation]!!!” Spamton said, willing himself to sit as still as possible.

“Okay,” Blue replied, offering a polite smile. “And, you don't have to worry about getting Orange something! They won't care,” they clarified. 

“I [Wasn't planning on it]!” he said cheerfully, folding his hands. He hasn't really given the addisons anything, in general. Nothing in return.

Spamton stood up abruptly as his tail of thought took a direction he really didn't want to think about. They don't deserve it—he couldn't even offer anything of value—

“Are you alright?” Blue asked as he backed towards the door, rising out of their seat as well.

“WH4T,, NOT [Sickness] OF_ME YET? [Dinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnner] S DONE!” Spamton replied. Blue glanced at their half empty container of food.

“Okay,” they said, refraining from voicing the concern clearly audible in their speech. “Goodbye, Spamton.”

“BYE!” he paused his retreat long enough to quickly wave, then turned around and bolted out the door, the bell above it betraying his haste.

Once Spamton was outside, though, he paused, slowing down in consideration. There was an entire list of productive things he could do. Scavenge in the Trash Zone, clean his nest, work on posters, find customers to sell to…

None of it really sounded appealing, but he continued walking anyways, aimless without direction. Why did he agree to go to the party? This addison deal wasn't what he wanted it to be, but he had already dug himself so deep. 

And, he didn't want to let go. They couldn't get rid of him so easily. Maybe he would need something else to accomplish his plan, but that didn't mean he couldn't keep them. Yes, he'll keep looking like he always has, he just has to maintain… this… a little… longer.

Spamton stuck to alleys, as he usually did, remaining invisible to the oblivious darkners on the streets. Isolated, separated from every other. He ran a hand across the scuffed surface of his mask, struggling to feel it through the fabric of his mitten. 

It didn't matter how pretty of a face he wore, how perfect of a voice he could produce; it would never be enough. There was something fundamentally different about him, something any other darkner could clock immediately no matter what he did. 

He would never belong. He would never be one of them. And, any time he tried, his true self would ooze out of the ever-present cracks of whoever he pretended to be. Darkners were bound by their code, no matter how hard he tried to stretch past his. 

It was an impossible task. He hadn't been able to fully hide from the addisons, they just decided to overlook what they've seen. They must've known something was up with him. But, the truth was too unbelievable, the fact that something that looked like him could fit in such a regular body—and all that mattered was that they couldn't figure out what he really was.

Spamton looked towards the wall, brushing his hand across the poster plastered across it. He had planted it there a few weeks ago, chewing and spitting up the “rotten glass” that made up his nest and using it to effectively cement the paper to the wall. 

Spamton hissed to himself as he ripped several other paper advertisements and a missing cat flyer off the wall, ensuring that his own work was fully visible. As long as it was protected from the rain by the overhang above it, his drawing would always remain, impossible to ever scrape off. 

Spamton looked into the pink and yellow scribbled glasses, wondering how effective his advertisements even were. He hadn't actually seen anyone show up at the Trash Zone, but he was pretty sure he was recognized by at least one cowering customer.

He kept walking, taking quiet paths where he could and watching warily when he had to step into the regular streets. How much could the addisons look past? How much more could seep through before it would be too much? The longer he spent with them, the more he accidentally revealed, each drop of information accumulating. It would spill over eventually, wouldn't it?

Spamton felt the strap of his mask, touching one of the parts where the elastic was fraying, dry and stiff from his attempts to glue it back together. He would just have to do better. Patch up the cracks before they grow deeper, seal everything back inside.

A forgotten ad (FPS Floss! Upgrade your smile!) made a compressed crunch as Spamton foot stomped it into pixels, and then nothing. He glanced at the neon sign of the Annoying Maus Room as it buzzed to life with little enthusiasm.

Normally, he would just climb over these things, but he couldn't when he was wearing his suit. And, normally he'd just stick his tail in the “In” hole to bypass the puzzle, but at some point they replaced the pressure sensors with maus sensors.

Spamton used his foot to shove the green block as close to the “Out” hole, crouching down. He pressed the “Release’ button, then instantly snatched the confused maus that ran out, keeping a firm hold on the back of its neck.

“RELAX [Mousey]!!” Spamton said to it as he held the maus in his hands, bringing over to the other side of the puzzle as it continued to struggle in vain. “I ONLY HUNT [Free-range] NOWADAYS!” Laughter bubbled out of him. 

These rooms were once alluring for their abundant, low-effort food source. But, right after he had eaten all of them completely empty in a matter of days, they all gained security cameras. What a funny coincidence. 

Spamton finally released the distressed maus, and it bolted towards the safety of the “In” hole. The electric force field powered down, and he leisurely strolled past. He continued down the cracked roads, zigzagging through a maze of stagnant buildings.

He was kind of just… going for a walk. Trying and failing to clear his mind. Aside from avoiding the Advertising District, he had no end goal. The thought to try and sell something came up, but the idea ultimately wasn't that appealing, not in the middle of the day. 

He mainly did it for… the satisfaction. The excitement of being able to hunt prey, even if he wasn't allowed to truly tear his claws and teeth in, could only salivate and lick his teeth at the thought of being able to bite into flesh rather than useless dark dollars.

It was too risky; he wasn't large enough to eat the entire body in one sitting, and the corpse he'd leave behind would have very distinguishable wounds and traces of his own code left in it. The only thing keeping him from feeding on anything but animals was the visceral fear of being discovered. 

Even now, every time he sees a darkner, the back of his mind categorizes them by how good of a victim they would be. Are they in a group? Are they paying attention to their surroundings? Were they acting emotional, more prone to make a rash decision? Split seconds, determining threats and potential customers with barely a thought.

It was laughable how Blue thought he could become a good person. That it was as simple as being “nicer” to his customers. He was coded to be this way, programmed to kill, every part of body designed to efficiently maim. They were software, and he was malware, entirely incompatible. 

Gradually, Spamton adjusted his meandering path until he was walking back in the direction of the Trash Zone. He wasn't really getting anywhere with this. He'd much rather be…

The park, maybe. The kids had been a bit annoying, but he'd enjoyed feeling the grass underneath his feet, resting in the shade of the tree. Or, sitting on Blue's couch, watching another nature documentary after they discovered that he liked them. Not even talking, just… coexisting, the comfort of knowing they were there.

Or, sitting next to Blue, watching their body language for an indication of how he was supposed to act. Not talking in an attempt to bring less attention to himself, just… observing, the stress of knowing someone else could see him.

Crumbled concrete crackled under his shoes as Spamton weaved through the quiet alleys, tasting the air for nearby darkners and adjusting his path accordingly. It was so easy to disappear behind the artifacted blue prisms that populated the back end of the city, hollow shells stripped of all valuable assets and coated in grime and garbage. 

Discarded documents accumulated in the corners, scraps blown across by the distant wind, a weak mockery of fallen leaves. Dirt caked into soles, filling in the groves with a conglomerate layer of history. 

Spamton felt… lost. Not physically, just… where was he supposed to go from here? What path was he supposed to choose when none of them had a visible end? Where was he going? 

…As long as he reached his goal, that was what mattered. Anything it took would be worth it in the end. That was the point of all of this in the first place.

Spamton breathed in slowly, feeling the cold air twist through his folded and compressed body and the protesting ache of his muscles as they were held in place. The sensation of his front teeth scraping the inside of his mask, the feeling of the strap digging into his hair, the touch of the glasses pressing against his eyes.

Every part of it was necessary. He wouldn't have gotten this far without it. It had to stay in place, tighter than ever if he wanted this to work.

He took another deep breath, adjusting his posture until he was standing fully upright with his tail curled tightly behind him, and headed back towards the Trash Zone.

———

It was always quiet here, the sounds of the city so distant they weren't even audible. The occasional creaks of the shifting roller coaster supports and nothing more. 

Spamton took in the warm, stuffy air of his nest as he stirred, the membranes over his eyes sliding open. He slowly uncurled from his position buried in fabrics, jaws stretching open in a wide yawn. 

He made a slight sound of confusion as his leg bumped into his sketchbook before remembering why it was there. It was still open to the drawing he'd done last night: a colorful attempt to draw the dark candy tree using the random assortment of utensils he's found over the years. 

The trunk was angular yet twisting, curling across the bottom of the page and filling in the empty space with stark black. The top half of the paper was covered by the branches, growing out into thinner and thinner veins, trailing up towards the yellow light in the pale blue sky around it, surrounded by blotchy red leaves. 

Spamton scooped up the supplies left next to it, emerging into the wider area of his nest and setting them down on his crooked “desk.” When he'd gotten home, finally able to stretch out his limbs again, he picked up his sketchbook and had just gotten so… absorbed that he hadn't put it back down until it was done. Then, he had a very late meal (an entire colony of maice he managed to find) and promptly fell asleep as soon as he got back. 

Spamton stretched out his body, enjoying the freedom to move while he could. He climbed up the pile of garbage that hid his nest, where there was a flat area of roof that had once been a building before getting swallowed by the Trash Zone. It was covered in buckets, bowls, pans, and whatever else he could find to collect rainwater. 

He drank his fill, the chill of the water not enough to undermine how refreshing it was. Then, Spamton went back into his nest, marking the day off on the 2017 calendar he scavenged. He could never find ones from the current year, but there was always plenty in the trash from last year every January, and it mostly worked fine if he ignored the insulting concept of leap years.

He turned towards where his suit was slumped in the corner, limp without its puppeteer. He inspected its hollow form, ensuring that everything was still held in place and nothing broke. He didn't exactly have the means to wash it, but at the very least he picked at any chunks of dust he could find. 

He took one of the wipes Blue had given him, wincing at the poisonous scent of alcohol as he ripped the packaging open. He wiped it across the dirty lenses of his glasses, watching the surface become clear once more. It couldn't fix the scratches in the glass, but it still made it infinitely easier to see out of them. 

Then, he used it to clean some of the dirt off his once-white shoes. It didn't do a whole lot, but it was better than nothing. The memory of Orange demanding he keep his shoes off their couch the first time he was there entered his mind, and Spamton grumbled to himself in response.

It's not his fault! He keeps his fur pristine even if he can't wash the suit itself! And his pheromones smelt much better than those gross chemicals they put all over themselves! Well, okay, Blue's soap was okay, maybe, perhaps, but the rest of them—

Wait, wasn't it… the birthday party. That was today. He'd… agreed to go. When was it? He didn't even remember which apartment number was Orange's!

Spamton sighed to himself as he dragged his suit out of the nest with him. Putting it on was the same long process as always, but that didn't make it any more enjoyable. After several painful minutes, it was over. He shook out his shoe where a claw had gotten stuck on the inside of it, sitting up as he carefully forced his mask into place. 

His legs shook as he slowly stood up, hugging the wall. Even after—what? Five months?—of doing this daily to meet with Blue, he still hadn't quite adjusted to it. Maybe he never would. 

Spamton did better once he got into a rhythm, steps becoming more confident with the familiar road. He decided it would be best to look for Blue, hoping they were still at their apartment. If not… well, couldn't say he didn't try. They probably wouldn't miss him, anyways.

He dropped the used wipe and its packaging in one of the waste bins on the way, not keen on polluting his home more than it already was. Without an addison chaperone, he was free to take the alleys, completely avoiding that stupid cracked sidewalk that tried to trip him.

Why wouldn't Blue just listen to him? The alleys were way better than the regular streets! They were afraid of some… non-existent boogeyman despite his reassurances that he knew which paths were safe. He needed some way to communicate to them that he was by far the most threatening thing in the alleys without outright saying it.

Inevitably, he had to abandon his familiar coverage, the path changing from concrete to colorful stone tiles, reminding him of the rocks in the pet store's aquariums. Spamton had never been here without Blue, and had never gotten a closer look at any of it.

Between all the apartment buildings was a small plaza, surrounded by benches, an annoying amount of popup ads, and a small fountain in the center. Spamton inspected the flowing water, realizing there was… money sitting in the bottom of the shallow basin. 

He looked at it hungrily, glancing at the few potential witnesses around. It would be so easy, but… he wouldn't be able to explain to the addisons why his arm was drenched, nor did he really want to be wet. How cruel, taunting him like this. 

Spamton shook his head, stepping away from the fountain and entering the apartment complex that contained Blue's home. He considered the elevator for less than a second before turning towards the thankfully empty stairwell.

He scaled them quickly on all fours, tail extending behind him for balance. It was much faster than it would be on two legs. He definitely did not trip several times. Spamton kept his posture bent as he approached Blue's door, footsteps muffled by the black carpet.

He gripped the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. Annoyed, he slammed the side of his body against the door, but it did nothing. He tried to pry his claws into the gap between the door and the frame, but he couldn't get very far unless he wanted to snap them off. 

He jolted as the door swung open without any input from him. 

“Spamton? The hell are you doing here?” Pink asked, staring at him. 

“H HEY! I COULD ASK YOU [The Same Great Taste You Remember], [Medium rare]!!” Spamton retorted, smoothing his hair down in an attempt to look nonchalant and hoping they hadn't seen him get startled.

“We're making a cake for Orange,” Pink explained. “Also, could you maybe knock like a normal person next time?” they shuffled out of the way as he shoved past them without responding. 

“Hi, Spamton,” Blue said, having presumably heard the commotion. They walked out of the kitchen in order to greet him. 

“HEHAY BLUE,” he replied, strutting closer whilst sparing a death glare or two at Pink. Why did they have to be here? 

“Why are you even here?” Pink questioned, walking back towards the kitchen where there was indeed something making his mouth water as he smelled it. 

“CAN;:T I [Check ATK & DEF] ON MY [Frieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeends]???” Spamton asked, clasping his hands together innocently. Pink's expression didn't seem to convey any sort of belief.

“We're just finishing getting ready for the party,” Blue politely explained. “Uh, I think Yellow's already there. They're not really, um…”

“Yellow is banned from the kitchen,” Pink finished calmly, placing a plastic lid over what presumably contained the cake before he could even get a good look at it. Slightly annoyed, he observed as Blue organized the messy assortment of dishes across the counter top and brought them to the sink. 

“Hey, Spamton,” Blue called, and his head instantly pointed to face in their direction. “Do you want the rest of the frosting?” they asked, holding up a ceramic bowl. He eagerly walked closer, snatching it for himself. He shoved the silicone spatula in his mouth and licked the cream cheese frosting off of it. 

“Are you seriously going to eat that entire thing?” Pink questioned with disgust as Spamton continued devouring it.

“[Entire World]??? IT’5 ALMOST EMPTY!” Spamton replied with a mouthful of sugary sweet goo. He would've come here sooner if he knew he'd get something like this. 

“Whatever,” Pink muttered as they stepped over to help Blue with dishes. Spamton ignored them, enjoying his snack. He tilted the bowl so that they couldn't see him licking the inside of it spotless. Then, he handed it over to Blue, a bit confused when they scrubbed it with a soapy sponge despite the fact that he had just cleaned it for them.

Spamton snooped around as he waited for Blue (and definitely not Pink) to finish up, noticing the small assortment of shiny wrapped boxes on the table. Next to them was a folded piece of paper, a green envelope, and a pile of colored pens. He leaned over the table and squinted at the words in order to read them. 

“Happy Birthday!” was printed in the top right in swoopy letters. Three separate messages in blue, magenta, and gold filled the empty white space, labeled “-Pink ♡,” “—From Blue :^),” and “–YELLOW” respectively.

“Did you want to write a message?” Blue asked as they approached. Why would they ever want that?

“A FREE [Autograph]??? FINE! JUST THIS ONCE!” Spamton said, examining the selection of pens available as Blue left him alone to think. He tilted his head as he considered his options, noticing how a few in particular caught the light. 

He made his choice, absentmindedly clicking the pen as he read over the other messages left on the card. They were positive, clearly personal in a way he could never achieve. He shook his head, brandishing the pen and digging deep into the paper, and wrote:

“CONGRAtS! ON SURVIVEING tHIS LON G! !” 

It was much shorter than all the other messages, but significantly larger due to the size of his handwriting, cutting across both sides of the card in deep red. He traced over it several more times, thickening the shaky, jagged lines. 

Once finished, he awkwardly slid the card to the edge of the table in order to close it, since he couldn't really pick it up with his mittens without crumpling it. He stepped away from the table, realizing that Blue and Pink must've finished cleaning up, as they were now sitting on the couch. 

Blue asked if he was finished, and Spamton made a sound of confirmation. He followed the two addisons back to the dining room table, watching them prepare the envelope. 

“The fuck?” Pink quietly muttered under their breath as they opened the card. “Eh, Orange's weird—they'll probably get a kick out of it,” they added at regular volume. 

“Out of wh—oh,” Blue said as they looked at the card, and his twitching tail drooped still as he heard their tone. He didn't say anything as the two slid a couple of coupons from their stores into the card, sealing it inside of a lime green envelope. 

“So, are we all ready to go?” Blue asked as they picked up the two wrapped packages and their purse. Pink went into the kitchen to grab the cake. Spamton, of course, remained empty handed.

“[All of the above],” he replied, hiding his lack of enthusiasm with a voice clip. Going to Orange's apartment shouldn't really be anything stressful, but some part of him was tense regardless. 

…

Spamton lingered next to the shoe rack, closing the door behind him. He watched all the addisons hug in greeting, making it look so easy and effortless. He wasn't offered one, but why would they?

“Thanks for coming, Spamton,” Orange said, finally acknowledging his existence. He fixed his posture, curling his tail behind him. Then, he stepped forwards stiffly. 

“YE YEAH H! WHAT R WE [Now playing] ANYWAYS??” he said without really caring for the answer. His head swiveled around as he observed his surroundings. Predictably, nothing had really changed since the last time he was here. Lots of wooden, or at least faux wooden, furniture populated the room, an assortment of blue and green plants filling the shelves and window sills, interspersed with various figurines.

“I don't have a set plan,” Orange replied. “The goal is to just have fun! And, we're going to order pizza in a few hours, in case you're worried,” they added with a playful tone. He huffed. Okay, yeah, he pretty much didn't go to anything unless he got food out of it, but he wasn't that insistent. 

Orange walked towards the living room as they spoke, and the others followed. Spamton trailed after them, glancing around at the decor. There was a lot to look at, but they kept the lights dim enough that it wasn't too overwhelming. 

Their living room was a bit larger than Blue's, with a larger couch and two cushy chairs on either side of it and a small glass table in the center. The carpet was an ugly neon green in true addison fashion, contrasting with the black walls and the lamps that acted as the room's main lighting source. 

Rather than choosing one of the seats, though, Spamton instead dug into the pile of blankets hidden behind them, ruining the neatly folded stack. He arranged them into a very rudimentary nest, far from anything recognizable, nestling into them until nothing but his head was uncovered. 

He'd been annoyed when Orange banned him from the couch because of the state of his shoes and clothes, but he'd found that doing this was almost better. With blankets obscuring his form, he didn't have to worry about them seeing anything unnatural as he took a more comfortable position. 

He observed as Orange, grinning, took out a thin colorful box from the cabinet under the TV. Yellow groaned, “Darkneropoly? We're going to be here for the next five hours if we start a game of that.”

“What, I can't pick out the games at my own birthday party?” Orange replied, putting their free hand on their hip. “Besides, I know you love it. Every addison does.” Spamton tilted his head as they rattled the box, reading the words “Darkneropoly (Copyright Free!)” on the front of it. 

“Oh! Spamton, have you ever played this before?” Orange asked excitedly, noticing his gaze. 

“I DON'T PLAY [Violent video games],” Spamton said, watching with confusion as Orange set the game on the ground, opening the box. They unfolded a flat board, characterized by the striped grid following its perimeter. A couple metallic pieces and tiny houses tumbled out with it.

“Yeah, this game can get pretty violent,” Yellow said jokingly as Orange pulled out something made of thin plastic that was filled with… colorful fake money?

“If you don't really want to play, you could take care of the bank,” Orange suggested.

“Wh—no!” Pink exclaimed immediately. “Do you seriously trust him with any form of money management!?”

“It's not real money,” Orange argued. “I don't want to make him just sit there and watch.”

“I'LL [Livin the life~]!!” Spamton replied. “CAN'T REALLY [Pick up delivery] PAPER LIKE THIS,” he added, showing his mittened hands for emphasis. Even if he could, he didn't really like counting. He could do it, just… very slowly.

“You sure?” Orange questioned. 

“YES!! JUST PLAY [[Yo’u're]] DAMN GAME!” 

…And, so they did. At some point, he realized it was a game about buying properties and, well, making money, explaining why the addisons were so interested when he himself could care less. Spamton wasn't really a salesman; he wasn't in it for the money, but the freedom. 

He was a bit surprised that even Blue was getting competitive. As they continued playing, Spamton continued offering helpful advice, (It's not illegal if no one can catch you, Pink) despite his very limited understanding of the game's rules. He laughed whenever one of them suffered, gloating about how his incredibly sound and reliable suggestions could've helped. 

Spamton's tail tip flicked underneath the blanket, the fabric acting more of a source of warmth than a way to hide at this point. He still had no idea who was winning or what was even happening, but their reactions were entertaining enough. And, aside from seizing with glitches any time he laughed too hard, it was… nice. 

But, the game had to come to an end at some point. Though he wasn't sure if the addisons were even taking it that seriously at this point. 

“Damn, we've been here for a while. Wanna play another round?” Orange said. The other three replied with no in unison immediately. 

“Geez, I was joking,” Orange replied, holding their palms out in mock surrender. “What I was actually thinking is that we can order some food.” Spamton looked up from where he was adjusting his mittens.

“Isn't it kind of early?” Pink questioned. 

“Well, yeah, but I didn't eat this morning,” Orange replied, taking out their phone. “Besides, gotta make sure there's time to prepare for dessert, right?” They stood up. “How's the usual pizza order sound?”

“Can we get some breadsticks, too?” Pink suggested as they also stood up. The other two soon followed, and it was just Spamton left on the floor. 

“Don't see why not,” Orange replied, presumably putting the order together from their phone. They went back to the kitchen, and the other three followed, still talking. 

He looked at the abandoned game board, finally emerging from his blanket cocoon and examining the pieces sprawled out across the coffee table. The metal bits seemed too important; they'd definitely notice if one of the unique shapes disappeared.

He picked up one of the little houses. It was a hunk of magenta plastic, incredibly rudimentary in shape, but there was something novel about it. Spamton slid it into one of his pockets. A little reminder of the already-gone moment. 

He used the couch arm to assist in standing up, reluctantly letting the blanket fall from his shoulders, then finally walked towards the kitchen where everyone else was. 

“Oh! Did you want something to drink, Spam?” Blue asked, currently in the process of grabbing a soda can from Orange's fridge. He got closer, looking inside. Orange only had cans, not bottles, and he wasn't particularly enthused by the possibility of cutting himself on the metal trying to get a sip.

“[[Refreshing mountain spring water 24pk]],” he answered, accepting the bottle as Blue handed it to him. The cap was flimsy enough that he could get it off without using his teeth. Spamton tilted his head down so that he could drink without being seen. 

“Food should hopefully be here in about 20 minutes,” Orange said, cracking open their own can of soda and taking a sip. Spamton continued drinking his water, the plastic crinkling as it was compressed from being sucked dry. 

He crushed it in his hands to an even smaller form once he finished, tempted to eat the bottle, but there were far too many potential witnesses around, so he reluctantly threw it in the trash can instead. 

“Did you, uh, want another?” Blue asked, staring at him.

“SURE!” Spamton replied, accepting another water bottle. Blue looked even more confused when he shoved it in his jacket for safekeeping instead of opening it. After a moment of lingering while the addisons talked to each other, he retreated back to the living room. The addisons ended up following after him.

“What do you guys want to do after we eat?” Orange asked as they sat down on the couch. “Got plenty of games we can play, we could watch a movie…”

“We've gotta play a few rounds of Kart Racers,” Yellow suggested, already grabbing a few video game controllers from the cabinet under the TV while Orange put away the board game, oblivious to the missing piece. The others made sounds of agreement. 

“That's only four players, though,” Orange replied. 

“I C4N [[luxjerry watch for chaep]]!” Spamton replied, draping the blanket back over himself. Blue had tried to show him video games before, but it hadn't gone great. Functional electronics didn't show up in the trash, so he'd never touched one before then. And, it never really clicked for him. 

“Alright,” Orange relented, sounding a bit confused. They finished prepping the console and TV, then returned to the couch. The addisons resumed talking, and talking, and talking. 

It was easy to insert himself into the conversation when they were playing a game or watching a movie, but he couldn't when they were just talking about their lives. He couldn't talk about what he did after their meetings, where he lived, most of his “hobbies,” who he really was. He couldn't add any of his own experiences, and he kept his mouth shut in hopes they wouldn't try to ask. 

Spamton pulled the blanket over his head, the only things visible being his glasses and nose. He shouldn't have gotten so comfortable in the first place. Every word he spoke was a potential liability, a risk he shouldn't have taken. It wasn't worth the sense of normalcy. 

He curled in on himself, willing the dizzy static to fade before someone noticed and showed concern. He could think about it later, when he wasn't surrounded by addisons who could visually see when the color drained from his eyes. For now, he needed to hide. Act normal.

He flinched as the doorbell rang, though thankfully no one noticed. He stayed put as the others went towards the door, making sure that he wasn't visible from it. When the door finally shut again, he got up and followed the others into the kitchen, mouth already watering. 

Orange was balancing a stack of four red and white boxes, the aroma of grease already apparent. Orange slid them onto the counter and opened them, then grabbed a set of plastic plates. “You, uh, want a fork, again?” they asked him. 

“YES???” Why wouldn't he? “I'D LIKE TO KEEP MY [Hands] FREE OF [[Bllood sttains]]!!!” Spamton said, flexing his claws under his dirty, off-white mittens.

“I know,” Orange replied, grabbing a metal fork for him from the drawer. He snatched it from them without a word, violently spearing several slices of the pizza with meat on it by the crust, smearing grease across the box as he dragged them onto his plate. 

Spamtom scampered back into the living room with his warm plate in hand as he reclaimed his spot on the floor. He hated the idea of using tools to assist in eating when his mandibles were perfectly capable of doing the job on their own, but he didn't have a cleaner option when he was stuck in his suit.

He used the fork to fold a slice into a more compact form, then speared it and shoved the entire thing in his mouth at once. He tiled his head upwards, using gravity to swallow it in just a few bites. He was hoping to minimize the chance of getting an orange stain on his fur, because the last time that happened it'd taken an entire day to get out. 

He heard the addisons also enter the living room while in the process of devouring his second slice. He continued ignoring the addisons as he consumed the third, using the fork to scrape every last speck of meat into his mouth. Spamton set the plate down, silently waiting for the addisons to finish eating.

And, after that, they set up the game as Spamton hid under the blanket again. In an attempt to include him, Orange asked him to pick a “cup” of racing tracks for them to play, and he picked the one with the star on it. 

Spamton willed himself to keep his mouth shut as they played, curling in on himself. He could barely figure out what to focus on in the first place—the entire screen was nothing but a collage of colors accompanied by a barrage of sounds. Yet, somehow, the addisons could figure out exactly what was going on. 

Then, they played another round, and a third. Next, it was onto some card game he also declined, filling with more laughter and yelling from the addisons as they played. He was running out of excuses to hide in the kitchen. First, he said he was going to refill his plate. Then, he said he would refill it again. When they questioned the fact that he had eaten 6 slices of an XL pizza, Spamton said that he was going to put his plate away. Next, a drink. 

He entered the furthest corner of the kitchen, taking the water bottle out of his pocket and chugging the entire thing. It was refreshingly room temperature. He anxiously chewed the empty bottle into a pulp, swallowing the entirety of it. He—

“Goddammit! Quit changing the color to red!” Orange explained from the other room, and he flinched in response, hitting his elbow on the counter. Why were they so loud?

“Yes! I win!” Blue replied. 

“I told you so! Now we both lost!”

“Oh, please, you two have less cards combined than I do alone.”

Spamton grit his teeth, shaking his head violently. It was just a game. The kitchen did nothing to muffle the sound of it. He looked at the tempting sight of the front door. He could always just… leave. It'd probably take them a while to notice he was gone, and it's not like they'd be missing him.

He listened as the addisons put away the cards and transitioned into finding a movie to watch. Still, he remained in place, considering if they'd notice if he flicked the light switch in here off or not. 

Spamton froze as he heard one of them actually mention his name, and then the sound of footsteps. For a split second, he scrambled toward the wall with the instinct to climb onto the ceiling, then remembered that he absolutely could not do that and settled for crouching under the counter instead. 

“Spamton?” Yellow called, and he tensed in response, realizing his hiding spot was completely worthless. He shot back up to full height, startling them. “...What're you doing?”

“GETTING A [Fountain drink]?” Spamton said quickly, fixing his posture and curling his tail tightly behind him. Yellow glanced over at the fridge on the completely opposite side of the kitchen, raising an eyebrow. 

“Are you doing alright? You've been a bit… reserved today,” Yellow asked, stepping closer but still giving him space. 

“I'M—W Hh WHY DOES IT MATTER??” Spamton replied, trying to keep still. This was Orange's party, not his. Every single little event he went to, he ruined like this. Never happy, never content, never satisfied.

“Because we care about you,” Yellow said, like it was the simplest concept in the world.

“I'M. FINE.” Spamton grit his teeth, stomping past Yellow and back towards the living room. He wasn't expected to talk during a movie; it should be easy. 

“Like hell you are,” Pink said, getting up from their seat and partially blocking the entrance. He was tempted to just walk around them. “You're walking around like an NPC again.” …A what?

“You do seem a bit uncomfortable,” Blue added. Was… his attempt to appear natural what they were concerned over? Had he let his mask slip so far that trying to look normal had somehow become abnormal?

“I   DON'Tt… KNoW,” Spamton mumbled for the sake of just providing an answer. He couldn't actually explain why he was so miserable to them. He finally gave into the urge to fidget with his tie. 

“You gotta low social battery?” Orange guessed, and Spamton tilted his head in confusion. “Like, how much social interaction you can handle before it's too draining and you have to recharge,” they clarified. 

“[[Maybe]],” Spamton replied. “YOU [Slimes] ARE LOUD! [♫♪ I’m too much!~~ ♫♪]!” He shuffled back towards the blanket pile left on the floor. Yes, he could only take so much of.. this. Of having to constantly hide, restraining everything he said and did. He couldn't keep up—it was exhausting.

But, he also wanted more, more than he would ever receive. To be held, to be touched without pain or disgust, to cling tighter and never let go. A pointless, worthless, useless hope. He picked up the blanket.

“You can go home if you need to, Spamton. We're not going to be upset about it,” Orange said. “Actually… how about we do cake right now so you don't have to miss out on anything important?” They grinned.

“Y—FINE! [HotDeal]!” That was ideal, actually.

“Fine with me,” Pink said, leading the addisons back into the kitchen. Spamton dropped the blanket again, following after. He breathed in the scent of sugar, watching in anticipation as Pink cut their cake into slices and put it onto plates.

Spamton snatched his own serving the second it touched the plate. He stabbed his fork in the center of the slice in an attempt to pick up the entire thing, but quickly determined that it was too weak and would fall off. He begrudgingly cut it into smaller pieces instead. 

Orange was opening their gifts, but he wasn't really paying attention. It just felt… too personal. He still barely knew the addisons, but the four of them had been together for years. He didn't fit.

“Aww, Spam, you wrote a birthday message for me?” Orange said, and he looked up from where he had been licking frosting off his plate, body facing away so they couldn't see his mouth. “It's got that… what do you like to call it? ‘Spamton charm?’”

“OF [How to Become a Millionaire: Course] IT DOES!! I WROT3 IT!!” he replied, going back to cleaning his plate. Was he allowed to get another slice? He glanced around as he walked back towards the cake, grabbing the metal spatula and shakily sliding another slice onto his plate. 

It fell over onto its side immediately, but he could care less as he devoured it, licking the crumbs from his mouth. Spamton waited in the corner for the addisons to finish, tapping his covered claws on the ceramic plate in his hands.

“Hey, Spamton?” Blue called, and he slowly turned his head towards them as they approached, taking his plate and fork and putting it in the dishwasher for him. “I understand if you just want to go home, but, um, I did actually get that gift for you, if that'd… cheer you up.”

“wHAT?? I Mm M3AN [Sure would be nice]!!” Spamton stuttered. He hadn't forgotten about that, he just wasn't expecting anything this soon. Or that they'd forget that they even offered. He couldn't turn this down—when would they ever want to give him something again?

“Damn, you're leaving us?” Orange asked Blue, though they didn't actually sound upset. 

“I can always come back,” Blue said, grabbing their purse and putting their shoes back on. They opened the front door for him, politely waiting for Spamton to step through. 

…

It was a short walk to Blue’s apartment, and he was grateful they maintained the silence. Despite his efforts, Spamton felt himself relaxing his posture, letting his long tail sway behind him. He was tired of this. 

“Oh, yeah!” Blue said as they opened the door for him. “I made physical copies of the photo we took at the carnival. Did you want one?” They ran off to their room, returning with a glossy photograph. 

He gingerly picked it up, focused on the printed image of his mask over anything else in it. A physical representation of his lies. The man who he was not. His grip tightened as he stiffly shoved the photograph into one of his pockets. There was no need to dwell on it—he's seen it before. 

“Alright… then,” Blue said. “I'm afraid your gift isn't wrapped, cuz’ I got it just yesterday, if you don't mind.” They didn't wait for a response as they quickly walked back to their room to presumably grab it. He slowly sat down on the couch, feeling it sink under his weight as he stared at his own reflection in the inactive TV screen.

Blue returned with an inconspicuous white grocery bag, handing it to him and taking a seat on the other side of the couch. “You, um, don't have to open it here if you don't want to,” they said, eyes darting around. 

Spamton swallowed saliva down his tightening throat, feeling the rectangular box-like shape of the gift as he slid the plastic bag off of it. It was decorated with vibrant colors, the label on the front revealing that they were… markers. Alcohol markers. 

Something vile twisted within his twisted body. They cared about him. They remembered his interests. They listened to his requests. They well and truly thought that their relationship was real, completely blind to the trap dragging them further and further into the depths. So sickeningly sweet.

“Um, I know you like art, but I wasn't sure what medium you prefer, so uh… I can return these if you'd prefer something else,” Blue mumbled, nervously running the fingers through their hair. 

“IT'S [[Picture Perfect]],” he said, completely devoid of any visible emotion as he remained frozen in place. He breathed in and out, in and out, robotically putting the box of markers back in the plastic bag and standing up. He felt sick.

“Are you okay? You don't seem—”

“[[THANK YOU]],” Spamton cut them off, walking towards the front door. He opened it without looking back. 

“Spamton? I—goodbye?” Blue followed after him. In a moment of hesitation, he glanced back at them, and they gingerly waved at him. He put the barest amount of effort into waving back, then transitioned the movement into swinging the door shut. 

He breathed in and out, in and out, in and out, footsteps quiet against the carpet.

———

His brain felt like sludge. Thoughts sloshing into one another, melting into a meaningless slurry. He was thinking too much. He could barely think. 

You make everything worse.

What was wrong with him? He didn't need this much food.

Such a thoughtful gift.

How sloppy. What a waste it would be to leave this here.

They hate you. They will hate you.

It was too messy to carry back to the nest.

They care about me.

He could share. He had already eaten his fill.

All you ever do is hurt them. 

An apology. He had to make sure it looked perfect.

They want to see me happy.

A gift. For the—no. There was no colony, just him.

You're a disease. A plague. That's all you'll ever be. Just a wretched, vile beast whose only purpose is to destroy.

World's first charity…

They don't love you. And they never will.

Spamton licked the blood off his claws, finally registering what he did, hands shaking. They'll hate it. They wouldn't want it. They never asked to be a part of all of this. But they were a part of it, they were his, and it felt so right to do this.

Spamton chittered to himself, a sound entirely alien to anyone but him, as he stepped away from the back entrance to Cyber Shoes II. Razor sharp talons dug into the siding as he climbed up to the roof, black fur disappearing underneath the sky-grid's rosey midnight glow. Leaving a carefully, thoughtfully, placed gift on the concrete door step.