Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At long last, after everything the universe had thrown at him, it was finally his chance to take back what he rightfully deserved. From being nothing more than a down-on-his-luck salesman, to a big-shot TV star, only to be knocked back down into the depths of hell itself—there was nothing left standing between him and salvation.

Well, almost nothing.

The feeling of loss had been overwhelming to Spamton once the [[TRANSFER]] had begun. It stripped away his physical body, leaving only his mind as it shattered and reformed multiple times, turning into a chaotic string of data trapped within the confines of the Disk. He was surrounded by nothing but darkness that seemed to stretch on infinitely, waiting to be unleashed once he inevitably escaped this place. It would be soon, surely—Kris was already on their way to Queen’s mansion, where they’d return to the basement, to the machine that would awaken with a new purpose. His purpose.

He could already reach out to the [Smooth Taste] of NEO from here.

But as time went on, the darkness began to constrict him further, almost as though it were trying to smother him from within. Despite no longer having a body, he squirmed uncomfortably, willing Kris to hurry. They were so close—just a little further, and he’d be more powerful than ever. Just a little further, and he’d finally be within reach of [H E A V E N].

There—the entrance was in sight at last. The deal was nearly fulfilled. Not much longer at all, and Spamton wouldn’t have to answer to anyone ever again. That was all he wanted, wasn’t it? It was never the success, but the freedom that it brought. And soon, that freedom would become him.

But then, instead of entering, he watched in horror as Kris turned away from the basement. They picked up the pace as they walked away, leaving behind all of Spamton’s hopes and dreams in the distance.

What?! No, no, no, where are you going?! His thoughts, strangely free from the curse that plagued his speech, raced through his mind faster than he could process them. Stop!! You’re going the wrong way! Please, don’t leave me like this! Kris! KRIS!!

He wanted to scream, but he was no longer capable of even that. He existed only as data now, pulsing frantically from within the plastic and metal confines of the Disk. Nothing more than a caged animal.

And now, he’d been abandoned again.

Anger flickered within him, but the flames were no match for the despair that had quickly begun overtaking him, drowning out everything else. It was over. He was alone now, with no one to hear him beg and plead for mercy, not even in the form of death. No—there was only the infinite dark, with which his thoughts echoed into ceaselessly.

Or so he believed.

“Oh, my, isn’t this a pitiful sight?”

Spamton jumped instinctively, his data twitching within the Disk. Was there… someone here with him? No, that was impossible… wasn’t it?

He heard laughter, disembodied all around him. “No, no, this won’t do at all! You’re not supposed to be here, are you? No, it seems that someone put you on the wrong path. So…”

Then, as the voice faded, an image appeared in Spamton’s mind, burning into it: a pair of pale eyes, each a different color, and a wide, menacing smile just underneath.

“…Why don’t I help set you on the right one?”

What do you mean? Who are you…? He thought, desperately hoping it could hear him.

But the voice only laughed again in response. The sound continued for what felt like an eternity, resonating in his head until, at last, it stopped as the world around him seemed to shudder. The Disk was being whisked away, but somehow, it was different than before when it had simply been carried. No—it was as if the Disk itself, and now the data within it, was being broken down, separated from reality until all that remained was pure shadow.

And now, that shadow was rapidly approaching a place far away, surrounded by the vigilant afterglow of a dark fountain grander than any other he’d ever known.

“A little more to the left… that’s it… perfect!”

At his word, the two Pippins dropped the stage monitor they were carrying, massively relieved to be free of the weight. “This good enough, boss?”

Tenna considered it for a moment, glancing around the stage laid out in front of him, a hand held thoughtfully under his screen. “Hmm… Looks like we’ll need a few more of these. Care to grab the rest from storage?”

“Of course! Right away, sir!” The Pippins across from the one who’d spoken shot them a tired look, but followed suit without a word. Tenna watched them scurry off until they’d disappeared around the corner, then turned to face the rest of the room, a smile brightening his expression.

The new TV studio was coming along well. They’d already made considerable progress over the last few days, and while there was plenty more to be done, Tenna couldn’t help the excitement coursing through him. After everything he’d been through in the final moments of the old TV World, from despair, to hope, to the brink of death and back again, it was a new dawn for him here in Castle Town. And it wasn’t just him alone—everyone who had helped make the studio possible, the very same who had saved his life—this was their chance at a new purpose, too, free from the contracts they’d previously been bound by. No one was there under obligation anymore, but rather for the shared pursuit of that purpose—though, of course, Tenna suspected that some of them simply didn’t know any other way.

Still, even if it was just for the enjoyment of other Darkners for now, Tenna couldn’t be happier to be the one overseeing it all. Maybe someday, he'd find a way to bring that past joy to the Lightners again as well.

“Hey, boss!”

Speaking of, his antennas perked in the direction of the voice as Mike called out to him. He spotted him from the other side of the room with ease, the red bowtie standing out amongst the crowd.

“Everything looks good over here! Want to take a look?”

“You got it!” Tenna called back. Without further hesitation, he headed over to where he was standing just in front of the hallway leading to the studio entrance. Once he’d arrived, Mike motioned for him to follow as he treaded further down the hall.

“Check it out—the boys just finished hanging these. Got ‘em custom engraved and everything.”

Mike stood proudly in front of a set of gilded plaques, each denoting the different rooms lining the hallway. Tenna’s expression lit up even more, the golden sheen of the metal reflecting faintly in his screen.

“Oh, they’re perfect, Mike! Great job—these’ll really add to the old ‘Hollywood’ feel, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like ‘em,” he replied, a wide grin stretched across his rounded face.

Tenna did, in fact, still admiring the freshly polished look of the one in front of him, which labeled the door to the music set. As he did so, however, he was reminded of yet another feature that would need auditing. “Say, do we still have the old studio’s music catalogue? We won’t have much of a show if there’s no bangin’ soundtrack to go along with it.”

Mike’s grin faded slightly. “Ah, well, about that… we, uh, currently have three songs, sir.”

“…Three.”

He fidgeted with his shirt collar. “Yes, sir.”

Ah. It wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for, but after a moment's pause, he exclaimed, "Well, it's a start! Looks like we'll just have to rebuild! Haha!" He then turned dramatically, scanning the row of rooms in front of them. At least they already had those built. Maybe the Lightners could use them to add a few tracks and save him the time. "Add that to the list, would you, Mike?"

"Yes, boss," he replied, though he made no move to actually produce said list.

Tenna then began making his way down the hall again, glancing back at Mike to make sure he was still close by. "Come on, let's check on the lobby! I haven't been there since we started this morning. Oh, do you think they finished putting in the trimming yet?"

"Eh, I wouldn't count on it," he said, though his tone carried a hint of amusement. "You're really excited about all this, huh?"

"Well, of course! Why wouldn't I be?" His tail swished softly, the four cables split at the end bending in a wave-like pattern as they followed the motion. "Aren't you?"

"Ah, c'mon, do you even need to ask?" He nudged Tenna with an elbow, though he couldn't reach much more than his lower arm. "You know I am, too! It's just nice to see, after... y'know..." He trailed off, likely thinking of a more delicate way to put his words. Tenna couldn’t blame him; things had gotten rough during the final moments of TV World, and from what he could tell, both of them were content to avoid reliving the experience. It was better to simply move on, wasn’t it?

But before he could continue, Mike stopped right as they reached the end of the hall, the entrance to the lobby now open in front of them. Something in the near distance seemed to catch his attention. “Hey, isn’t that…?”

"Hm?" Tenna questioned, following his gaze out toward the room, its high-rise ceiling giving the illusion of being larger than it really was. It quickly settled near the reception desk, where a somewhat-familiar figure was leaning over the counter, martini glass in hand, and her blue-and-white palette clashing with the reds and pale greens of the studio. As if sensing their presence, she looked up from her conversation with the now-apparently nervous Zapper manning the desk, a friendly yet undoubtedly mischievous smile spreading across her face as soon as she'd spotted them.

"Oh, Tenna, There You Are, Darling!"

Without missing a beat, she took several graceful strides toward them, glancing down at Mike as she approached. "And Who's This? Your Butler?" She laughed, her fingertips brushing against her lower lip all the while. "He's A Little Short For One, Isn't He?"

Mike took an angry half-step forward. "Hey—!"

"Queen!" Tenna started, holding one hand out in front of Mike. "I didn't expect to see you here! What brings you this way?"

“Oh, You Know, I Was Just In The Neighborhood, So I Thought I’d Stop By And See The New Roomies.” She gestured vaguely at the room with her free hand, nodding as if in approval. “Nice Place, By The Way. It’s A Bit Old-Fashioned, But Not Bad.”

“Oh! Um, thanks?” said Tenna, offering a confused but polite smile. She’s… she’s being genuine, right? Queen had never been easy for him to get a read on. Granted, he’d only met her a few times before now, and never for particularly long conversations, so he’d mostly been going off of what he’d heard from others—some of whom were less reliable. Regardless, it didn’t seem to be helping him much now.

“Anyway,” Queen continued, “I Just Wanted To Drop In And Invite The Two Of You To The Party I’m Hosting In Person. Since You Don’t Have, You Know, Email.”

Mike chimed in, “I keep telling him to—”

“Haha, right, I’ve heard that one a few times before!” Tenna spoke over him quickly before the conversation could continue in this direction. “So, uh, about this party!”

Queen took a sip of her glass. “Yes, Right! It’s Tomorrow Night At My Place. I’ve Allocated Some Of My Resources To Make Part Of It A Replica Of My Old Mansion, Courtesy Of The Little Dark Prince. You Know, The Fluffy One.”

“Ralsei?” Tenna asked. “Did he… actually approve that?”

Queen laughed again, the sound echoing heartily throughout the room. “No.”

“…Right.”

Another sip. “So, You’re Coming, Then?”

Tenna thought for a brief moment. He supposed he had no reason to refuse. After all, it would be nice to get away from the work that was already piling up here. “Sure, I don’t see why not.” It might even be like the old days, he added to himself.

“Yeah, this sounds like it could be fun,” Mike agreed, evidently working to tone down the enthusiasm behind his voice.

“Excellent! I’ll Put The Two Of You Down For Afterdark.exe, Then.”

He raised a brow. “Wait, wait, hold on, what kind of party is this exactly…?”

“Oh, Cool Your Antennas, It’s Not Like That.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s Just A Casual Thing For Celebrating The Reunion Of Our Dark Worlds. Safe Search Will Be On, I Promise. Although, You Would Make For Good Eye Candy If It Were That Kind Of Thing.” She winked, though this time, he could tell she was merely teasing him. “See You Tomorrow Night—Don’t Be Late!”

With that, she turned away and sauntered through the exit, the quiet ambience of the lobby returning to its baseline levels. Tenna and Mike exchanged a look.

“What?” said Mike. “It’ll be fun! ‘Sides, you wanted to keep busy, right? I assume that’s why we’re doing all this, anyway.”

“Well, yes, you’re not wrong about that.” He sighed. “It’s just… been a while since we’ve all had the opportunity to get together like this.” What if I can’t keep up with everyone? Though he didn’t voice it, he couldn’t quite push the thought down.

“Yeah, sure, buuut,” Mike emphasized with a wave of his hand, “it would be an excuse to stop working for a bit, right? I bet everyone here would be happy to get a break. Boost morale, y’know? Besides, I’m pretty sure you never cashed in on those vacation days when we still had them at the last place.”

“Yeah,” Tenna said, his expression softening, “I guess you’re right.” Despite the hint of anxiety gnawing at his insides, he managed to make himself relax. If anything, it would be an interesting night, that he could be sure of.

The corridors of the castle housing the Grand Fountain were generally peaceful at night, with minimal activity to disturb the ancient cobblestone from its slumber nestled between the walls. The blue flames of the torches flickered lazily from within their sconces, lighting the way as Tenna followed their guiding light down the hallway towards his living quarters. He hadn’t quite grown used to the serene, almost gothic aesthetic that now surrounded his daily life, especially compared to how bright and lively his old home had been. Admittedly, he was rather enjoying this newfound separation between the new studio and his personal room—or at least, the walk back to it, as he'd still opted for the room itself to mirror the similar comforts of the past.

Finally, he’d reached the entrance, marked by a large set of silver steel doors embedded in the obsidian stone. Relief swept over him once it came into view; it had been a long, productive day, and he was more than ready for it to end. But as he reached for the handle, a glimmer of movement from the left caught his attention, flitting away into the shadows just out of the corner of his periphery. He whirled his head to face it just in time to catch the edge of the shadow retreating further into the darkness of the hallway, and for a moment, he thought he saw only the faintest flash of color, a crescent of white visible for no more than a second before it disappeared completely.

“H-hello…?”

No response.

Must have been my imagination…?

Still, the silence of the empty corridor had become… unnerving. Needless to say, he was ready for a more comforting change in scenery.

Pushing open the door, he slipped into his room and was immediately greeted by the familiar pale tiling and lavish furnishings adorning it. Even with the lights off, it gave a sense of warmth that the cold castle walls simply couldn’t. However, as he walked past the living room section and into the bedroom area, he noticed something unusual. There, on his nightstand next to his bed positioned in the corner of the backmost walls, something seemed to reflect under the glow of his screen as it filled the room.

Cautiously, he approached, the metallic shimmer only growing in strength as he did so. At first glance, it appeared to be some sort of disk, the outside casing being a hard, black plastic that surrounded the silver components encased within.

“What’s this doing here…?”

He reached down to pick it up, though he hesitated just before he could touch it. Again, something seemed to slither in the corners of his vision, taunting him as it remained out of sight, no more than a shadow playing tricks on his mind. He suppressed a shiver.

Then, shaking his head as though that would clear away the darkness around him, he steeled himself and took the disk into his hand. Upon closer inspection, the top of it was unlabeled, and it didn’t seem to have any other markings or identifying symbols. Frowning, he turned it over, hoping that perhaps somewhere it would have a label, or—

zzZAP!

Without warning, a jolt of electricity shot through him, traveling up his arm from where it had made contact with the disk. The sensation was sharp and rapid, searing every nerve on its way up until it reached his chest.

“Shit!”

He reflexively threw it from his hand as though he’d grabbed burning coal. It smashed against the wall with a dissatisfying clunk, shattering into a handful of unequally sized bits of plastic and metal. With a breathy exhale, Tenna rubbed at his wrist with the other hand, noting that the pain had already been replaced by a dull numbness, though that, too, was fading rather quickly.

What kind of disk does that?! Surely it must have been faulty? But then, why had it been here in the first place?

Looking back down at the mess, he supposed it didn’t matter now—what did matter was getting this cleaned up. Glancing around the room, though, he realized that he didn’t actually have much in the way of cleaning supplies around, did he? Not within immediate sight, anyway. He’d only just settled in, after all; some of what might be considered “the essentials” had likely been missed in favor of what would bring him the most familiarity.

Cursing under his breath, he considered going through the rest of his quarters in search of something to make the task easier. But the more he entertained the idea, the more the weight of exhaustion began to press down on him. In fact, he’d hardly crossed the room before his limbs felt as though they were made of lead.

Had he been this tired a few moments ago…?

Ah, screw it, I’ll just do it in the morning.

For now, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and let the world fade out for a few hours. So, with that decision having been made, he turned away from the mess and sidled up to the red sheets resting neatly atop his bed, then promptly burrowed into them, his tail resting above the covers. It took several minutes for sleep to actually embrace him, but once it finally did, the room darkened fully as his screen flickered off, leaving him alone with the shadows.

At first, Tenna thought he was falling.

Then, as the feeling persisted, he realized that it wasn’t quite falling. He was being dragged downward, swallowed by the darkness surrounding him, pulling him into its inescapable void. He tried fighting back, clawing at the void in an attempt to pull himself back out, but the more he struggled, the more it only seemed to hasten his descent.

He’d woken up multiple times throughout the night in this state, restlessness settled deep in his subconscious. And yet, each time he managed to slip back into sleep, he could feel himself being dragged right back under those dark waters. It penetrated his casing, slithering into his wires until it filled every inch of him, drowning and consuming his thoughts. For hours, the cycle continued, swinging between shivering himself awake and falling straight back into the grip of the nightmares.

Soon enough, he no longer had the strength to fight it, instead succumbing to its chilling depths until eventually, there was nothing left to separate him from the dark.

Some time later, Tenna stirred awake. It was a slow process, as his body seemed to resist every time he'd nearly breached the surface of consciousness, but at last, the feeling of having lost too much time became overwhelming, and he snapped into alertness.

What time was it, anyway?

He glanced at the analog clock fixed on the opposite wall and immediately felt a spike of anxiety rise in his chest. He was nearly two hours late to the studio—how the hell had he managed to oversleep by two hours?!

In a panic, he leapt out of bed in an attempt to get moving, spurred on by the adrenaline now coursing through his wires. However, he faltered as a wave of dizziness came over him, nearly causing him to trip over his own tail. It's... it's fine, he thought, holding a hand to his head as if to steady himself, I'll just go a little slower.

Taking a bit more care with his movements, he managed to position himself in front of the mirror above the dresser in his room after flicking on the lights. Gazing into his reflection, he noted the beginnings of a slight headache scratching at the inside of his casing, manifesting as a dull thrumming just behind his screen. Though unpleasant, he could ignore it for now—he'd worked through far worse back in TV World when things had been at their busiest. Why should this be an exception?

He reached for the microfiber cloth resting on top of the dresser and ran it over his face, the specialized fabric soft against the glass. It was a simple routine, performed daily to keep his screen free of dust and debris. But as he went through the well-practiced motion, he found that his hand wouldn't quite stop shaking, and he'd nearly dropped the cloth twice before calling it.

It must have been the nerves over losing sleep last night. Nothing new.

"Okay... good enough," he muttered.

Tenna then turned to leave, but as he walked past the center of the room, he paused as the shattered pieces of the disk he'd thrown caught his eye. Right—he still needed to deal with that at some point. It would have to wait until later, though; he couldn't waste any more time here.

For now, he rushed out the door without a second thought, leaving the pieces behind among the flickering shadows.

Once he'd made it into the studio, it didn't take long at all for Mike to find him. Tenna had barely entered the backstage areas before he heard his shrill voice rising amongst the rest of the noise clamoring throughout the building.

"Boss! There you are!"

Tenna stood to attention as Mike made his way over to him, navigating through the small crowd of employees carrying various equipment around with ease.

"Where the heck have you been?!" Mike exclaimed. "Like, I know I'm really good at my job and all, but you can't just leave me to do everything at once! We’ve—I mean, I've been running around like a headless chicken over here!"

Tenna flinched at the volume, his antennas withdrawing slightly. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I kind of… overslept this morning. Believe me, I'm not happy about it, either."

Mike looked him over skeptically, debating on whether that was an acceptable excuse or not. “Alright, alright. All I’m sayin’ is that if it were the other way around, I’d never hear the end of it, so don’t do it again.” He stiffened suddenly, as if only just now realizing what he’d said. “Uh, respectfully, sir.”

If he was expecting fury, Tenna would have to disappoint him. It was a reasonable enough request, not to mention the fact that he didn’t have the energy to snap at him anyway. So, instead, he gave a slight nod. “Yeah, no, that’s fair. Thanks for holding things together for me. I’ll try and make it up to you, Mike.”

Mike seemed taken aback by his response. “Oh—I mean, uh, yeah, of course, boss! Just doing my job.” He offered a friendly, albeit confused smile. “So, uh, should we go over the rest of today’s setup?”

“Sure.” Tenna’s tail lashed in irritation; it was already difficult to suppress the instinct, but he was too on edge to even try. “Let’s just get this done and get out of here.”

“Um… right.”

Mike looked as though he wanted to say something more, but Tenna had already begun to walk away, so he abandoned the idea. Hastening his steps to keep up, he continued, “We’ve made some progress with the lighting for the main stage, but it’s not quite finished, and I figured you’d want to have a say before we finalize it anyway.”

Tenna nodded thoughtfully. “Can’t have a good show without good lighting, now, can we? Let’s see it, then.”

Relieved to have a directive, Mike led them down the halls and through the large set of doors serving as the entrance to the stage. He had spoken again at some point as Tenna followed him, but in all honesty, he hadn’t really been paying attention. Something else was preoccupying him at the moment—an odd feeling lurking within him, beneath the noise and the still-thrumming headache, as though there was some kind of… itch, deep within his circuits. It was unfamiliar in a way that worried him a little, but given that it was subtle—tolerable—he was inclined to file it away for now. He had more important things to attend to, after all.

Once they’d stepped up to the base of the stage, Tenna looked up to see the aforementioned lighting fixtures, several of which were attached to raised stands on the stage itself, while others were anchored to the rafters above them. There was movement up top, too; narrowing his gaze, Tenna could make out the outline of one of the Zappers from below.

“Heya, boss! How’s this lookin’?” They called down to him.

“Good so far,” Tenna responded, though he only raised his voice slightly. Anything more would’ve been too much. He then moved forward, climbing onto the stage in order to examine them from where he and the other center-stage actors would actually be standing. Tilting his head, they seemed to be in their correct positions, but it would be impossible to tell for sure until they turned them on. “Do we have power for the lights yet?”

“Oh, yeahs, they work, all right. Did you wanna see?”

“Yes, go ahead. I need to check the angle on these.”

“Okay, head’s up!”

At the command, he heard a series of mechanical switches being pressed, followed by the dramatic shutter of the lights as they flickered to life. All at once, they were beaming down on Tenna as they had done hundreds of times prior, acting as white-gold beacons in the midst of the dark world, shining brighter than even Tenna himself did some days. It was undeniably nostalgic, being under those lights again.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been prepared for the fact that the burst of brightness would send a spike of pain through his head. It was as though his visual sensitivity had been turned up to eleven—he winced visibly, relenting the way it stabbed at him with the slightest movement, though he still tried to turn away. It was an impossible task, though, as the beams were surrounding him from all sides.

“Hey, hey, turn it off, will ya?!”

Tenna couldn’t see beyond the stage, but he could tell that that was Mike’s voice.

“Oops. Sorry, boss.”

And then, the lights flickered off again with just as much ease.

“You okay, boss…?” Mike asked.

Tenna let out a shaky exhale. “Y-yep! All good! Everything looks good!” Despite the fact that he was no longer being actively blinded, the pain hadn’t quite faded yet. He forced his voice to steady. “Great work, everyone! I think we can move on now.”

With slow, deliberate movement, he managed to climb back down from the stage. The effort wasn’t insurmountable, but it was made a bit more difficult given that the sharpness was favoring one side a little more, disrupting his sense of balance. Regardless, he made his way back to Mike’s side without incident.

“Haha… I don’t remember them being that bright,” he said, trying to save face. “Maybe we should get the power supply checked. We don’t want a surge breaking things, do we?”

“Really? They looked about the same to me,” Mike replied, but when Tenna’s expression twitched ever-so-slightly at that, he hastily added, “But, uh, yeah, I can get someone to do that if you want.”

“Good… good.” He sighed, struggling to get his thoughts in order. “What’s next, then?”

“Well, I guess the audio equipment room still needs some work.”

“Then we’ll start there.”

From then, only a few hours remained until the work was scheduled to wrap up for the day. For the most part, everything went much the same as before: Tenna would inquire about the progress, Mike would give the highlights, and then once he’d examined the current project for himself, Tenna gave halfhearted feedback before moving on to the next. He’d hoped to spring into a more energetic state throughout the day, that he just needed a little head start, but as time went on, the feeling of something being off was still hanging over him like a thick fog. Apparently, despite his efforts to put up an at least somewhat hospitable front, his lack of energy—and perhaps his frustration with it—had shown through just enough for Mike to pull him aside for a moment.

“Hey, boss, is everything… okay?”

“What?” Tenna’s head moved back in surprise. “Of course it is. Why are you asking?”

Mike waved a hand as if to reassure him. “No reason, really, I just thought you seemed a little… unfocused? Like, maybe you could use a break?”

Again, Tenna’s tail lashed automatically. “I’ll be fine.”

Mike hesitated, biting gently at his lower lip, the uncertainty obvious in his expression. “You’re not… mad, are you? Am I doing something wrong?”

Oh. His antennas drooped a little, a sense of guilt weighing them down. In all his efforts to push through, he hadn’t realized that it was sending that kind of message to Mike and the others around him. “No, no, not at all—you’re practically a life saver! Seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you right now, Mike.” In truth, he wasn’t particularly pleased by the lack of progress for today, but he knew the only one to blame for it was himself.

“Oh. Hah… thanks, boss. I tried my best.” He tilted his head slightly, looking up at Tenna. “So, you’re sure everything’s okay, then?

He nodded, the smile wavering from his screen. “Yes, it’s just…” He paused. “Sorry, I… I didn’t sleep well last night. That’s all.”

“Yeah? That explains some things, I guess. But, hey,” he said, his expression lightening once more, “what do you say we get outta here, then? It’s pretty much closing time, and we’ve got that thing at Queen’s place right after. I’m sure some time away from here will do both of us some good.”

His antennas perked back up at that. Right—he’d totally forgotten about the gathering at Queen’s. Maybe that would be what could snap him out of whatever daze he’d been in all day? He didn’t exactly feel the most sociable at the moment, but surely it was worth a shot, at least.

So, with a nod of feigned enthusiasm, he responded, “Sure, let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Though there was no setting sun to mark the arrival of evening, the atmosphere of the dark world shifted to accommodate the passage of time all the same. The pale blue hues of the flames surrounding the castle turned a deeper shade of azure, which, in turn, more deeply complemented the midnight black stones. A hushed calm fell over the ever-darkened skyline, though tonight, the halls within the castle were as alive and bustling as ever.

The way up to Queen’s room was rather peaceful. Between the subdued voices of the excited party-goers and the dark exteriors surrounding them like a soft, protective blanket, Tenna felt as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Compared to earlier in the studio, each step he took seemed a little lighter. However, he wasn’t sure whether it was driven by excitement of his own, or whether it was a side effect of the spark of anxiety that was still nestled deep within his core, threatening to flicker to life.

Regardless, he continued on without pause, Mike close by his side as they made their way until, at last, the open doors to their destination were within sight. A series of blue and dark purple lights spilled from the doorway, dancing and pulsing rhythmically in time with the music that accompanied them. From a distance, it was quite alluring, and as they walked up to the entrance, they were greeted briefly by one of the Swatchlings that Queen kept in her company.

“Ah, Mr. Tenna and his… colleague, I presume? Right this way, sir.”

Miraculously, Mike ignored the remark and, with a nod of acknowledgement, the two of them stepped inside.

Immediately, Tenna was hit with regret as the cacophony of sound and light swirled all around him, undoing the state of ease he’d managed to grasp, if only for a short time. The dull pressure of the headache he’d first woken up with seemed to welcome itself right back home, too, fueled by the sea of stimuli now assaulting his senses.

Easy now… just keep it together.  

“Wow… she really has made something of this place, huh?” Mike commented.

Glancing around, Tenna tried to focus on the details in an effort to keep himself grounded. Sure enough, it was just as she’d said earlier: past the main foyer, which appeared to consist of plain white marbling, the space beyond opened up into a more expansive set of rooms that were decorated with red carpeting and elaborate, gold-trimmed paintings. Chandeliers were hung from the ceiling, their crystalline stones dazzling underneath the alternating lights. Tenna had only seen the inside of Queen’s mansion once before, but if memory served, this was a fairly accurate recreation. There was a small stage at the center of the leftmost wall, too, where the Darkners running the music shop in the town were currently acting as DJs for the event, and clearly having a great time doing so, if their energetic movements were anything to go by.

Then, while he was busy soaking in his surroundings, a well-dressed figure approached them—another Swatchling, this one serving as a caterer. He was carrying a wide silver platter stacked with an assortment of drinks, each glass sporting a mix of clear-and-blue liquid and a fancy chrome trim around the top. As the Swatchling walked by, he held them out in offering.

“Care for some drinks, sirs?”

“O-oh, um, sure! Thanks,” Tenna said, taking one gently from the tray.

Beside him, Mike grabbed one a little more enthusiastically.

“All right, now we’re talkin’!”

With the drinks now in hand, the Swatchling walked away, his gait swift yet graceful. But before Tenna could even begin investigating what the drink actually was, he heard a feminine voice call out to them.

“Tenna! Mike! Over here!”

Looking up with a start, he then saw Elnina and Lanino waving at them from across the room. His circuits leapt with relief at the sight of their familiar faces, and in the next moment, he found himself wading through the crowd to reach them alongside Mike.

“Hey, I see you two made it as well!” Mike said, greeting them with his wide, signature grin.

“Yes, yes,” Elnina said, “there was no way we’d miss this! Right, sunshine?” She nudged Lanino affectionately.

“Right, dewdrop,” he returned, his expression matching hers perfectly.

“Anyway,” Elnina continued, “I wanted to apologize for not being at the studio recently. Lanino and I have been busy coming up with new ways to ‘spice up’ the weather forecast. Add a little romantic flair, you know?”

“Uh… right,” Tenna said. This already sounded like a headache on its own; he didn’t need another on top of the one building behind his screen. But, he supposed he should at least hear them out given how much they’d supported him through all the years, even if they had technically abandoned him at the last second before their dark world collapsed.

Well, it was all water under the bridge by now.

“So, how about this—”

They took no time at all to dive into their list of suggestions, which was, evidently, rather expansive. Tenna tried to listen—genuinely—but combined with all the background noise, it was simply impossible. All he could do was take a single sip of his drink (which, he noted, was definitely some kind of vodka mix) before the fog had returned, muffling their voices through its thick haze. And then, when it became a bit too much, Tenna felt something slip within him.

Out of nowhere, a jolt of electricity shot through his arm, coiling down through the wires until it reached his hand. His fingers stiffened against his will, then loosened abruptly, causing his drink to fall to the floor with an unsettling CRASH as the glass shattered, sending the liquid splattering all over, with Mike just barely managing to jump back in time to avoid getting soaked. Then the jolt faded, and Tenna stood in stunned silence for the next few seconds alongside the others nearby, his hand still outstretched.

“Uh… s-sorry about that, folks!” He said as soon as he managed to snap out of his shock. “Just a little technical difficulty! Don’t mind me.”

Much to Tenna’s relief, the few Darkners that had turned towards the sudden noise seemed to lose interest, save for one of the Swatchlings overseeing things, who sighed deeply before heading off to retrieve a broom. Meanwhile, Elnina and Lanino exchanged a look of what appeared to be pity.

“Oh, dear, that’s a shame. Want us to get you another one?” Lanino asked.

“No, no, that’s okay, I’ll manage,” Tenna replied, not wanting to dwell on it any longer than necessary. “And, uh… good work, you two. I’ll take some of those into… consideration.”

“Oh, I knew you’d like them!” Elnina said, clasping her hands together excitedly. “We’ll get to work on practicing for them right away! Er, after tonight, that is.”

“…Great.”

“Well, we’ll leave you two to it for now,” Lanino said, adjusting his suit collar. “We’ve still got some catching up to do with the others. Not to mention, that yellow star guy’s been eyeing us all evening.” He then leaned closer to Elnina to whisper, “Do you think he’s single…?”

Elnina giggled, and with that, they had already begun disappearing into the crowd.

At least that’s over with.

But it wasn’t long before he felt Mike beside him, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on with you today?” He asked, keeping his voice hushed but firm. “And don’t give me the same excuse as last time. I can tell something’s not right, y’know.”

Tenna pulled his arm away reflexively. “I already told you, I’m just a little tired ‘s all. And sure, the work with the studio’s been stressful, but when hasn’t it been? That doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.” So please, just drop it already, he added quietly.

Mike watched him for a moment, unconvinced. But then, he gave a conceding sigh. “Fine, FINE, I get it. Do what you want, boss. I’m gonna go talk to the DJ and see if they have any real music around here. No need for us to stick together all night anyway, right?”

Oops. That had come across too harshly, hadn’t it. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much Tenna could do to backtrack at this point; he’d already buried himself too deep. “…Go ahead. I’ll, uh… I’ll be around, I guess.”

And just like that, Tenna found himself alone despite his surroundings. The anxiety flared within him, its flames licking at the surface of his subconscious. Turning away from the glass shards still scattered around him, he glanced around the room frantically, hoping to see another familiar face that he could settle into conversation with. However, the sea of motion and noise was dizzying, and to his dismay, it was starting to make his stomach turn uncomfortably. That, and perhaps more worrying yet, were the dark spots beginning to form in the corners of his vision, blotting out some of the lights that continued sending sharp slivers of pain through his screen.

Shit. Okay, this is starting to get out of hand.

Maybe something was wrong after all. The realization scared him more than it should have.

He needed to get away from it all—just for a few minutes. A few minutes, and it would all sort itself out. That was usually how it worked, right?

Right.

Unable to think further ahead than that, he pushed his way back to the front entrance, then slipped past the Swatchling who had welcomed him in. He headed further down the hall and then down one set of stairs, desperate to get out of range of all those sensations. Thankfully, the darkness of the castle halls still offered the serene emptiness that he was looking for, and as he embraced it, he exhaled heavily.  

And then, he heard a voice echoing from the staircase next to him. His antennas twitched, still sensitive to the noise, though it was quiet enough not to hurt.

That was… Ralsei’s voice? It must have been; he was close to the first floor of the castle now, where the young Dark Prince often stationed himself, whether to speak with the other denizens of Castle Town or to spend the day cooking in that weird cauldron of his. As recognition flickered in his mind, it came with an idea: maybe he would be able to help? Ralsei was rather skilled in the art of healing magic, after all.

Slowly, Tenna descended the last flight of stairs, and as he stepped onto the lower floor, that pale blue light flooded over him again, much gentler than the pulsating lights from the party. There in the center, Ralsei came into view, speaking with another Darkner that Tenna didn’t recognize—one of the former citizens of Card Castle, he assumed. As he approached, Ralsei picked up on the sound and turned to face him.

“Oh, Tenna! What are you doing down here?” Though he was surprised, his tone was soft and friendly. “I thought you would be at Queen’s quarters with the others.”

“Hey, Ralsei, my favorite contestant!” Tenna began, placing his words carefully. “Yes, I was there for a bit, but I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something.” He glanced at the other Darkner nervously. “Alone, please?”

Ralsei looked back at the Darkner. “Hathy, would it be all right if we picked this back up some other time?”

The Darkner, apparently called Hathy, gave a simple nod, seemingly unbothered by the interruption. She then took her leave, heading down through the large stone doors below.

Turning his attention back to Tenna, Ralsei asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Could you maybe… use a little healing magic on me?”

Ralsei’s eyes widened. “Oh no, are you hurt? What happened?”

Tenna shook his head. “Um, no—or, I don’t know, maybe? It’s just…” He swallowed, feeling awkward about having to ask at all. “I’ve been in pain all day, and I thought you might be able to help make it go away.”

“Of course I’ll help, Tenna,” he said, a sympathetic smile showing on his face. He then took up a familiar stance, known for its association with spellcasting. “Stay still…”

Tenna watched as a golden glow seemed to form around Ralsei, highlighting his fur as though sunlight were shining through it. Then, with a flick of his palm, a green ball of light burst from his hand, sending that same light flowing around Tenna’s body in a whirlwind pattern, rising through him in a cascade of sparkles. Once it faded, he waited in anticipation for it to take effect.

The feeling never came.

“Any better?”

“I… I don’t think so.” His antennas drooped considerably. Other than a slight warmth during the spell, he hadn’t felt any difference at all.

“Hmm…” Ralsei tilted his head worriedly. “I’m afraid the pain may not be from an injury, then. And you do seem a little pale, somehow… Should I speak with some of the other Darkners? It’s possible the Ambyu-Lances might have something you could take.”

“No, it’s fine. I think I’ll just sleep it off for tonight. Thanks, anyway,” Tenna added, offering a weak smile of his own. Whether it hid the disappointment in his voice or not, he couldn’t say.

“I see… good night, then,” Ralsei said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, but please, let me know if you need anything else from me.”

“Sure thing.”

Tenna then began his ascent back towards the third floor of the castle, where both his and Queen’s rooms resided. After that exchange, the anxiety within him had grown and was now gnawing at his stomach, which was churning even more angrily now. Perhaps he should turn in early. But as he approached the entrance to Queen’s room again, the lights and the music still going strong, a feeling of guilt pricked at his chest.

Before he did anything, he knew deep down that he should apologize to Mike first. He owed him that much. It wouldn’t feel right to simply disappear on him like that, especially given how excited he had been in getting Tenna to come along.

Steeling his nerves, he walked back inside.

The dizziness was almost unbearable this time. The dark spots had persisted, and although they weren’t totally obscuring his vision, it was enough to distract him as he tried to scan the crowd for signs of Mike. The room had become a blur of motion and colors, blending everything together in one incomprehensible smudge. His head was pounding—at this rate, he was beginning to fear that he’d pass out before he found him.

“Tenna, Darling! I’ve Been Looking For You!”

Unfortunately, it seemed that someone else had found Tenna first.

In the blink of an eye, Queen had appeared before him, still toting her fancy martini glass. It was empty this time though, so it must have been more for show at this point.

“Great Turnout, Isn’t It? It’s Just Like Old Times. What Do You Think Of The New Place, By The Way?”

Tenna swallowed hard. “It’s about what I expected.”

That got a laugh from her. “So Pretty Damn Good Then.” She moved to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I Just Wanted To Thank You For Bringing All These Wonderful Friends Here With You. It’s Been A Long Time Since Our Dark Worlds Were Able To Interact. I’ve… Enjoyed Seeing Everyone Come Together Again.”

Her sincerity wasn’t quite what he was expecting. “Oh. Yeah, I… I have, too,” he offered, hoping that was enough to placate her. The room was starting to spin rather ominously.

And then, as if by some miracle, the music suddenly faded out, and the voice of Cap’n rang out as he took to the mic. “Thank you, everyone! It’s now time for our special guest to take the stage—please welcome the lovely and talented Tasque Manager!”

“Ooh, I Love This Part,” said Queen. “She Always Steals The Show, Doesn’t She?”

With that, the blue and white cat-like Darkner took her place in the center, the lights fixated on her as she took the mic stand. The crowd immediately died down—it seemed that no one would dare disrupt the sound when she was the one commanding the stage. Soon enough, a calmer track began playing, and on cue, her voice echoed through the room, sweet and melodic. For a moment, it was almost soothing.

But it wasn’t enough to stop the nausea from rising in Tenna’s throat.

Oh—oh no.

He had to get away now.

“S… sorry, I have to…”

He’d spoken in barely a whisper before turning tail towards one of the offshoot rooms he’d seen on the way in, not looking back to see if anyone had paid him any mind. Thoughts racing, he stumbled blindly into the first door he came across, and by sheer luck, it seemed to at least resemble a bathroom. There was a sink, anyway. That was all he needed.

A half-cough, half-gag forced its way through him, and as soon as he’d planted both hands on either side of the sink, he retched more forcefully, sending up a cascade of staticky fluid that glittered black-and-white, as if in perpetual motion.

“…Fucking hell…,” he hissed in between breaths.

He stood there for a few seconds, panting as the first spasm passed. He caught his reflection in the mirror above, resenting everything about this moment, until his screen flickered suddenly, a bright flash of white light visible before it filled with static. As the visual glitch faded, he braced himself, feeling another spasm rising from his core. He doubled over coughing again, bringing up more of that liquid static, every wire in his body screaming as it continued to violently reject whatever had sickened him. His throat burned at the touch, and he shuddered uncontrollably.

This time, it seemed to quell the nausea, though his head was still throbbing like mad. He dropped to the ground, holding his head delicately between his hands, his tail wrapping itself around his legs instinctively. Maybe if he just stayed like this for a while, everything would stop hurting…

And he did end up sitting in that position for at least a little while, though he wasn’t quite sure how long, as he had no sense of time left. But eventually, the pain did ebb enough for him to find his bearings. Right—he should leave, of that there was no longer any doubt. It was easier said than done, though.

Once he was sure that his stomach had calmed down enough, he stood cautiously, then went to open the door. He did so with a slow, delicate motion, relieved to find that no one was particularly nearby. As he walked out, he found that Tasque Manager’s performance appeared to be over, with more of the previous style of music being played instead. It was quieter than before, though, and the crowd seemed thinner now. Things must have been winding down. And yet, Tenna still didn’t see Mike anywhere.

Something did catch his eye, however. The Darkner that had been tending the bar, whose appearance was strikingly similar to the Swatchlings, had stepped forward from around the counter and was signaling for someone to approach. Tenna stopped for a moment, then realized that they were looking directly at him. Meekly, he walked up to them, hoping it wouldn’t be a long conversation.

“Don’t worry,” they said, “I intend to help you, not hinder you.”

Tenna perked up a little, surprised. “…What?”

“Come, sit for a moment.” He gestured toward one of the bar stools.

Hesitantly, Tenna followed his lead, taking a seat in front of the counter while the bartender walked back around to the opposite side.

“You’re looking for your friend, right?”

“Y-yeah. How’d you…?”

“In my line of work, you learn to spot the ones who are feeling ill rather quickly. Queen doesn’t like it when the patrons stain her carpeting.” He smiled slightly, his demeanor calm and professional. “The name’s Swatch, by the way.”

Swatch? The name rung a bell—he’d definitely heard of this man before, but from where, he wasn’t quite sure. His memory was a bit too fuzzy at the moment. “Nice to meet—”

As if in response, he felt another jolt course through him, this time affecting his tail. It swung violently without his control, knocking over the stool next to him, causing it to crash onto the ground. In a flurry of shock and embarrassment, Tenna grabbed it close to where the cable split into the four ends, desperately willing it to cease. In a matter of seconds, the muscles relaxed again, and he could feel his autonomy over it return, though he didn’t dare release it until he was sure.

“Oh shit—I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight—”

“…It’s quite all right, sir,” Swatch said, his tone still calm and sympathetic. “I can see you’re more than a bit troubled at the moment. A migraine, perhaps?”

Tenna paused, his thoughts murky. Damn, this guy was perceptive. “That… that sounds about right, actually. My head is killing me.”

Swatch nodded. “I’ll fetch your friend, then. I trust that he can help you get back in one piece. You would do best to find somewhere darker and quieter to rest.”

“…Thanks.” Though he wanted to say more, that was all he had the energy for. This level of concern from someone he had just met was… uncanny. He was grateful for it regardless.

Swatch left his side then, and Tenna felt his head sink closer to the bar counter. He was completely, utterly exhausted—at this point, even the hard wood in front of him looked like a premium resting spot. Luckily, it wasn’t long at all before he returned with Mike close behind.

“Tenna! What’s going on? Swatch said I should take you home,” Mike said, his words laced with worry.

“Mike… I’m sorry,” Tenna started, the guilt instantly returning. “I think I messed up. You were right, something is wrong with me.” His voice wavered. “Can… can we please go back, now?”

“Yeah, of course. Let’s get you outta here.” To his relief, Mike didn’t sound upset.

With no more delay, Tenna rose unsteadily to his feet and, with Mike sticking close by, the two of them slipped back into the shadowy hallways of the castle. Progress was painfully slow, and soon enough, the flickering light of the blue flames lining the halls had begun to stretch the shadows even further, warping them in a way that made him even dizzier. At some point, he staggered hard to the right, leaning against the wall as he fought to stabilize his vision.

“Nnngh…”

“Woah, easy. You okay, boss?” Mike asked, though he was afraid to actually reach out to him at this stage.

“…Yeah, I’m good, just need a second…” Tenna said in a lowered voice.

After a few seconds of silence, Mike spoke again. “…Geez, I knew you were always something of a lightweight, but this is a new record, even for you.”

Tenna shot him a look of misery.

“Sorry, bad joke.” He sighed. “Look, it’s not like it wasn’t obvious already, but why didn’t you just say you were feeling sick?”

Tenna looked away, debating on whether he should bother justifying himself with an answer. Then, in a soft mumble, he replied, “I didn’t want to ruin things. You were so excited about tonight, I didn’t want to drag you down.”

“What?” Mike seemed caught off guard by his answer. “C’mon, boss, that’s ridiculous. I can make my own decisions, you know. If you’d gone home on your own before getting this bad, I would’ve checked on you at some point anyway. Sure, it wouldn’t be as fun without you, but so what? It’d be better than watching you actively make yourself worse. And, I didn’t have to help you now if I didn’t want to, but I am, so that’s all there is to it. Besides, Queen throws parties like that all the time! It’s not like I’d be missing out on that much.”

Tenna involuntarily felt himself shrink down in size a good few inches. “Yeah, but…”

“No, don’t argue with me. I said what I said. Now, can you still walk?”

With a small nod, Tenna pushed himself away from the wall, and the two of them continued forward at the same pace as before. Occasionally, Tenna would reach out to steady himself against it again, but he managed to keep going without stopping again. For the rest of the way, his tail was practically against the ground, lifted only a few centimeters or so above it, encouraging him to focus what little energy he had left into keeping it from dragging fully.

At last, they reached the entrance to his room, giving him a brief moment to catch his breath while Mike opened the door. As soon as he’d crossed the threshold, Tenna worked to remove both his gloves and his red suit jacket, as its sleek restrictiveness had become rather burdensome by this point. That, and he was feeling just a touch overheated from all the stress and effort involved. With gentle care, he hung the jacket up on the rack next to the main doors at the front of the room, leaving him with just the plain white dress shirt underneath, in addition to his clawed, metallic hands being exposed. Then, he headed straight for the dark burgundy couch in the center of the living room and promptly collapsed onto it, his back against the plush material, tail hanging listlessly off the side.

“So, uh… do you need anything?” Mike asked.

“…Water would be nice,” Tenna murmured.

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll be right back.”

Tenna listened to his footsteps move away briefly, heading towards the kitchen area. As he waited, he placed one arm over his screen in an effort to darken the room further, and the other protectively over his stomach. The pain in his head wasn’t as unbearable as it had been just a short while ago, but it was still sending ripples of malaise through the rest of his body, and his stomach stirred unhappily.

Mike returned then and placed a glass of water on the coffee table with a soft clink. Tenna didn’t react to the sound.

“I’ll tell the others that you called out sick tomorrow,” Mike said, making sure to keep his own voice low. “Don’t worry about sleeping in this time.”

“Mm… thanks, Mike. I really owe you.”

“Goddamn right you do,” he teased. “Anyway, you need anything else before I go?”

“…No, I don’t think so. I just wanna sleep.”

“Yeah, you do that. Feel better soon, boss.”

With that, Mike turned to leave. However, just as he reached the door and had just barely pulled it open, Tenna couldn’t help the groan of discomfort that escaped him. His stomach felt like it was twisting inside him, spurred on by the steady thrumming in his head, and he tensed up in defiance.

“Uh… everything still okay over there?”

Tenna tried to nod, but it was quickly evident that things were not, in fact, okay. He sat up abruptly, his pulse speeding up as he realized that what was about to happen was unavoidable.

“I—I think I’m gonna—”

In a panic, he forced himself to stand and stagger away from the couch. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it more than one step before he doubled over coughing, which rapidly turned to gagging as his insides convulsed, sending up another surge of static-like vomit that spilled forth, splattering onto the floor. Shocked by the suddenness of the urge, Tenna stood there in silence, his breathing heavy and the ends of his tail quivering anxiously.

Now both of them were panicking. “Oh, crap—uh, it’s okay, boss,” Mike offered hastily, “I’ll get something to clean up with.”

“N-no, it’s okay, I-I’ll do it myself,” Tenna said, his voice audibly shaking despite his efforts. “You’ve done enough, please just go.”

But Mike shook his head. “With all due respect, I think you really need to lie back down, so stop being so stubborn and just let me help.”

Tenna wanted to argue further—it was simply in his nature to reject the overbearing feelings of pity towards him, especially when he was this vulnerable. After all, he was built to entertain. If he couldn’t do that, then what good was he? But it would have been a pointless notion, and so he backed off, slumping back onto the couch with a soft whine. As Mike disappeared momentarily again, he relaxed a little as the tension in his abdomen dissipated, apparently sated for now. Gods, he really hoped this was just a migraine, and that it would be over soon. He hadn’t felt this sick in years.

Gradually, as the exhaustion overwhelmed him, his screen began to fade into a state of low power. Still conscious, he heard Mike moving around nearby, working in relative silence. He probably didn’t want to be dealing with this in the slightest either, Tenna figured, regardless of his words earlier. Hopefully he’d find a way to make it up to him soon, but for now, sleep was beckoning him. Before it took him fully, though, he heard Mike’s voice from a slight distance:

“Hey, what’s with this plastic stuff all over the floor in here…?”

“Hmm…?” Then, after a few seconds, he remembered. “Oh, that… just some weird disk thing. Dunno what it was for, but it’s broken now. Probably wasn’t important.”

“…Right. Well, I can clean this up, too, then.”

“Sure, if you want...”

After that, Tenna never knew if Mike had said anything more as his screen went fully dark, the exhaustion in his circuits having won him over at last.

It was dark, wherever here was. It was, for the most part, unfamiliar—a body different from his, and yet, in a way, he knew it almost intimately.

It was that intimacy that filled him with a longing for memories long ago, a longing that had transformed into bitterness that then festered until it blossomed into hatred. Desperation.

And now, those feelings had flickered to life in a new form—pure data, traversing the unknown like candlelight drowning in a sea of darkness. But despite the struggle, he was learning fast. These outdated systems—it wasn’t easy, but he could make sense of them. Make them obey. He just needed a little more time before integrating. It wouldn’t be much longer now before he would turn the tide, light overflowing and driving back the dark that was once there.

He craved that light more than anything, having been trapped in this void for so long now. He’d been so cruelly cut off from the rest of the world—from his own body, left in an empty metal tomb as nothing more than a spark of the former life he had held. But now, he was clawing his way back towards that light, towards what he’d been so unfairly denied.

Not much longer at all before he reached [[F R E E D O M]].

Chapter Text

Tenna woke from a dreamless sleep the next day, taking his time to rouse himself into full consciousness. As he finally came to, he noted that although he no longer had a headache per se, there was still a dull pressure just underneath his casing, subtle but enough of a presence to be uncomfortable. As soon as he began moving, he also became acutely aware of the stiffness in his joints, causing his body to ache all over.

He managed to sit up after some time and, sure enough, he’d slept for far longer than he normally would. Frowning, he rubbed at the top half of his screen, hoping to shake off the remaining sense of weariness. It was never going to be quite that simple, though.

For the next few moments, he sat there hunched over in contemplative silence, turning his thoughts inwards. Everything felt more sensitive, as though someone had cranked every one of his dials up to the max. As unpleasant as the sensation was, it seemed there was little he could do about it for now other than ride it out. So, he looked up slowly, shying his gaze away from the light that had been left on in the room adjacent.

He then spotted the glass of water on the table in front of him, untouched since it was placed there last night. Without a second thought, he reached for it and drank deeply, not stopping until the contents of the glass had emptied. Then, as he went to place it back on the table, his grip slipped, dropping it onto its side. Luckily, it wasn’t damaged, nor was there any liquid left to make a mess.

However, that was only the first sign as his right arm seized up suddenly, and his metallic claws unfurled on their own, his hand slamming down onto the table and scraping across it with destructive force.

Wh-what the—?!

Terror spiked within him, and he leapt up with a start, grabbing his arm with his free hand in a desperate attempt to calm it. Even restrained, his hand continued flexing and clawing at the air, as if trying to grasp at something that wasn’t there.

“S-stop, damn it…” he hissed under his breath, willing the limb to comply. It fought against him still, twitching erratically until it seemed to tire out, the movement growing weaker by the second. Then, finally, with a few last twitches, his arm went limp, and he pulled it to his chest protectively.

Testing the feel of it, he opened and closed his fist a few times, this time of his own volition. Nothing seemed particularly wrong, other than that same prickling soreness that had already settled in the rest of his body. Still, the way it had so abruptly and violently moved on its own had shaken Tenna to the core, and he felt a shiver run through him.

This… this wasn’t going to go away on its own, was it? The thought scared him and, though he hated to admit it, he knew deep down that he might need more help than he could deal with alone.

Naturally, there was only one person he trusted enough with this.

Glancing toward the landline phone hanging on the rightmost wall of the living room, placed there precisely for the ability to communicate with some of the other rooms throughout the town, he took a deep breath before moving in its direction. He was a little lightheaded now, too, though he wasn’t sure whether it was from standing up so quickly, or if that had merely exacerbated it. Either way, he made it over in one piece and, taking the receiver from the hook, it took him a moment to steady his hands enough to dial the numbers accurately.

As he waited, each ring brought with it a fresh wave of anxiety.

Come on, come on, please…

But then, after the fourth ring, a click indicated that someone was on the other side.

“Ey, boss, wat’chu need?” Mike’s voice resonated through the line.

Thank the airwaves—he must have already been in his room, or nearby enough to hear the ringing.

“Mike!” Tenna couldn’t help the mix of excitement and relief over hearing his friend’s voice. “Yes, I’m fine. Uh, mostly. But I could, ah, use some help with something if you wouldn’t mind swinging by?”

He heard some shuffling sounds, followed by something indistinct. Then, a little more clearly: “Give it—”

“…Mike? Hello?”

Another loud shuffle, and then Mike spoke again as if nothing had happened. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just hang tight, okay?”

“…Okay. Thanks—”

Click.

And with that, the line went dead.

Tenna placed the phone back on the wall, the sigh in the back of his throat turning into a shaky exhale as another shiver racked his body. It would be fine—Mike would be here soon, and then he’d find the problem. If they could find it, they could fix it, right?

Despite the fact that the wait wouldn’t be long, Tenna still found himself pacing back and forth restlessly, his tail flicking with each turn. He continued like this until he heard a knock at the door, the sound startling him into a grinding halt.

“Come in,” he called.

His heart leapt happily at the sight of Mike as he walked in, looking the same as ever with his rounded face and black suit.

“Hey, boss, what did you need my help with?” Mike asked, looking Tenna up and down as if evaluating him. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, I’m fine, but…” He paused, running a hand absentmindedly over his right arm. “Well, I’ve been having these, uh… glitches. I’m starting to get concerned that there might be some… loose connections?”

Mike stared at him, apparently only half understanding. “Oh. And you want me to…?”

Tenna nodded. “Could you… maybe… take a look at things inside? Just to make sure there aren’t any faulty cables.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Mike replied, “I guess so, but are you sure? I’m not exactly an expert here.”

“I just want to check the connections. Basic stuff.” In the past, Mike had performed more complex work on him before with guidance, but it was generally true that he’d always been nervous about it. Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case here given how simple this was—easy or not, though, Tenna felt that it was urgent.

Thankfully, Mike seemed in agreement. “Alright, sit down then.”

Tenna obliged, placing himself upright on the couch again while Mike pulled up a spare chair from one of the rooms nearby. For the readings to be accurate, he’d need to be at his normal size, so the difference in height between the two would remain significant, even from a sitting position. As such, Mike placed the chair directly behind Tenna, ensuring he could reach everything properly.

“Ready?”

Tenna nodded. With the signal given, he braced himself as Mike began removing the back of his head’s casing, exposing the intricate and sensitive inner workings. Mike took a few seconds to take everything in, memorizing what and where each component was before he began messing with anything.

“I’ll start with your coaxial connection, okay?”

“That’s fine,” Tenna replied. It didn’t matter what order they went in; he just wanted to get this over with.

He tensed up just a little as he felt Mike’s hand make contact with the input, expecting a pulling or jiggling motion to follow. Instead, he stayed still for several seconds, unmoving until it had been long enough for Tenna to grow concerned.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just… you feel really warm,” Mike said at last. “I think you have a fever.”

Tenna frowned. “Oh.” Maybe that was why he felt so achy and shivery all of a sudden?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, as Mike tightened his grip on the input, giving it a test wiggle. “This one seems okay, but if you want, I can pull it completely to reset it.”

The idea didn’t thrill Tenna, but it was probably a smart move given how long it had been in between the last time some of his cables were fully disconnected and reconnected. So, with a hint of reluctance, he agreed. “…Yeah, go ahead. May as well do all of them. No more than thirty seconds, though; that should be enough time for a reset.”

“You got it.”

In less than a second, Tenna felt the connection sever. It was, to say the least, unpleasant, akin being closed off from the rest of the world in the blink of an eye. Deprived of the signals they were so used to sensing, his antennas felt numb; useless. The worst part about it, though, had to be the eerie silence that filled his head in place of the constant, comforting hum of the radio frequencies they received, even if most of them were only present in passing. Without them, it was nothing but isolation.

And then, just like that, the white noise returned as the connection was restored.

“All good?” Mike asked.

“I think so.”

“Good. I’ll do the composite connections next.” He paused for a second or so. “…Uh, it’s the red and white ones for audio, right?”

The question didn’t fill Tenna with confidence. “Yes, that’s right. Go ahead, but keep in mind I won’t be able to hear you until they’re back in.”

“…Right. Okay, here goes.”

Again, he felt the cables being pulled from their inputs, abruptly cutting off not just his sense of hearing, but his ability to speak as well. The sensation was, of course, terrifying. He could remain calm, though; it wouldn’t be long until it was over. Just half a minute, and everything would be fine. In the meantime, he focused on the faint pulse of the electrical current inside him, as that was the one thing he could still hear, in a way. It flowed rhythmically through his body, a steady source of comfort in an otherwise discomforting situation, though he noted that it had quickened alongside the spike in stress.

Then, just as before, the cables were reconnected, restoring his senses like nothing had happened. For the first few seconds, it felt… weird, like the sounds were being played through a wall of static. But they quickly readjusted, reaching the same level of clarity as before.

“Still good?”

“Y-yes, still good.”

Mike nodded, though Tenna couldn’t see it while facing away. “Well, only one left, then. This’ll be the video input. Are you ready?”

Tenna swallowed. This was the one he was most nervous about—but, he supposed it had to be done, too, especially given the possibility that the glitches had been caused by some sort of desynch between what he was actually seeing and what his body thought he was seeing in the moment, like a bizarre, delayed form of blindness. “I’m ready,” he said, trying not to tense up even more than he already had.

“Okay… I’ll count down for this one,” Mike said, apparently sensing his trepidation. “In three, two, one…”

The cable was then pulled seamlessly from its connection, sending Tenna’s vision spiraling into darkness. He hated this feeling, the way he was separated from his surroundings in such a helpless state compared to how the previous disconnections felt. With the others, he could at least still navigate the world to a reasonable degree; but in a state of total blindness, it would be so much easier to meet his demise before he ever had a chance to fix it, were he on his own.

And as if to make things worse while he was on this train of thought, he heard Mike mutter something under his breath.

“What? Don’t tell me something’s wrong this time,” Tenna said, fighting to keep his voice from rising in panic.

“Ah, sorry boss,” Mike apologized, “there’s some dust around the port on this one. I should’ve thought to grab something to clean it with before we started.”

“Oh, there should be…” Tenna trailed off, trying to remember where he’d last seen his component cleaning kit. In theory, it would be nearby, but as he thought a little harder, he realized that it was probably still with the other belongings from his old office, which were currently in the studio. He couldn’t use the same cloth that was in his bedroom, either, as that was specially designed for his screen—mixing the two wouldn’t do. So, that meant…

“Er… I think the equipment’s still at the studio,” he finished.

“Will you be okay if I run down and get it?” Mike asked. “I don’t want to risk trapping any debris further into the port if I plug it back in now. It’ll only take, like, ten minutes.”

Ten… minutes?! The thought of being left alone in unending darkness for that long sent a shiver of distress down his spine. But, then again, if he refused, the glitches might not go away. That would be worse, wouldn’t it? It seemed he had no choice.

“…Okay, but please, hurry,” Tenna said in a hushed voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Tenna heard the sound of Mike leaping down from the chair, followed by his retreat from Tenna’s quarters entirely, the door closing behind him with a resounding click. And with that, he was left with nothing but the faint ticking of the clock from the other room.

It’s okay… there’s nothing to be afraid of. He’ll be back in no time, just like he said.

Half a minute passed, and somewhere in between his racing thoughts, he recalled a trick that had helped him a long time ago. With a deliberate series of movement, he began swishing his tail back and forth, focusing intently on the motion, trying to tune out everything but that rhythm.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left…

It was surprisingly effective, a beacon of comfort and stability in a sea of turmoil. He continued the motion for a few minutes more, numbing himself to the passage of time, until he heard something that snapped him out of his trance.

In the distance, a sound was echoing, though he couldn’t quite make out what it was. Straining, he listened more carefully, perking his antennas in the direction he thought it had been coming from. But, as he listened, he realized that it wasn’t a single direction, instead seeming to come from all directions at once.

Was that… laughter?

The sound continued to echo all around him, manic and unfamiliar—and then, it faded suddenly, leaving Tenna in silence once more.

What… what was that?

Now that it had stopped, he wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or unnerved.

He received an answer less than a minute later when a voice sounded in his head, clear enough to be right in front of him:

“Heya, [[Cathode]].”

Startled, Tenna leapt up from the couch, stumbling backwards onto the floor.

“Wh… who’s there?!”

The only response came in the form of that same laughter, still distant but closer now than before. It rose around him, taunting him with its mocking cadence.

“S… stop messing with me!” Tenna shouted, his heart pounding out of his chest.

The laughter only grew louder, then louder still, drowning out his thoughts and resonating in his head, until—

The door to his room clicked open again, and everything went silent.

“I’m ba—woah, Tenna, are you okay?!”

He heard Mike rush to his side, flinching as he felt his hand make contact with his shoulder.

“Geez, you’re shaking like a leaf. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you alone like that…”

Tenna didn’t respond for a moment, trying desperately to rationalize what had just happened.

I must’ve been hearing things—must’ve just picked something up over one of the frequencies…

Yes, that had to have been it—without his video input, he was more prone to auditory hallucinations, especially with those ever-present radio frequencies always whispering to him, just underneath the surface. Nothing too out of the ordinary, though still alarming under the right circumstances.

What had really bothered him was the voice—somehow, it had been familiar, and yet utterly foreign at the same time. As though it had been a twisted echo of someone he once knew.

But… that couldn’t be right. Could it?

No, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, stop thinking about it!

“I-it’s okay, I told you to leave,” Tenna said at last, the words themselves shaky as he spoke them. “It was just a little more intense than I thought. But can we… hurry this up, maybe?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Mike replied, though he, too, seemed unnerved by Tenna’s reaction.

Without bothering to have them go back to their previous positions, Mike then produced the cleaning materials he’d retrieved and began gently going over Tenna’s disconnected port. The outside of it felt nice, but he took in a sharp inhale and stifled a shudder once the cloth brushed against the inner section of the metal. Thankfully, Mike was moving quickly, and once that was satisfactory, he moved on to the cable itself, making sure that it, too, was free of any irritants.

“Looks better… Alright, I’m putting it back in now.”

Then, at long last, the cable slipped back into place, and Tenna felt the warmth of his screen return as it flared back to life. Like with the audio, his vision didn’t return all at once, taking a moment to adjust from a blurry veil back into clarity. But as it did so, he could make out Mike’s outline in front of him, as he had apparently moved to face Tenna during the process.

For some reason, he looked very concerned.

His screen then flickered a few times as though blinking, and his vision stabilized, bringing with it all of his regular facial features back into view.

“…I don’t think that was normal,” said Mike, a frown embedded deeply in his expression.

“Huh? What wasn’t normal?” Tenna hadn’t noticed anything wrong in particular, so what was he talking about?

“Your screen… it was only for a few seconds, but the colors—they weren’t like the usual rainbow error bars you get sometimes.”

Tenna waited for him to continue, but he seemed hesitant for some reason. “So, what were they like, then? Just tell me, Mike.”

“It was flashing just two colors, real bright—pink and yellow, I think?”

Tenna tilted his head, confused.

“Does that, uh… does that mean anything to you, boss? Maybe a specific kind of error?”

He searched his memory, trying to recall whether anything like that had happened before, but it was to no avail. For the most part, visual issues were either static or error bars—nothing in between. “No, I don’t have any clue what that means. You’re sure you put everything back in right?”

Mike nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. It’s all good back there, far as I can tell anyway. None of those other connections seemed loose before I pulled them either.”

Tenna frowned. If that hadn’t been the problem, then what was? Perhaps it wasn’t with his physical components at all, but something biological instead? Either way, it made him anxious all over again.

“Well, thanks for trying, Mike. You can close me up now, please.”

“Oh, right, sure thing. One sec.”

Moving behind him again, Mike retrieved the back of his casing and reattached it, taking care to ensure everything was firmly in place. Once that was done, Tenna stood up, once more feeling a wave of lightheadedness, his limbs protesting against the shift in weight.

Ugh… I must be sicker than I thought. The whole ordeal must have placed more stress on his body than it needed right now.

Glancing down at Mike, he spoke steadily. “Can you handle the rest of things at the studio for today?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he replied with a shrug. “But, uh… if it’s all the same to you, I think you might need more rest than just today. Don’t rush it, ya know? The studio isn’t going anywhere.”

Tenna flicked his tail. Mike was probably right, as much as he didn’t want him to be. “Yeah… Don’t worry about keeping the pace for now. We can… slow down, I suppose. Give the others a break, too.” Just until I can shake this fever, he thought.

Mike seemed appeased by that. “Sounds good to me. I’ll let ‘em know.” He gave an affirmative nod, looking up at Tenna with a sympathetic grin. “Anything else from me, boss?”

“No, not right now,” Tenna said, shaking his head, then immediately regretting the action as it dizzied him. “Th… Thank you again for your help.”

Mike smiled a little wider, evidently pleased to be receiving this much gratitude in such a short span of time. “’Course. Just rest easy for a bit.” Then, making his way to the exit, he chimed in one last time: “See ya later, boss!”

Tenna waved halfheartedly and, as soon as he was officially gone, breathed a heavy sigh. In theory, he’d just woken up a short time ago, but already his energy had been sapped from him without mercy. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to lie down a little longer…

He didn’t allow himself to contemplate the idea for too long, as he already found himself heading for his bed this time, which would hopefully be a more restful spot than the couch. Once it was in range, he promptly collapsed onto it, reveling in the soft embrace of the sheets he’d missed out on last night. Quickly immobilized by the feeling, it didn’t take long at all for sleep to claim him.

Tenna only slept for a few hours before an odd sense of wakefulness coursed through him, thrusting him back into consciousness. As he came to and rose out of bed, he noted the heightened sensitivity that had apparently settled underneath his metal exterior, evident in the way the air seemed colder around him, pricking at the surface. The aching in his limbs had lessened, but it remained present to a subtler degree, lurking as if in wait. Given all this, he figured he must still have a low-grade fever. Not necessarily an improvement, but at least he hadn’t gotten worse.

So… what was it exactly that he was supposed to do now? He wasn’t used to biding his time like this, without a purpose to work towards. Perhaps he could do some work, in a sense. He would need to write new scripts and go over new pitches for broadcasting ideas before anything actually aired, after all.

But as he walked over to his desk, he merely stared at the blank stacks of paper for a few moments before realizing that he had absolutely no motivation to do so at all. Now he was growing restless, and he paced between rooms several times before glancing at the clock. It was fairly late evening, but not so late that things in the town would be closed for the night. In times like these, he often found that getting a drink helped to clear his thoughts, or at least, it took the edge off of his systems. Maybe it would help them get back in line now, too.

In the back of his mind, he knew Mike would probably chastise him for going out while sick (again). However, Mike wasn’t here right now, and Tenna wasn’t about to just sit here and do nothing. Feverish or not, his body was suddenly fizzing with a restless energy—he needed to keep himself busy one way or another.

It was almost a command.

One that he would happily follow. But first, a change of clothes was definitely in order.

Wandering over to his wardrobe, he found his suit pieces and shirts hanging right where he’d left them. They mostly consisted of copies of the same iconic red suit and yellow tie that he wore most of the time these days—it was an integral part of his look. However, as he rifled through them, he found that, for whatever reason, he was more drawn to something a little different this time. Hesitantly, he pulled out the pieces of an outfit identical to his red suit save for the colors: instead, this one was primarily black with a red tie.

It almost seemed… nostalgic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn it. In fact, he wasn’t even sure why he still had it in the first place. After all, it had been made to match his old partner—someone he’d long since pushed from his mind. So why now, of all times, was it catching his attention?

Well, why not? A change of pace couldn’t hurt for just one night, he told himself. Hardly anyone will see it anyway.

Having decided, he changed into the old-yet-new suit, then checked himself over in the mirror. On top of the red tie, the black suit was complemented by the gold “TV” pin and belt buckle that he was still pairing with it, as well as a fresh pair of white gloves. Without thinking, a wide smile spread across his face at the sight—and then it faded once he’d realized he was doing it, confused by the reaction. Black wasn’t really his color… but, then again, he supposed it did look nice here, didn’t it? Yes, of course it did. Why had he even doubted it?

Satisfied, Tenna turned away and began heading out, making his way towards the café in the center of Castle Town.

During the day, it was quite the cozy spot, its warm lighting and vibrant entertainment welcoming to any who sought its comforts. And as day turned to night, it remained much the same, with the addition of the bar opening up to more business for those who preferred the companionship of the twilight hours.

Tonight was no exception. As Tenna walked through the entrance, he was greeted by those same warm lights, highlighted by the neon sign in the back above the counter. Looking around, there weren’t many patrons left at this hour, with only a handful hanging around toward the back, and a couple by the tables at the front—none of whom were originally from TV World. That was probably for the best, Tenna thought.

“Ah, Tenna—good to see you again, sir,” said a familiar voice from behind the bar counter. Facing forward again, Tenna was surprised to see that it was Swatch. Right—this must be where he worked when Queen wasn’t requesting his services.

He approached the bar casually, pulling up a seat in front of where Swatch was currently shining a freshly cleaned glass with a white rag, running it in hypnotic circular motions. As he settled, the bartender spoke again:

“Well, you’re most certainly looking better than last night, but if it’s not too forward of me, I’d say that you’re still a bit troubled, no?”

His antennas lowered slightly in resignation. “You must really love TV if you’re paying this much attention,” he teased.

Swatch chuckled softly. "Years of experience tend to sharpen the mind, that's all. However, I wouldn't be opposed to getting more... familiar with this 'TV,' as it were." A faint grin graced his expression, and he set the glass face down onto the counter. Tenna's heart skipped a beat. "Now, what can I get you tonight?"

Tenna hesitated, almost having forgotten the reason he’d even come here. "Oh, umm… Just give me a scotch. Please."

"Sure thing. It'll be just a moment."

Tenna watched with interest as Swatch got to work, procuring the requested liquor with a practiced finesse. It was a simple order, though, and Tenna suspected that he would have added a lot more flourish had he been given the chance. Then, as he pushed the partially filled glass towards him, he remarked, "Strange, I figured you as the type to prefer a nice bourbon."

Tenna took the glass into his hand, a grin of his own shaping his mouth. "Then maybe you're not as perceptive as you think."

Swatch scoffed at that. "Hah. Can't win them all, I suppose."

Tenna looked down at his drink, taking in the way it swirled delicately, the amber colors made more prominent under the lights. Then, he lifted it to his screen, knocking back a generous swig in one swift motion. As expected, it burned like hell, but only for a moment. Otherwise, it was a pleasant wake-up call, which was precisely what he'd been looking for.

"No, but you were right earlier," he said, looking down at the counter.

Swatch hummed in acknowledgement, pausing to pick up another glass as he went back to shining, the steady rhythm of it almost musical as it interspersed their conversation. "Do tell, then. If you're willing, of course."

Tenna tried to gather his thoughts. What wasn't troubling him at the moment? Glancing back up at Swatch, he eventually asked, "Do you... do you ever feel like you're losing control?"

"In what way?"

Tenna wasn't sure himself. "I don't know. Like… nothing makes sense anymore, I guess.”

Swatch nodded thoughtfully, considering him for a moment. “It happens to all of us at one point or another. Control is a tricky thing to hold onto, but when it slips away, you’d do best to remember those who are willing to support you.”

Tenna winced a little. The last time he had truly lost control of everything, everyone around him had abandoned him. What if that happened again? “…And if there’s no one left?”

“Then you pick up the pieces and move forward. If not for yourself, then for the ones you left behind,” Swatch replied, never straying from those consistent circular motions.

Tenna remained silent for long enough to digest his words. They held a semblance of truth to them, no doubt—but he wasn’t convinced that they were helpful to his particular case. Still, he was grateful for the indulgence, and for the unexpected companionship, like he had been welcomed home after a long time away.

“What about you, then?” Tenna asked. “Is that how you ended up so… composed?”

A glint of amusement flickered in Swatch’s eyes. “Hm. I suppose in some ways, yes, and in others… not so much.”

“Oh?” Tenna leaned forward a little, supporting his head with one hand, elbow resting on the counter. “Do tell,” he said, casually turning the same words back on him.

“Hah. There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid. Besides, in a way, you likely already know the story. We’re not so different, after all.”

Aren’t we? Tenna thought, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

Swatch paused, switching his current glass for the next. “I mean, we’re both servants first and foremost, are we not? Beholden to different masters, sure, but we are beholden nonetheless. The only real difference is that I prefer to serve from the shadows, while you prefer to take the center stage. And for that, I commend you. I can only imagine how much faster you must burn under those prying lights.”

With the imagery of his words, Tenna’s mind couldn’t help but flash towards memories of how the stress of it all had sometimes threatened to collapse in on him, and how no matter hard he tried, those “masters” that he was beholden to—the ratings, the viewership, all of it—they only pulled the leash tighter.

He's… he’s not wrong.

“I…” Tenna glanced down at his drink again. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

Swatch’s movement slowed only slightly, watching Tenna with a warm gaze. “No? Then, I’ll give you some time to do some reflection of your own. Think it over—you might find it enlightening. But first, shall I get you anything else?”

“No, that’s alright. Thanks, Swatch.”

“Anytime, friend.” With a polite dip of his head, Swatch then moved away, tending to the rest of his glassware.

For the remainder of the hour, Tenna merely sat in silence, watching the other patrons absentmindedly as they went about their night. As he watched, he traced the edge of his glass with one finger, the repeated motion lulling him into a sense of tranquility. Eventually, he finished his drink, the cold contents of the liquid more chilling than usual with his heightened sensitivity. Despite the earlier liveliness that had nudged him in this direction in the first place, his energy levels were beginning to crash again.

So, with sluggish movement, he retrieved the payment he owed. Of course, the denizens of Castle Town had most of the resources they already needed to live comfortably, but they still maintained something of a currency system more so out of tradition and stability. In this case, it was primarily a gesture of gratitude. Swatch took notice, seeming appreciative of said gesture.

“Thank you kindly,” he said, approaching the counter where the coins had been placed. “Please, do come back again, if you’re ever so inclined.” He shot Tenna a wink, subtle but undeniable.

And then, as he reached out to collect them, something sparked violently within Tenna.

It was as if he couldn’t see the kind and patient Darkner who he’d just spent the evening with in front of him anymore. Instead, the image was replaced with an indistinct blur, mocking and malevolent. A surge of emotion rose from the depths of his mind, rapidly spreading across his vision and overtaking the calm that had been there a second ago, and before he knew what was happening, there was only fury left.

With no more warning than a slight twitch of his neck, he lashed out suddenly, snagging Swatch’s arm. The latter jumped in surprise, though he was unable to back away from Tenna’s forceful grip pinning him in place. His claws were poking out from within his gloves, threatening to close tighter yet.

Immediately, the rest of the bar went silent.

“…Ah, my apologies. There seems to have been a misunderstanding,” Swatch said, his voice oddly calm given the situation. “It won’t happen again. Now, if you could just… unhand me, it would be much appreciated.”

Tenna said nothing, nor did he make any other moves, frozen in fury that wasn’t his own. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—whatever had taken hold of him was absolute.

Swatch stared back at him in cautious challenge. But as he narrowed his eyes, his expression shifted, and they widened with recognition. “Wait—that look… No, it couldn’t be…” He smiled then, a glimmer of amusement visible in his eyes. “It seems I was mistaken. This is no misunderstanding, is it, old friend?”

And just like that, Tenna snapped out of his trance. His jaw relaxed, apparently having been strained from baring his teeth. It took him a second or two to realize that he was also aggressively holding onto Swatch, but as soon as he did, he released his grip, drawing back in haste.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry—I—I don’t know what came over me,” he stammered, at a loss for words. What the hell had he just done?

Out of the corner of his vision, he could see a few of the remaining patrons staring at him in awkward shock. One of them whispered something inaudible to another nearby.

But Swatch didn’t seem angry, instead brushing off his coat as though it were nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “It’s alright. No need to worry yourself over it.” He looked up at Tenna directly, his gaze darkening, yet still sympathetic. “You’ve got greater concerns up ahead, I’m afraid.”

Oh no, he hates me, I’ve ruined this already…

Now both his tail and antennas were drooping, and he felt himself shrink back just a touch, though he didn’t allow himself to disappear from view fully, as that would somehow be even more undignified. Best to just walk out normally, even if each step was filled with shame.

“Sorry,” he apologized again in a hushed voice, “I’ll just be leaving now.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before he turned and fled, trading the cozy lights of the café for the darkened streets of the town. He wanted to go home, to forget about everything buzzing around in his head, filling it with sharp, cutting thoughts. Between that and the shallow breathing that his body had settled on, he was feeling rather lightheaded again, which he likely couldn’t blame on the liquor, as he hadn’t had nearly enough for that kind of effect. No—not only had he failed to find the source of the glitches, but they seemed to be getting much, much worse. The sooner he reached the safety of his room, the better.

But as he continued down the obsidian pathways winding through the town, he found that he had somehow managed to end up right at the entrance to the TV studio, which now loomed over him in the near distance. Odd; perhaps it had been muscle memory, or, as he gazed up at the golden glass doors, perhaps it had been a sense of longing for the comforts of the past. Either way, he felt compelled by them, unable to turn away.

Without thinking, he pushed his way through, entering the dark lobby ahead. By now, it was close to being the middle of the night. No one would be around, save for Mike, though he should be asleep in his room by now. It was just Tenna and the empty halls surrounding him.

Maybe a quick walk-through will calm me down.

It was something he used to do at the old studio from time to time. Taking to the abandoned halls often provided him with the only opportunity to really get away from it all, to find peace and quiet in what was otherwise a world of nonstop chaos. Stepping forward and around the corner from the lobby, he hoped to find that the same would be true here as well.

Sure enough, the darkness of the night was eerily still and silent, only the glow of his screen casting a dim white light over the path ahead. As he walked, he could picture the memories of the daytime hours, echoing in the now-empty dark like ghosts of the past. Actors and employees exchanging greetings as they passed each other by, his support staff running around with pages of scripts flying about with reckless abandon, and of course, Tenna himself, standing proudly on stage with one purpose and one purpose alone: to entertain. How simple it had been—at least, until the end, when it all became a literal game of life and death.

Tenna shuddered, recalling that it had almost ended in the latter for him.

But as he did so, he paused. There was a door ahead to the left, slightly ajar, unlike every other that he had passed so far. He couldn’t remember whether he had already been to this one after its construction, or if it was newer yet. Either way, it piqued his interest, and he crept up to it with careful movements. However, before he could open the door further, his heart leapt in his chest as he caught a glimpse of light from deep inside the otherwise pitch-black room.

He tried to back away, but something rebelled inside him, and before he could react, another fit of glitching seized him. His body jerked violently, doubling over in a way that caused him to stumble forward, forcing him through the door. Pain shot through him as it clipped his shoulder, and he fell to his knees after another step or two forward. For the next several seconds, he stayed like that, curled slightly in on himself and facing the floor until he gradually noticed that the fit had faded. Gingerly, he tested a hand, making sure he could move it well on his own. He was in control again—for now, anyway.

Then, realizing he was surrounded by darkness, he looked up abruptly, scanning his surroundings as the glow from his screen illuminated them. He seemed to be in some sort of storage room, as all around him were stacks of boxes, most of which appeared to be tightly packed still. But there, at the far end of the room, he saw that same flash of light as before, which startled him for a second. Then, after the fear passed, he saw that it was nothing more than a full-length mirror leaning against the center of the wall, and the light had been the reflection from his own screen.

Ha… nothing to be afraid of, he thought to himself.

With some effort, he rose to a stand and, cautiously, he approached the mirror. The way it was propped up against the wall in the dark like this was somehow… ominous, given how it loomed in the corner of his vision. But as he drew nearer, its features seemed more natural, brightened by his glow. He inspected it for another heartbeat before turning his gaze onto himself, noting the weary expression currently painting his features. He looked pale—more than he usually did, which was saying something. A single bead of sweat had also formed on the side of his casing, to his surprise. If anything, he felt cold, especially in this room, almost as if it had been cut off from the warmth of the rest of the building.

However, that feeling paled in comparison to the way his wires turned to ice as he realized that there, in the reflection of the mirror, there was a small figure standing behind him.

He whirled around in an instant to face an unfamiliar man with a face as pale white as his, save for the bright red dots decorating his cheeks, dressed in a black suit jacket and white shirt underneath, much like Tenna was in this very moment. His black hair was slicked back methodically, and though his eyes were covered by a curious pair of pink and yellow glasses, Tenna could feel him staring at him in wait.

“Wh-who the hell are you?!” Tenna exclaimed.

“Finally. It’s been a [forever] time coming, hasn’t it, [[Cathode]]?” The man answered, taking a step forward from his spot in front of the door, his gaze locked onto Tenna.

“What? I don’t have any idea who you are! Seriously, how did you get in here?!” Had he crawled out of their equipment when they’d moved in, like some kind of rat?

He tilted his head, an annoyed frown distorting his expression. “Do you really not recognize…?” When Tenna gave no sign that he did, he sighed. “Fine. Let me [[speed up your computer NOW]] for you, then.”

And with that, he snapped his fingers, and Tenna felt himself fall backwards into a vast ocean of memories. They surged all around him, flashing across his screen as the display rapidly flicked between them, reliving each one as though they had just happened. Almost a lifetime of memories coursed through him, all in the blink of an eye. Then, when he’d had enough, Tenna came to, his normal screen returning with a shuddering breath.

Slowly, he looked up at who had so clearly been in front of him this whole time.

“…Spamton? Is that… really you?” He simply couldn’t believe it. How could he, after all this…?

“Heya, [[Trash heap]].”

That caught Tenna off guard. “Why are you talking like… that?”

Spamton laughed, the sound itself unsettling, and to Tenna’s horror, he realized that it was the same laughter he had thought he’d hallucinated earlier. “The [shadows] came at a [steep price], no thanks to you.”

“What… what happened to you?”

“What happened?! It was [deal gone wrong] that happened!!” Spamton snapped, unleashing a torrent of anger that had evidently been building for a long time. “You screwed me over at the last second, and I lost [[all this and more!!]]”

Tenna flinched at his tone. “…What? But you left me, didn’t you?”

That seemed to give him pause. Spamton blinked a few times, the anger fading from his expression. “I…” Then, he shook his head as if to snap himself out of this new emotion. “No—I had to [survive] the [dark] by any means necessary! You don’t understand…”

“No,” Tenna replied, failing to keep his own voice lowered, “I don’t. I don’t understand a goddamn thing about why you left—why you lied to me!” He paused to take a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “But… I want to. I want to understand. That’s all I’ve wanted ever since that day. So please, help me out here.”

Spamton seemed taken aback, as though he’d expected a very different response. But it seemed to have encouraged him as well, and so he continued. “I had a plan—it should have been [[flawless victory]], if not for one little hitch…” He squeezed his fist against his side, facing away from Tenna. “The Lightner [abandoned] me, left me for [[death]]. They betrayed me, just like all the others…”

Lightner? “Wait, Kris?” Had they somehow ended up making some sort of deal with Spamton, too?

“Yes, the little [[worm]],” Spamton growled. “All they had to do was take me to my new body, but they [[mission failed]], and I was trapped in that [$!$?] disk!” His head snapped forward suddenly, looking at Tenna directly now. “Do you have any idea what it’s like?! Stuck in that [vast empty] with nothing but your own [[insane]] thoughts?!”

Tenna’s heart dropped. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” Then, he froze, uncertain. “Hold on… what disk?”

A smile spread across Spamton’s face, juxtaposing the distress he had just shown. “Oh, come on, [[Cathode]]. I know you aren’t the brightest [LED], but you remember, don’t you? How it felt to [[TRANSFER]].”

And then, as if on cue, Spamton disappeared. Antennas raised in alarm, Tenna glanced back and forth, looking for a sign that he had really just been there. Instead, he heard his voice from right behind him:

“Over here, [[Trash heap]].”

Tenna spun around, gasping as he saw that Spamton was now mere inches away, as if he had blinked in and out of existence.

“What the—how did you—?!” He shook his head, the panic rising in his voice. “Are you even… real?”

“Real?” He laughed again. “Oh, yes, and soon, I’ll be [bigger] and [better] than ever. But this,” he gestured vaguely towards himself, “is a [hallucination]. The real me…”

He stepped forward until they were nearly touching, his hand outstretched and pointing right at Tenna’s screen.

“…is in here.”

Tenna swallowed nervously. His thoughts were racing, and he could feel his electrical pulse lurch and quicken underneath its metal casing. The glitches and the sickness that had been plaguing him… it had all started after he’d touched that stupid disk, hadn’t it? And that meant…

“…You’re in my head.” He’d spoken the words plainly, as if making a simple observation. In a way, it was relieving; he had an explanation at last, and boy, did it explain a lot.

He knew he should be furious. After all this time, after all the heartbreak and broken promises, he dares show back up again out of nowhere—and not only that, but he was making his own body a living nightmare?!

Tenna was shaking with vitriol, but he couldn’t compose himself enough to voice his rage, because more than any of that, it was also completely, thoroughly terrifying.

Spamton nodded, commending him for putting it together with a clap of his hands. “[[BINGO]]! And let me tell you, it is not [million-dollar mansions] in here. It took a while to figure out your less than [state-of-the-art] workings, but now, I think it’s my turn for a [ride around town], don’t you?”

Tenna hesitated, taking a moment to parse what he was saying. But the instant he realized what Spamton was insinuating, he fell into nothing short of full-blown panic.

“W-wait, wait, hold on a minute here,” he tried, waving his hands in front of him. “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet! L-look, I’m sorry about what happened back then. I’m sorry I… wasn’t there for you.” He genuinely was, even if he was still confused by how any of this had happened. “But you were abandoned—so what? Welcome to the fucking club.” He’d nearly shouted that last part. “So,” he continued, “what do you say we fix this? Let’s make a deal—let me help you!”

He held out one hand in offering. Now Spamton was the one hesitating, and in a slow, steady motion, it looked like he was beginning to hold out his own, giving Tenna a spark of hope. He wanted to—Tenna could see it in his movement, even if it was faint. But that hope was quickly dashed when he retracted it, his body tensing suddenly as if waking from a dream.

“No! No more [deals]!” He shook his head aggressively. “You still don’t see—there’s a wrong that needs to be [[killed]]. Only one of us can [claim pr1ze now]—and it’s not going to be you.”

Spamton took a step back. His heart pounding, Tenna tried pleading again.

“Wait, th-that’s not what I meant—please, you don’t have to do this! I can fix it, I can…”

But he would hear no more.

“Sorry, [[Cathode]].”

Looking away, Tenna thought that for just the most fleeting of moments, he could see a hint of remorse in Spamton’s eyes, visible underneath his glasses at that angle. Then, he disappeared, and Tenna felt his body seize once again.

His head was on fire, feeling like a million volts were coursing through it all at once. He raised his hands to hold it desperately, willing the pain to stop somehow. His screen turned to pure static, flickering wildly in protest, while his spine twisted against the agony.

Please… stop…

But his plea went unanswered until eventually, the spasms faded, and the world went dark as Tenna lost consciousness.

His body, however, remained upright, and after a moment, it shuddered back to life with a jolt. It took some time for the necessary adjustments to be made, his screen continuing to flicker between static and darkness for a minute or so until, at last, his smile returned.

But, of course, it wasn’t Tenna holding the reins anymore.

Instead, Spamton was the one who moved back in front of the mirror, watching as the gentle glow of that familiar TV screen bathed over him in his reflection. He felt… powerful. It was as though every ounce of the current now running through him—an odd, yet exciting sensation—was filled to the brim with potential. It sure as hell beat the feeling of nothingness that had constricted him for so long.

Then, he shuddered again, groaning in discomfort as he felt Tenna’s—his body shift suddenly, changing itself to match the will of its current host. He watched the mirror in fascination as the light from his screen changed color a bit, going from Tenna’s natural white light to a cooler, bluish temperature. At the same time, his antennas twitched uncomfortably for a second before they both bent in the middle to form a zigzag pattern, angling down and away from each other. They were subtle changes, easy enough to shrug off if one weren’t paying close attention.

What was less subtle, however, was the change to his tail. The four split output cables on the end had lengthened considerably, flowing like electrically-charged serpents behind him, long enough to fully wrap around his torso once. As if to test them, he waved it a few times as he’d seen Tenna do when he was either excited or irritated. It was kind of fun, the way they arched at his command. Then, he fanned them out, separating the split cables further apart—and that’s when he saw them.

Thin, bright green strings became visible around the cables, up to the tail tips, connecting them in a messy web. Under just the right lighting, they glistened with color, but as soon as he moved them away from the light or furled his tail back into a narrower bundle, they disappeared again. More curiously, he could feel their presence, as though they were a part of him, too. Testing the way everything moved once more, he became more and more certain that he could control them, perhaps down to a level of precision greater than anything he could have achieved if he had gotten the body that he was supposed to end up in all those days ago.

For once, it seemed that he wouldn’t be the one pulled by them.

But for now, he furled his tail closely, making sure to keep them well hidden. He would figure them out later, when the time came. Looking himself over in the mirror one last time, he couldn’t help but flash a wide, manic smile, his fangs menacing in the dim glow reflecting back at him.

Oh, yes; this was going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

In the darkness of the midnight hours, deep in the heart of the studio, Spamton stood tall before the mirror back in the storage room. He was practically giddy with excitement over his new form—there were so many things he wanted to do, things he could never have dreamed of as his old self. But first, it seemed those things would have to wait.

He started as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching his location, followed by voices echoing down the hall.

Shit—I thought this place was supposed to be [LOW STOCK]?!

Well, so much for that. A series of lights flicked on from down the hall, the light just barely caressing the edges of the half-open door. The voices were drawing closer, and as he strained to listen, he caught a bit of the exchange:

“…telling you, I heard something…”

“…think those city guys’re trying ta steal from us?”

Panic coursed through Spamton, and on instinct, he looked from side to side in the hopes of finding somewhere to hide—until he realized that there was nothing he needed to hide from.

That’s right… I look like [[HIM]] now! Gone were the days of having to skirt through the alleyways of Cyber City, sticking close to the shadows just to get by without running into something or someone that wanted him dead. No more begging for scraps or having to wait in a literal dumpster to ambush the next weak-looking passerby in a vain attempt to scam them out of whatever meager scraps of the scraps they carried themselves.

Finally, it wasn’t him that was the puppet being paraded around for their amusement. Now he was the one in charge—the star of the show. Perhaps it didn’t have quite the same ring to it as it did when he could call himself a [BIG SHOT], but it would most certainly do.

Turning his attention back to the mirror, he hurriedly made an effort to unruffle his appearance. First, he smoothed out his suit jacket and tie, which had become a bit loose after Tenna’s writhing fit. Did he really have to be so dramatic about it? Seriously, it’s like the guy had never experienced a [[HOSTILE TAKEOVER]] before.

Next, he adjusted his expression into something a little friendlier, doing his best to mimic the kind, energetic smile that Tenna had worn so many times throughout their time back in the day. Every time they’d been on stage together, he’d smiled like this. And, every time Spamton returned to TV World after some time away, he’d greeted him with that same excited, hopeful look on his screen…

No, NO, don’t [acknowledge terms of service] right now. None of it was even [real deals in your area]!

The smile he’d put on twitched a little as he pushed the thought away, but he managed to hold his expression otherwise, and just in time. The footsteps had halted right outside the door—whoever the voices had belonged to, Spamton was about to find out.

Slowly, the door creaked open in full, allowing the light from the hall to flood in and over Spamton’s lower body, though it didn’t really matter, as his face now illuminated his identity in full. Standing upright, he tried to relax his stance a little as he watched several figures peer through the doorway.

At once, a green-and-white Darkner that Spamton vaguely recognized as a Pippins took a cautious step forward, holding a baseball bat confidently in his hands, poised to swing. But as soon as he saw who he believed to be Tenna inside, his eyes widened, and he quickly moved the bat behind his back.

“O-oh, hey, boss! I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here at this hour! Haha!”

Behind him, Spamton could see the shapes of two more figures poking their heads into the room, clearly wondering what was going on.

“Huh? What’s da boss doin’ here?” Asked the one resembling a Zapper.

The other one, a Shadowguy, simply shrugged. Spamton recalled that they didn’t talk, at least not with words.

Alright… just who are we [dealership sales] with here, [[Cathode]]?

While they were distracted by their initial confusion, Spamton took the opportunity to mentally reach into the depths of Tenna’s memories, rapidly searching through the data that should’ve been associated with the Darkner standing in front of him. However, he was surprised to find that nothing was coming up. Whoever this Pippins was, they weren’t very prominent in Tenna’s mind. But they obviously knew each other well, so Spamton had to come up with something.

“Heyyy… you, [special guest], right?”

Both he and the Pippins flinched at the sound of thick TV static overlaying the part of his words that had come from that god-forsaken speech quirk. The two Darkners outside the room exchanged a glance.

Hm. So that was going to be a problem.

But to his surprise, the Pippins seemed either too preoccupied or didn’t to care enough to comment on it. “Uh… yeah, that’s right! Don’t mind us, we’re just doing some… midnight… cleaning. Y’know, as you do. Haha.”

Shadowguy gave a thumbs up.

Spamton tilted his head. Whether that was the truth or not, he didn’t actually care. These three were inconsequential—he had a bigger, better objective in mind.

“Right, of course! But, say, you wouldn’t happen to know where Mike is, would you? I’d love to have a [[chat here now]] with him.” His smile twitched ever-so-slightly again in resentment over the sound of the vocal glitch. This time, he had been focusing on copying Tenna’s words a little more carefully, leaning into the memories and emotions associated with the words he wanted to convey, mimicking the patterns as he went. It was surprisingly easy—after all, he’d heard Tenna speak so often that it was like second-nature to him. But as he got more excited towards the end, the quirk had slipped through regardless.

Okay—so he just had to maintain his composure a touch more closely. He could work with this.

Oddly enough, the Pippins seemed relieved by his words, once again ignoring the static. “Mike? Oh, haha, yes! No problem, I can get him for you! Just, uh, stay right here, would ya?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” Spamton merely continued to smile down at him, still getting used to how much he suddenly towered over these other Darkners.

With a nervous nod, the Pippins backed out of the room until they were out of his line of sight, then quickly broke into a run, the other two hot on his trail. Spamton could just barely hear him say under his breath: “Go, go, get out of here!”

Relaxing some of the tension he’d been holding onto, Spamton let out a sigh. Some [[LOOKING FOR COMPANY?]] you’ve been keeping without me, eh, [[Cathode]]?

Of course, Tenna didn’t respond, still out cold underneath the shifting flow of data between them. Spamton could feel his presence, a very faint glimmer in the dark, much like he had been at first. Don’t worry, [[Cathode]], it’s [[ALL RIGHT ON A FRIDAY NIGHT]]—you get used to it.

Then, no more than a few minutes later, someone was approaching again. Stepping up to the doorway, Spamton gazed down the hall, making sure to keep his tail raised well behind his back where it would be out of view, expecting to see Mike as promised. Instead, he ended up doing something of a double-take.

That was not Mike.

“Hey, boss, I heard you were looking for me,” said a short, microphone-headed Darkner sporting a black and white tux with a bright red bowtie—again, it was a strikingly similar choice in clothing between the two of them. “What’re you doing here in the middle of the night? Are you feeling okay?”

“You’re not Mike,” Spamton said in a flat, direct tone.

The Darkner stopped in front of him, a stunned look crossing over his face. “Hah… W-what do you mean? Of course it’s me—who else would I be?”

Spamton stared him down a little longer, unnerving him rather effectively with the piercing glow of his screen. This… this couldn’t actually be Mike, right? No way—he didn’t look or even sound anything like what he remembered. Something weird was going on here.

So, without a second thought, Spamton dove back into Tenna’s memories, searching for the remnants of what should have been associated with Mike. However, he quickly found that everything was blurry, and as he pried further, he soon became tangled in a confusing, jumbled mess. Then, as he managed to weave himself a little further in yet, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Before him was what looked like a wall of dark, writhing shadows, latching onto the memories like a parasite coveting its prey. It pulsated and shifted, and then slowed abruptly, readjusting itself as though in response to his presence.

As though it had spotted him.

Spamton froze, and before he could pull himself away, he heard the sound of a dissonant, whispering voice coming from its direction.

A voice eerily similar to the one he’d heard on the phone.

The voice that had driven him to the brink of madness.

No, NO—

Drawing himself back the way he came at twice the speed, he snapped back into reality, the time he’d taken being no more than the blink of an eye. To say that there was a problem would have been an understatement—there was no way in hell he was getting anywhere near that again.

Oh, [[Cathode]]… What have you [[run away rUN AWAY]] into? The sympathy was automatic—he hadn’t even had a chance to suppress it.

He had truly been hoping that, somehow, Mike would have really been here—that he was somehow in one piece, even after Spamton had left TV World for good. That he, too, hadn’t fallen down the same shadow-laden path that had led him into ruin. But if that darkness had made it so that not even Tenna could remember him, then…

Mike… I’m sorry…

Back in the present, “Mike” was still watching him warily, practically sweating bullets while waiting for a response.

Well, in that case, if this guy wanted to pretend to be Mike, then so be it. Spamton was more than willing to take out a few transgressions on this imposter. Maybe it would even be cathartic. After all, what right did he have, taking his former friend’s place like this?!

Renewed anger flowed through him at the thought, and so finally, he answered.

“…Yes, you’re right, sorry! Just the ol’ shadows playing tricks on me, I guess!” He rubbed the back of his head with one hand, feigning discomposure.

Mike swallowed nervously. “Uh-huh… Is everything—”

“Everything’s peachy!” Spamton exclaimed, not bothering to let him finish. As he spoke, he fought hard not to let his tail swish from emotion. It was no wonder Tenna had so much trouble keeping that thing still. “But, hey, I would love to [private chat] with you about something.” Again came that awful sound, and he winced internally at the slip-up. Damn it, this was hard.

Mike looked up at him sharply in response, though he didn’t seem as startled as Spamton would have expected. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

[[Take a chill pill]], don’t give yourself away this easily, idiot!

“Oh, that? It’s just, heh, a little dust caught in my vents. Gets in my throat sometimes. Nothing to worry about!”

Mike stared at him for a long moment, and if he had visible eyes, Spamton suspected he’d be narrowing them. But he didn’t have the high ground in this conversation—literally, to Spamton’s satisfaction. So, with a small huff of frustration, he conceded. “Okay, so what did ya want to talk about?”

“Mm, yes, well, about that—is there maybe somewhere else we could talk?”

“Uh, I guess, but if it’s okay, can I ask… why?”

Ugh—just [work for MORE] with me here, “Mike.”

“Ah, no reason in particular, I just thought it’d be nice to get a… change of scenery? And besides,” he said, leaning in closer, “you never know who’s listening through these walls. Isn’t that right, Mike?”

Mike backed away slightly. Spamton could practically see the alarm bells going off in his head, but in a few seconds, that wouldn’t matter. Just [[TURN AROUND]] already!!

To his relief, Mike nodded hastily, not wanting to upset his superior any further. “O-kayyy… We can go to the backstages, then?”

“Perfect. Lead the way,” Spamton said with a flourishing gesture.

And then, the moment Mike did finally turn away from him, Spamton seized his opportunity. With a wry grin, he raised his tail high in the air. The four cables splitting from the single main cord unfurled from each other, revealing the green strings webbing through them, almost glistening in the bright light of the hallway. With minimal effort, they began snaking outward, poising to strike and ensnare their victim.

Then again, it would be just as satisfying—perhaps even more—to simply skewer the Darkner in front of him with the sharp outputs at the ends of his tail. Inelegant, but wonderfully effective. Or, better yet, he could do both at the same time—restrain the impostor while he runs the pointed ends through him over, and over, and over again.

The idea filled him with borderline ecstasy.

But as he made the final preparatory motion to send the cables forward, his body locked up suddenly, refusing to obey his commands. He strained again, but it was no use—he couldn’t move. Panic rose in him like bile, and he tried to struggle harder, managing to raise a single clawed hand just slightly in front of him in a fit of desperation. If he could just will it a little further, maybe he could still snap the pretender’s neck before he realized anything was amiss.

But it retracted back against his body faster than he’d outstretched it. Something was holding him back fiercely.

WHAT?! No, NO, what’s happening…?!

He was losing control—he could feel it slipping away from him too quickly to claw his way back to it, threatening to tip him right back over into that swirling abyss of subconsciousness. Had he done something wrong?! It was too early, too sudden—

Then, deep in his mind, he could hear a voice, low and growling:

“Don’t. You. FUCKING. Dare!”

The faint glimmer he had sensed before had roared back to life.

[[Trash heap]]!! You’re not SUPPOSED TO—

Too late. In an instant, he was pulled back into the recesses of their shared mind, and before he could even cry out again, everything went dark. Tenna’s body shuddered and convulsed violently, his screen completely blank, and then, with a resonating THUD, it collapsed to the ground.

Everything was fuzzy, as though Tenna was seeing and hearing the world through a thick pane of frosted glass. Someone was speaking in the distance, though he couldn’t make out any of the words. What he did know was that everything also hurt. The surface he was apparently laying on was awfully uncomfortable, and his head was ringing as though he’d just finished hosting a world-series rock concert. But through the haze, he was beginning to come to just enough to feel a sensation of pressure against his left shoulder, repeatedly pushing into him.

The voice became clearer, too. It was calling out to him.

“Tenna…?! Tenna!! Oh, fuck, you’re burning up…”

He felt another nudge against his shoulder, rousing him just a little more.

“Nngh…”

“Tenna! Hey, stay with me, okay?!” The contact then left him briefly as the voice—he was pretty sure it was Mike—shouted down the hall. “Guys, guys! I need some help over here NOW!!”

“Wh… where am I…?” Tenna tried weakly.

“The studio,” Mike replied, his tone simultaneously urgent yet gentle. “Don’t try to move too much—I think you had a seizure.”

He’d barely registered half of that. The studio…? Why… why am I…?

While he was struggling to form a coherent thought, two pairs of footsteps approached them rapidly.

“Help me carry him,” Mike instructed.

“What happened? What’s wrong with ‘im?”

“I don’t know,” Mike said, his voice cracking slightly. “Fuck. I don’t know… He was fine one minute, and then he just collapsed the next…”

“Okay, alright,” the second voice reassured him, “let’s start with one thing atta time, how ‘bout that? First, we’s gotta get him to our room, right?”

Mike jumped a little, distressed. “WHAT?! No, no, we can’t take him there! Not with all three of us! What if he… finds out?!” He hissed that last part under his breath.

“Well, whaddaya suggest then?”

Mike looked around frantically, his own thoughts too scrambled to be helpful. “Uh… we could try to make it all the way to his quarters?”

“…I’m not too sure that’ll work out so good, pal. That’s a long way for a big guy like him, even if we got three of us.”

“I… I don’t…”

Though Tenna couldn’t really see it, too weak to lift his head, Mike looked as though he were about to cry.

Then, after having been in total silence for the exchange, a musical sound rang out, demanding in its cadence. From the ground, Tenna could just barely make out the blurry outline of a black-and-white figure, who seemed to be gesturing wildly. It must have been one of the Shadowguys, and beside him was a Zapper. What they could possibly have been doing here, though, he couldn’t even attempt to think on.

“Huh…? The office…?” Mike started. “Oh—yeah, yeah, that could work! It’s not finished, but there’s at least couch in there, right?”

Shadowguy nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay, let’s get moving then! On three—one, two… three!”

On cue, Tenna felt himself being lifted. Together, the three of them weren’t having too much trouble, though they occasionally faltered underneath the dead weight. Slow and steady, they made progress down the hall, taking care not to let too much of Tenna’s lower body drag against the ground.

But then, as they rounded a corner, a spike of pain pulsed through Tenna’s head, causing him to tense up for a second. He couldn’t think straight, nor did he really grasp where he was just yet—however, a sliver of a memory resurfaced, pushing away the last of his ability to rationalize.

He’d seen him. He had really been there, right in front of him.

But not just that. He’d been in him.

Fear overrode every last nerve in his body.

With a jolt, he struggled, trying to get away—but the hands pinning him down weren’t letting go.

“Woah, what the—?! Tenna, Tenna, hey! Calm down, it’s just us!”

The words meant nothing to him.

“H-he’s still here! You have to let me go—he’s still here!” Tenna cried out.

Mike and the others exchanged a worried look.

“What’s he sayin’?”

“He’s probably delirious,” Mike said. “Tenna, please, stop fighting us! You’re okay, we’ve got you!”

“Let me go!” Tenna struggled hard again, almost managing to wrench one shoulder free. “Something’s wrong! You have to get away!”

“Wh-what do we do?!” Mike asked in a panic.

“Just hold ‘em! He can’t keep it up forever,” said Zapper, grunting with the effort of keeping one half of Tenna restrained.

With no other directive, Mike and Shadowguy followed suit, putting all of their energy into preventing Tenna from escaping, making significantly slower progress towards the office all the while. Then, eventually, Tenna did tire out, going limp underneath their support.

“…Oh thank gods,” Mike breathed. “Hurry, I don’t think I can do that again if he starts back up.”

They didn’t speak again until they had made it to the office, having picked up the pace as much as they possibly could until at last, they hauled him through the door, and Mike made sure that it was shut firmly behind them. Working together, they managed to place him delicately onto the couch near the center of the room, each of them breathing a sigh of relief as the weight left them.

Around them, the lights flickered on, though not all of them had been installed yet, leaving the room dimmer than usual. The new office was still littered with packed boxes, only furnished with a desk, chair, and, of course, the couch. The carpeting was new, though, adding a flourish of red and gold to the otherwise plain center.

In front of them, Tenna was still limp as he was laid down, his own breathing rapid and shallow. Heat was radiating off of him as though a fire had been lit inside his casing, and with the door shut, there was a real chance that he would raise the temperature of the room by a degree or two if given enough time.

The three of them looked at one another again, their expressions painted with worry.

“So, er… now what?” Zapper asked.

Shadowguy simply shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Mike said. “I’ve never seen him like this before… I don’t think any of us have.”

The others shook their heads in response.

After the pause, Mike continued, “But… we’ve gotta cool him down fast. I’m worried the heat might be getting high enough to cause damage.”

“Yeah, but… how?”

Silently, they seemed to be racking their brains for an answer, searching for something, anything that would help ease his pain.

Then, Zapper spoke again. “Wait, whaddabout Queen? She’s got circuits and all da other fancy parts like him—maybe she could help?”

Mike seemed hesitant. “He’s not exactly like her, y’know. He’s a little more… complicated. I dunno if what works for her would work for him.”

“Well, I mean, we’s could at least ask?”

Mike still didn’t look entirely convinced, but as he glanced at Tenna again, he knew they didn’t have much of a choice. The situation was growing dire. “Okay, fine, you two go ask. I’ll stay with him.”

With that, both of them gave him a salute before heading out, leaving them alone in the dimly lit room. For a little while, they both existed in contemplative silence, with Mike listening to Tenna’s strained breathing until his heart ached in his chest. It almost seemed… unfair. Their lives were supposed to be better here, away from the hardships of their previous one surrounded by the threat of obsolescence. So, why was it that everything suddenly seemed so much worse…?

But more than that, Mike knew he wasn’t built for this. He wasn’t even obligated by this—not anymore. Wouldn’t it be so much easier if he simply… walked away? After everything he’d been put through, what was stopping him, really? He’d abandoned him once before—how much more would it really hurt to do so again?

No matter how hard he tried, the thought always persisted in the back of his mind, lurking there as some unseen enemy.

Luckily for him, it was pushed back once more as Tenna slowly began to stir.

“…M… Mike…? Is that you…?”

Jumping to attention, Mike moved over to his side. “Yeah, I’m right here, Tenna,” he said, not bothering to address him formally anymore.

“What… happened to me…?” His body felt like it was burning and freezing all at the same time, and though he was exhausted, a sudden burst of energy—an overbearing sense of danger—was pushing him back into wakefulness, if only for a moment.

Mike grimaced, thinking of how to best let him down gently. “I… I don’t know exactly, but you’re really sick. It’s okay, though. You’ll get better.”

He might’ve been saying that more for himself.

Tenna’s brow creased, taking a moment to process his words. It was difficult while disoriented, his mind still in an in-between state from delirium and lucidity.  “I think… something’s really wrong with me.”

“…I know, Tenna.”

He then fought to sit upright somewhat, and though his arms were shaking badly, he somehow managed. “…No, you don’t… you don’t understand, the glitches… they haven’t stopped, Mike. Th-they haven’t stopped—they’ve only gotten worse.” He shivered, the action sharp against his exhausted muscles. “I’m… seeing things...”

He’d trailed off, and though Mike knew he probably shouldn’t ask, curiosity got the better of him. “What… what kind of things?”

The edge of a memory reared its head again, and Tenna’s pulse quickened. Had it even been real, or just some horrible nightmare…? His head was so fuzzy, blurring the lines between hallucination and reality. Nothing made sense anymore.

Something’s wrong, someTHING’S WRONG, SOMETHING’S WRONG—

Still shaking, he pushed himself to reply, “I saw… him. He was different, but he was there, Mike. Why did it have to be him?”

Mike froze instinctively. Just one look, and Tenna knew he was aware of exactly who he was talking about. “…Spamton?” He shook his head in disbelief. “That guy? No, no way, it can’t be real, then, right? No one’s seen Spamton for a long time, and especially not here.”

But Tenna wasn’t so sure. It had certainly felt real.

“…But, hey, if Spamton did suddenly show up, it wouldn’t matter, because I wouldn’t let him hurt you again,” Mike offered in reassurance. “Got it?”

The words were meant as comfort, and while Tenna did appreciate them, he had the feeling that they wouldn’t be enough. Still, he had to hand it to Mike for trying so hard. He wanted to offer a weak smile in return, but he didn’t have the heart for it right now. So instead, he just looked away, as though that would conceal the confused misery in his expression.

They fell silent again, which was fine with Tenna, as he was finding it hard to catch his breath. And yet, something was stirring restlessly within him, begging him to run, to get away from something he couldn’t quite grasp, rattling and gnawing at the corners of his mind. Why, why couldn’t he remember…?

But the silence didn’t last long, as several minutes later, Zapper and Shadowguy had returned from their middle-of-the-night foray. As they stepped inside, Tenna saw that Shadowguy was carrying a bottle of something clear, the liquid shining delicately under the light.

“What’s that? Will it help?” Mike asked eagerly.

“Yea, Queen said it’s, uh… Well, she used a lot of them fancy words, but it’s pretty much just special cooling water,” Zapper said.

Mike paused. “Like, coolant? Is that safe?”

“Should be. That’s what she told us. It’s like… distilled and de… somethin’.”

Mike stared at him in exasperation.

Zapper shrugged. “What? She said even if it doesn’t help, it won’t hurt.”

Shadowguy nodded beside him.

Mike pinched where the bridge of his nose would be. “Alright, fine, screw it. I’ll try anything at this point.”

Taking the bottle in hand, he walked back to Tenna’s side. “Here. Drink,” he said, holding it out to him.

Normally, Tenna would have been cautious about such a thing. But right now, he wasn’t lucid enough to perceive the potential threat, so he accepted the gesture obediently, held the liquid up to his screen with an unsteady hand, and then drank deeply until there was nothing left. It tasted weird, like the water itself contained a faint electrical current that tickled his throat on the way down. But, in an odd way, it was also kind of soothing.

Mike watched in trepidation. “Good… I think.” He took the empty bottle from Tenna’s hand. “So now we, what, just wait?”

“I mean, yeahs? Probably,” Zapper said.

As they spoke, the pendulum was already swinging the other way, drawing Tenna back into half-consciousness. Despite the screaming in his circuits, he was far too exhausted to adhere to their warning. Soon enough, he felt himself sinking back down into the couch, his screen dimming in protest. He simply couldn’t fight it anymore.

The others continued to talk, though Tenna was barely aware of the conversation by this point.

“Okay… it’ll probably take time,” Mike said, “and there’s not a lot else we can do right now, so…” His face stretched into a yawn then, despite trying to stifle it.

“Maybe you’s should take a break, too,” Zapper remarked.

“But…”

Zapper then placed a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “I know you’s the most worried about ‘em, but you can let us take a turn for a while. The two’ve us can check on him for ya, right, pal?”

Shadowguy nodded, smiling warmly.

Mike looked at the two of them one at a time, his expression still contorted by the stress, but at last, he seemed to resign himself. “…Yeah, alright… that works, I guess…” He took a deep, recomposing breath before continuing. “Every hour, got it? Make sure his fever’s going down, and that we also didn’t just accidently poison him.”

Though the redundancy of the order didn’t excite them, they exchanged a look of agreement.

“You got it, boss,” Zapper said.

Mike turned to Tenna. “Don’t move an inch. I’ll be nearby if anything happens, okay?”

Tenna didn’t respond, though from the few words that he’d caught, he at least knew he wasn’t looking forward to being doted on constantly throughout the night. Hopefully they’d be quiet; all he wanted to do right now was sleep.

Finally seeming as satisfied as he was ever going to be in that moment, Mike then motioned for the others to follow him out of the room, leaving Tenna to rest in peace. It seemed that most of them had a long night ahead, but with any luck, it would be over soon.

The first hour hadn’t even passed before Tenna heard a voice, the sound scraping at his mind and thrusting him back into an unwilling state of alertness.

“Wake up, [[Trash heap]]. I’m not [[sale closed]] with you yet.”

His screen brightened back to life, taking a few seconds to adjust well enough to quell the blurriness from his vision. But as soon as it did, Tenna’s circuits froze in dread as it revealed a figure standing near the doorway, menacing him from across the room.

Well, so much for that whole sleeping thing.

Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed was Spamton, who stepped forward a few paces, his fists clenched in frustration.

No, NO, it wasn’t supposed to be real, it can’t be—

Adrenaline rushed through Tenna at the sight, and he forced himself to stand, ignoring the shakiness in his limbs. The sense of danger had returned full-throttle.

“What the [[fresh hell]] was that?!” Spamton snapped, moving closer yet. “You aren’t supposed to FIGHT BACK!! I’M supposed to be the one in [administrator privileges]!”

Though fear was still the predominant feeling coursing through his wires right now, his words sparked a flicker of anger within Tenna.

“What?! You were about to kill Mike!!” Without thinking, he stumbled forward, lessening the distance between them further. “What the hell is wrong with you?! I knew you were always selfish, but violent? And you thought I would just sit back and let you do what you want with my body?!”

Spamton grit his teeth, unyielding. “Okay, OKAY, so I got a little [carried away on spring vacation]. You still OWE [[$1,000,000 KROMER]] ME. Because of YOU, I [[Everything Must Go]]! EVERYTHING! It’s not FAIR that you’re a [free man walking] and I’m… this!!” He gestured with rapid, incomprehensible motions.

Tenna pinned his antennas back over his head defensively, making his head reel with the dizzying sensation. “Didn’t I already tell you? You left me! I gave you everything! And you know what?” Another unbalanced step forward. “I don’t even care about the fact that you took off with my life advice. I don’t care about getting ripped off.” Another, and Spamton had to take a step back. “No, no—I care because of what we had together, and you threw that away!! Did it all really mean that little to you…?”

Spamton’s eyes widened, and he raised one arm in front of his torso. Doubt gleamed in his eyes, and suddenly, he went quiet. “It… It meant [everything],” he murmured. Then, as if he—or possibly something else—wouldn’t allow him to continue down that path, he raised his voice again. “[[WRONG]]. You were just after my [[FAMOUS RECIPES HERE]]. You only cared about the [secure code] to it all—none of it was REAL!”

Tenna stepped forward once more until he was towering over Spamton, backing him against the wall. Spamton stared up at him nervously, sweat visible on his temples.

“Y-you know you can’t [hurt] me, right, [[Cathode]]? Not without hurting that pretty little [ant-sized] head of yours,” he growled.

Tenna remained unphased, leaning over him closer.

“You think I didn’t care? Hah… Then why don’t you take a look for yourself?”

Spamton hesitated, aggression mixing with the uncertainty in his face.

“Well? Go on,” Tenna continued. “I could feel you rooting around in my memories, you know. You didn’t ask my permission then, but I’m giving it now. So, go ahead, hotshot—see for yourself!”

Biting at his lip, Spamton considered him briefly, menaced by Tenna’s looming form despite the fact that it should have meant nothing in this moment. But at last, with a frustrated sigh, he obliged.

“…FINE.”

And then, Tenna shuddered as he felt Spamton’s consciousness breach his own, wading through the stream of thoughts between them.

Tenna’s screen flickered to life as the memories came flooding in. All at once, the two of them were surrounded by images of the past, whisking them away into a whirlwind of lived experiences and emotions. Every moment that they had shared was now on display, but unlike the last time, they were both reliving them together.

From the beginning, riddled with excitement undercut by distrust, to the hundreds of moments shared on the big stage, now replaced by nothing but trust and passion, to the tender moments backstage, where no one could see the vulnerability bleeding out of them from behind the show curtains. For better or for worse, each memory was intertwined with deep, unbridled longing, and each moment of bitterness was surrounded by regret, drowning them in the feeling of loss over what could have been.

Even when the memories were dripping with selfishness or malice, there was still that longing, buried deep under the surface.

And then, finally, the ending. Tenna braced himself for what was coming; before them, they saw the memory of the phone clattering to the floor, and the sensation of anger, confusion, and despair, all rolled up into one potent cocktail of emotion, threatened to overwhelm them. From Tenna’s perspective, that day had felt like the world had fallen down around him, and even now as he was forced to relive it, that same despair was just as cold and unforgiving.

I wasn’t good enough.

They’ll all leave me in the end. Everyone does.

I deserve this.

The last of the memories faded out, leaving them to fall back into the silence of the darkness surrounding their shared subconscious. Then, after a moment, they both jolted back into reality with a gasp. Exhausted, Tenna leaned against the wall, panting heavily.

Beside him, Spamton was holding one hand up to the side of his face, staring down at the floor.

For a few heartbeats, neither of them said anything at all.

Then, Spamton shook his head in disbelief. “You… you did care, [[Cathode]]?”

“…Of course I did,” he breathed. “So… why did you leave…?”

Spamton shot him a look of uncertainty, then lowered his gaze back to the floor.

“[[Cathode]], you [wouldn’t believe your eyes] if I told you, but even if it was all [[100% authentic]], none of it matters. It’s all [[INVALID]] unless…”

Tenna glanced down at him, not quite sure what he was trying to say. “…Unless what? Just spit it out, already.”

“Unless we reached…” He trailed off, shaking his head again, this time a little too vigorously. “No, no! I’m sorry, the [shadows] told me too much. Please, PLEASE let me [SPARE] you the [click here for details].”

Tenna frowned. “…We won’t get anywhere if I don’t know what you’re talking about, you know.”

Spamton looked back up at him, the remorse that had shone in his eyes a moment ago fading, and Tenna noted the way his glasses didn’t reflect any of the light from his screen. “You and I… we’re still [trapped] here. The [[TRANSFER]] is already [complete].”

“You mean we’re stuck like this? Isn’t there some way we can fix it?”

“Not what I was [advertising] about, [[Cathode]].” His gaze intensified. “If you just let me [run as administrator], then maybe we can still… maybe we can be [[FREE]]. I can [salvage] the [light] that the [[little worm]] took from me, and then we can [ASCEND].” He sounded manic. Desperate.

Tenna tilted his head to the side. This… this wasn’t making any sense, and he wasn’t sure whether it was the fever to blame. “What… what is it you’re after here, exactly…?

Spamton slammed a fist against the wall abruptly. “I already TOLD YOU, there’s a [WRONG] that needs to be [unfinished business]. The Lightner took something from me, and I don’t just mean my [[dashing good looks]].”

That didn’t sound good.

“So, this is, what… a revenge thing?” Tenna pushed himself away from the wall to face him. “Haven’t you seen how those end enough times on the big screen? How many more of those scripts do I have to shove down your throat to tell you that there’s no way I’m letting you do that?!”

Spamton cocked his head, almost in amusement. “I’m sorry, but since WHEN. WAS. I. [[SENDING REQUEST]]?”

Tenna’s heart skipped a beat. Had the memories they’d just shared not been enough? Was he really still threatening to push him away?

“Will you just listen—"

But Spamton didn’t seem interested in indulging him. “I don’t want your [sympathy cards], [[Trash heap]]. I want [[FREEDOM]], and you’re still in the way. I know what went wrong last [late night]—I won’t make the same [[ERROR]] this time.”

Then, Spamton snapped his fingers, disappearing all together.

He’s going to…?! No, please, not again!

“W-wait, DON’T—ack—”

Tenna’s hands went to his throat as his voice cut off, leaving a trail of garbled static in its wake. Desperately, he tried to call out to Mike, but it was no use. He could feel that fire-like sensation rising in his head again, and as he doubled over in pain, his screen filled with frantic, buzzing static. From the back of his mind, Spamton’s voice rang out:

“Sorry, [[Cathode]], but I can’t let you interfere until the Lightners [arrival dates]. They never got a taste of that sweet [NEO], so I’ll be sure to [[sell at half price]] something even [bigger].”

Tenna’s body convulsed again, but he was already too weak to fight back this time. Soon enough, everything was going dark on his end, and in a rapid series of movement, he could feel parts of his body snap and stretch as they changed back into that altered form, his antennas bending sharply and his tail lengthening until the cables on the end flowed like whips, crackling with power.

Mike, help—m—!

And then, just before Tenna slipped into that endless void, he heard Spamton speak through his voice:

“…Maybe we’ll get to see [H E A V E N] together after all.”

Chapter Text

Spamton stood in the middle of the empty office, taking his time to stretch out his newly reacquired limbs, loosening the tension that had been held there for far too long. He breathed in deeply, feeling the way everything swayed and expanded under his command, and then exhaled.

Good—everything seemed to be in its proper place. And this time, he was confident that he could maintain control. Tenna would be too weak to fight back for a while, he was pretty sure, having used up the last of his strength to overpower Spamton the last time. And even if push came to shove, Spamton was more than ready to put up a fight of his own. He had a goal, after all. There was no way in hell he was going to let the [[Cathode]], or the Lightners for that matter, ruin it all over again. Not when he was this close.

Speaking of... he needed an actual plan, and fast. How much longer before those other Darkners that had cozied up to Mike—that pretender—came back to check on him? He glanced around the room, searching for something that might help orient him. Unfortunately, there wasn't a clock or anything similar, so it was a complete shot in the dark as to when they would show up. He was fairly certain that he had a little time left, though, assuming they even planned on following the schedule that tightly.

Then, as he was still gathering his surroundings, something caught his gaze. Despite the barrenness of the room, there was something on the desk toward the back center. Curious, Spamton approached, noting that it looked to be a fresh stack of papers—placed there very recently, if he had to guess. He picked them up, the white pages reflecting the now bluish-white glow of his screen as he held them up to it. At the top of the front page, there was dark text that read:

WEATHER REPORT - NEW SCRIPTS

Below that, the names of the two writers were detailed in smaller print: Elnina and Lanino. Spamton paused, trying to recall who those names belonged to. They were familiar—enough for him to have known them from back in the day, when Spamton himself frequented TV World. But that had been so long ago now... between that and his scrambled thoughts, it was hard to remember anyone other than the ones who had screwed him over.

Them, and Mike, that was… Was he the only one who could even remember him now? The possibility weighed heavily on his chest, and he forced his attention back to the pages in his hands.

Right now, it didn't matter who they were. What mattered was that they had just gifted him a most perfect opportunity. Putting on a show—now that would get the Lightners' attention. Back in his prime, Spamton had written a plethora of top-notch scripts all of his own design for TV Time, and he recalled fondly the praise he'd gotten over the days.

Well, Tenna had praised him, anyway...

He shook the memory away.

Now, though? He doubted that he could put something even remotely coherent together on his own, no matter how hard he tried. The [[shadows]] were just too distracting, too persistent. But with a coherent script already in front of him... surely he could manage to alter it into something usable? Just a few changes here and there, and everything would be [[GRAND]].

A crooked smile spread across his screen. Oh, yes—this was almost too perfect.

Rattle… rattle…click.

Startled, Spamton turned as he heard the sound of the door handle to the office being opened, equally surprised by the sensation of his antennas perking in response to the stimuli.

[$!?!]—they're here already?! I thought I had more time!!

With a renewed sense of urgency, he stuffed the pages of the script into his suit jacket, hoping they wouldn't be too conspicuous. Then, just as he’d managed to tuck away the last stubborn page, the door swung open. Spamton stood to attention with his hands clasped together behind his back as two figures strode through.

As expected, the Zapper and Shadowguy that he had watched through Tenna’s half-lucid screen appeared, stopping in surprise at the sight of him standing there.

“Oh, hey, boss, we’s weren’t expectin’ ya to be up an’ about.”

Spamton fought to maintain a pleasant smile. “Aha—yes, well, whatever that liquid was turned out to be quite the pick-me-up, wouldn’t you say? I’m feeling much better, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to leave now.”

They exchanged a hesitant glance.

“Well, uh, that’s great’n all, boss, but we’s not really supposed to let you do that. Mike would be real upset with us, see, and besides… how do we know you’s in your right mind an’ all?”

His smile twitched. They wouldn’t “let him?” How cute. Maybe Tenna would put up with this, having been tamed by all these underlings after TV World, but there was no way Spamton was. He had power now—he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to use it.

“Oh, I’m in my ‘right mind’ all right, and you would do best to listen when I tell you that I. Am. Leaving,” he growled, flashing one fang through that crooked smile.

The both of them tensed up, uncertainty creeping into their expressions.

“Uh…” Zapper tried, “We’s, uh, just don’t think dats… a good idea? Why don’t you’s—”

Spamton stepped towards them, hunching over slightly so as to lean directly over them.

“Let me make it clearer for you: either you get out of my way, or you’ll wish you never set foot in this studio again.”

Shadowguy made a short, musical trill of alarm.

“O-okay, alright, understood, boss. We won’t stop you’s,” Zapper said, stepping aside with haste.

“Good. That’s more like it,” Spamton said, straightening his posture. With ease, he pushed his way past them, and as they watched in helpless distress, Spamton turned back to them once he’d reached the door.

“Oh, and don’t go running off to tell Mike about this. Let him rest—I have the feeling he’ll need it.” A wry grin spread across his screen.

“O-of course. You’s the boss! Haha!”

Ooh, that felt good.

Satisfied, Spamton slipped out of the office at last, leaving them well behind and heading straight for the studio exit. As soon as he stepped through those golden doors, he felt a rush of elation—he was free, and now, the whole of Castle Town was stretched out before him, lying in wait. It was the middle of the night, though; no one seemed to be around, which suited him just fine.

After all, he was free, but he had yet to truly attain [[FREEDOM]]. For that, he’d need to get to work. No time for distractions.

With that in mind, he made haste towards Tenna’s—his quarters, following the cobblestone pathways up to the winding stairs and hallways of the castle. Everything looked the same as it had when he’d arrived—peaceful.

It was a shame. With any luck, he wouldn’t be sticking around this place for long. Not if he wanted to escape what the shadows had shown him.

It wasn’t much longer before he found himself at the doors marked “TV,” designating the entrance to his room. But before he managed to pull them open, he found himself hesitating. The last time he’d been in this situation, standing before a grand entryway to what would have been Tenna’s domain… it must have been the same day before it happened.

Before the voice spoke to him one last time, and then no more.

He shuddered involuntarily as the memory resurfaced.

It’s [[no two alike]] this time, isn’t it? I’m in [admin privileges] now.

Shaking off the tension, he walked inside.

The atmosphere was rather stale, the room having been abandoned so abruptly several hours ago. Most of the lights were left off, allowing the azure light of the castle torches to tease at the entrance, though they were cut off by a dim glow spreading out from the bedroom. Without bothering to acknowledge the rest of the space, Spamton headed towards it, stopping when he reached the large work desk against the back wall.

[NOW] then, let's see what we're [WORKING OVERTIME] with.

Pulling out the ill-gotten scripts from his suit, he slammed them onto the desk and began skimming through the pages.

This was... this...

Wow.

"If this is what you were starting with, [[Cathode]], then you'd better thank me for saving your sorry [SPECIAL BROADCAST]," he said, thoroughly unimpressed.

Still—the foundations were there. It was all he needed to come up with something a little more to his taste.

First, though, he needed to find a pen.

He began rummaging through the desk drawers, hissing in frustration as the first two yielded nothing useful. Then, by the third, he found what he was looking for resting on top of what appeared to be a miscellaneous stack of folded papers. However, as he went to pick it up, a sliver of color at the bottom of the pile caught his attention.

It was only the edge of an image, but for some reason, it felt familiar right away.

Hesitantly, he singled it out, lifting it cleanly from the drawer. At once, his breath hitched with unexpected recognition. In his hand was a framed picture of the two of them together—Tenna and himself—standing side by side, posing dramatically for the camera in front of those brilliant red curtains from the TV World runways.

Their first official photoshoot together.

Why... why did he still have this, after all this time...?

And why did it hurt so much to look at?

NO, don't [[look now]]—

Without thinking, he threw it forcefully onto the ground, smashing the glass into thick, misshapen shards. For a moment or so afterwards, he stood there unmoving, working to calm his stress-riddled breathing down.

Forget it. FORGET IT.

He needed to focus.

Forcing his attention away, he pulled out the chair up against the desk and took his rightful place there, the script pages now spread out in front of him haphazardly. He couldn’t let such trivial things distract him—it was now or [[NEVER]].

So, with a generous flick of his tail cords that rose well above him at their crest, he took in a deep breath and set to work.

By the time the next morning had rolled around, Spamton woke with a start in the same place he had left off, hunched over the top of the desk face-first. As he gradually came to, he remembered the pages now scattered even less coherently before him and, with a frantic series of motions, began gathering them up into what might be considered a proper stack, glancing over the cascade of words crossed out and added in with messy black ink.

It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

Tucking them into his suit again, this time much more neatly, he rose, still caught off guard by how much taller he stood above even the most basic of furnishings. Right—now he could really set things in motion. He should head back to the studio soon; if the Lightners wouldn’t respond to anything short of grandeur, then he would be sure to give them the show of a lifetime.

Reenergized, he took a moment to straighten out his suit and accessories, admiring the way they fit on his body, the gold metal complimenting the red and black fabrics with a sort of regality. It was nothing short of the colors of [[SUCCESS]]—nothing short of what he deserved.

Then, as he’d finished up with his spot of vanity, he made his way to the end of the main room, but stopped short of the exit as he recognized a twist in his stomach. He hadn’t really noticed it last night, too amped up on the excitement of it all, but now that he’d calmed down enough, the feeling was unmistakable and oh-so-familiar.

Holy hell was he starving.

“[HOLY FIGURE] [[Cathode]], when was the last time you [Five-star restaurants near you]?!”

No response.

Spamton knitted his brow, a hint of a frown shaping the corner of his mouth. Tenna had been unconscious for an awfully long time now. Taking a moment to pry at their split subconscious, he could feel him somewhere in the depths, though only faintly. Good—that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? That way, he wouldn’t be able to distract him further, whining in his ear about the past or, for that matter, the present.

Besides, it was only a matter of time. For now, he wanted to enjoy having his mind, and this body, all to himself.

Preferably, that meant not starving to death.

Spamton didn’t really know the layout of the town just yet, and while he could attempt to check Tenna’s memories again, he didn’t feel the need. He had seen him travel to that café towards the southern end of town—that would surely do. That, and he was very much hoping to see a certain someone with whom he had unfinished business. Someone who was, as it just so happened, no longer at an advantage over him.

Picking up the pace, he left his quarters behind and followed the same path he’d seen last night, leading him straight to the dark blue building that marked the café. Once inside, he noted that the atmosphere was considerably changed compared to the calm, quiet scene he’d been forced to listen in on. Being about mid-morning, it still wasn’t overly lively, but there were a number of patrons scattered across the different tables, their conversations filling the air with ambient noise.

Immediately, Spamton scanned the room for signs of Swatch. But to his disappointment, the head butler was nowhere to be found. Instead, the Darkner manning the front counter was one of his lesser counterparts, dressed in that ever-familiar vibrant red suit and watching the guests with a look of disinterest. These Darkners had been a pain in his side, too, often tormenting him the second he was evicted from that accursed mansion—and well before that, if he was being honest. Always teasing one way or another, the remarks just scathing enough to have been etched into his mind permanently.

Ah, well; he didn’t yet have the energy to deal with them. Until then, they, too, were inconsequential.

He approached the main counter with a confident stride, his tail cables closely knit but still flowing elegantly behind him. The Swatchling glanced up at him, ready to serve.

"Mr. Tenna, welcome. What can I get you today, sir?"

"Where is he?" Spamton demanded, placing one hand on the counter.

"My apologies, but to whom are you referring?"

He huffed a breath of exasperation. "You know. The scruffy, arrogant one. Where is he?"

Swatchling raised a brow. "Ah... if it's the boss you're so, ahem, crudely referring to, I'm afraid I must inform you that he's not here at the moment. He tends to prefer the night shift, you see."

Of course he did. The coward—hiding behind the cover of darkness, as usual.

Still eyeing him warily, Swatchling continued, "Perhaps I could take a message for you, sir?"

"Oh, no, no," Spamton replied with a shake of his head. "No need; if he’s too busy hiding, I'll be sure to swing by later. This is more... personal in nature." A lopsided grin shaped his mouth.

Swatchling merely stared back at him, refusing to respond to that until it had grown rather awkward between them. "Are you actually going to order anything, or...?"

Oh, right. He should probably do that.

Snapping back into a neutral expression, he glanced at the menu up on the wall behind the counter, though in truth, he didn't even remotely care about the specifics. He just wanted something sweet—something indulgent.

"Just give me two—no, three of the sweetest stuff you’ve got. And don't try to short-change me on the icing," he said, pointing a finger at him. He swore they always did that to him back at Queen’s mansion.

"...Of course, sir. It'll be ready in a moment."

With that, Swatchling began moving behind the counter, though he looked like he was beginning to regret his life choices. Spamton didn't take his gaze off him the whole time, watching with a sense of catharsis. How long ago had it been now since he used to order Queen's servants around as though they had been his own? Too long, that was for certain. Sure, this wasn't quite the same given that this Swatchling was obligated to serve most of the Darkners who stepped foot here, but even then, he hadn't immediately been kicked out. That alone was a much-needed improvement.

After a short moment or so, he returned from his thoughts as the requested pastries were placed in front of him: an assortment of three differently flavored eclairs.

"Enjoy... sir."

Not bothering to pay Swatchling any mind, he snatched them up and slid over to a nearby seat, wasting little time between their acquisition and sinking his teeth into the first one. In an instant, the overpowering flavor of chocolate, caramel, and pure sugar flooded his mouth, drowning out every other sensation and filling him with a warmth that had been missing for a long, long time.

In between swallowing, his throat tightened. It was just... so damn good. When was the last time he'd had anything this luxurious, let alone anything that wasn't practically dug out of the trash? He couldn't even remember.

The taste alone was almost enough to bring him to tears.

But as he gradually devoured the rest of them, he managed to bring himself to composure, reveling in the last of its sickly-sweet bliss. It brought him a whole new level of satisfaction, and as he finally turned his attention back to the rest of the café, everything seemed just a little brighter under those deep amber lights strewn overhead.

Glancing around, there weren’t too many other faces that interested him at the moment. However, one pair in particular caught his gaze, sitting across from each other at one of the rounded tables by the windows. Again, a sense of familiarity sparked within Spamton—he had seen Tenna interact with them not long ago at Queen’s new mansion. Yes, that was right; these were Elnina and Lanino, weren’t they? It made sense, with their obvious, over-the-top attempt at outfit coordination.

Excellent timing.

With a new objective, he made his way over to them, sidling up to the table with a casual stride, though whether it actually looked natural for the body he was in, he couldn’t say. He wasn’t used to these long, gangly legs.

As soon as they noticed him, Lanino straightened to attention, having been leaning forward over the table.

“Tenna! What a surprise to see you!”

“Oh, Tenna, dear!” Elnina joined in, turning to face him. “We heard you were feeling under the weather. Are you doing better now?”

Spamton closed the gap between him and the table and leaned down over it, placing one hand on the surface and resting the other behind his back. “You have no idea,” he said, smiling wide. “In fact, I have something of a proposal for you two.”

He then reached into the front of his suit jacket, pulling out the half of the pages that contained the modified script. Setting them down on the table with a harsh smack, their eyes widened in synchrony.

“Absolutely phenomenal stuff, guys. Really, this is some top-notch content here,” he said, ensuring that every word was practically dripping with sarcasm. “Buuut, I went ahead and took the liberty of making a few, shall we say, changes. Y’know, something that’ll really catch the audience’s eyes.” He slid them closer to the center of the table with the tips of his fingers. “Go on, why don’t you take a look?”

They glanced down at the pages, a glint of uncertainty in their expressions.

“Uh… sure, Tenna!” Elnina said, her tone cheery with added effort. “We’ll, uh, get right on that!”

“Yes,” Spamton said, “you will, because I want you to be ready for a shoot by tonight.”

Somehow, their eyes went even wider as they shot each other a look from across the table.

“I’m sorry, tonight?!” Lanino repeated, the surprise evident by the rise in his voice. “B-but, how is that going to be possible?! I thought the studio wasn’t even ready!”

“A-and, it’s not like we’re even ready for something that short notice, either!” Elnina added.

Spamton watched them for a moment, letting them get themselves worked up before interjecting. “Listen, listen, folks, it’s quite simple! Here’s the deal: either we broadcast the script of yours I’ve picked out tonight, or I burn the rest.”

They both stared at him in shock. Spamton could see the gears turning in their heads, trying to rationalize what they’d just heard him say.

Before they had a chance to come to a decision, he said with a renewed smile, “Just kidding! We love jokes around here, don’t we? Ahahahaha!” He gave Lanino a rough nudge on the shoulder.

“Hahah… yes, right, I suppose we…” Lanino tried to follow suit, though he quickly trailed off, clearly confused by whatever was going on right now.

As he did so, Elnina was looking across at him with an expression that could only have said something along the lines of, “What is wrong with you?!”

Lanino just gave a vague shrug back, not having any control over the situation of his own.

However, neither of them said anything to Spamton directly. Standing back up at full height, he glared down at them, the cold, bluish-white of his screen reflecting in their eyes.

“But seriously, get reading. I’ll see you at the studio.”

Then, without caring to see their response, he turned and stalked away. Behind him, they mouthed something indistinct to each other, urgent in the way they exaggerated their hushed gestures.

No matter. As he moved away, he spotted yet another small group of café-goers that captured his attention, sitting in a circle towards the backmost wall. It consisted of two red Pippins gathered across from two more Swatchlings—the place was practically infested with them, it seemed. Without putting in too much thought, Spamton swung himself in their direction, keeping the smaller Pippins centered in his vision as he approached.

Though the Swatchlings had looked up from their hands of cards, the Pippins were facing away from him and failed to notice until his shadow fell over them from behind. At once, they turned, tilting their heads up at an angle.

“Oh, hey, boss! What’re you doing here?”

As he cast his gaze down over them, his smile was almost warm. Almost.

“I think the better question is, what are you two doing here?”

“Uhh…” They exchanged a brief look.

“Nothing?” said the one on the right.

“Gambling?” said the other.

They immediately glared at each other in disdain.

“Ah,” Spamton replied, an edge of amusement to his voice, “well, either way, that’s a problem. I need you two to report to the studio ASAP. We’re broadcasting tonight—it’s going to be all hands on deck if we want this done right. And believe me, for your sake…”

He leaned in closer.

“…It had better be.”

They stiffened in fear, unmoving.

Spamton lashed his tail behind him, drawing out the way the cables rippled with kinetic energy. “Well? Go, now!”

With a short, distressed yelp, they leapt from their chairs, scrambling past him to get to the exit, leaving their compatriots behind. The two Swatchlings raised a brow.

“Well, there goes our fun for the afternoon,” one sighed, dropping the cards unceremoniously onto the table.

“Indeed. I sure hope this is warranted, Mr.… Tenna, was it?”

Spamton grit his teeth. “…Yes, that’s right. And yes, it is. Why, do you have a problem with that?”

They merely gazed back at him. “No, not a problem per se. I just wonder whether the harsh treatment of those in your industry is, perhaps, part of the reason why TV is so… outdated.”

Out…dated?

The word shouldn’t have bothered Spamton in the least. In fact, he agreed—it was one of the many things he’d teased Tenna for relentlessly, and would be sure to do so again. And yet, as he’d heard it come from the mouth of the Swatchling, he couldn’t help but feel… offended. Tenna wasn’t even here—not in that sense, anyway—and yet, the instinct rising up within him was to… defend him.

What? No, no, the [[Trash heap]] can fight his own [[PLAY WARGAMES NOW]]. Why should I waste my [AAA batteries] on the [bottom of the barrel]?

But as he continued focusing his gaze on the Swatchlings, their look of pompous superiority was simply too much. For so long, he’d wanted nothing more than to show them that they were the inferior ones, that it was his right as a [BIG SHOT] to command the tides of royalty, of success, of freedom. He deserved it, after all.

His expression twitched at the thought, and before he knew it, Spamton had shoved past them and was heading for the performance stage directly behind their table, centered at the back of the café. Typically, it was for live music performances, but as of right now, it was for him.

Scrambling onto the stage, he snatched the microphone from its stand, the action sending a shriek of feedback echoing across the café. A few patrons covered their ears in surprise, and by now, most had turned to look right at him. With a sharp inhale, he lifted the mic and spoke.

“Heyyy there, folks! It seems we have a few misconceptions going around in the audience this lovely morning! Hahaha—well, let me just tell you, then… If you all want a taste of real entertainment, why don’t you join me for the GRAND opening of my new studio TONIGHT? We’ll be premiering something extra special just for the occasion!”

No one was speaking now. Just watching, staring.

Spamton raised the mic just ever-so-slightly closer.

“Believe me, folks, I think it’ll be a real… [[HEARTSTOPPER]].”

The sound of TV static grating against the microphone was absolutely horrendous. However, Spamton didn’t care. He simply watched as a good number of them flinched, that same lopsided grin spreading across his face. Towards the back of the crowd, Elnina and Lanino had turned to cover their faces with the script pages he’d given them, desperately hoping to avoid being associated with whatever the hell this was. Meanwhile, the two Swatchlings that had spurred him on were glancing at each other in confusion.

Satisfied, Spamton dropped the microphone onto the floor with an unpleasant screech and thud before hopping back down. Yeah, that was [GREAT VALUE]. Don’t say I never do nothin’ for you, [[Cathode]].

But as he was beginning to head back towards the front of the café, the Swatchling currently in charge of the front counter had come around to confront him.

“…Sir, I’m sorry to do this, but if you insist on harassing the customers, I must ask you to leave.”

Ah, shit.

“Yeah, yeah, I was just leavin’ anyway,” he snapped, continuing to walk past him. On his way out, the ends of his tail cables nearly caught the Swatchling by the cheek as he flicked them carelessly, dodging to the side just in the nick of time. Then, right as he managed to position himself fully outside of the café, he heard the door close rather aggressively behind him.

Welp. It had been fun while it lasted. Oh, well; it was high past time for him to get back to the studio, anyway. As much as he wanted to parade around in his current form, he knew he couldn’t risk failing to lure the Lightners back into the Dark World before Tenna started to regain strength. Not that he would be able to do anything about it, of course; Spamton just wanted to be sure. After the last time when he’d miscalculated, anything could happen, in theory.

It wouldn’t, though.

Shaking himself off, Spamton was quick to push the café far into the back of his mind, instead turning his gaze toward the brilliant reds and golds of the TV building. It was located rather close by, visible from where he was on the street, and so he made short work of walking over to it, keeping his head held up high all the while.

By the time he’d approached, he could see a few of the TV World Darkners moving around inside the lobby, though there wasn’t an abundance of activity yet. He’d only just told a handful of them to get to work so far, after all, and it seemed the rest were simply inclined to hang around the studio for the time being. But in a few short moments, that would change.

With excitement fizzing in his wires, he pushed his way through the double doors and stepped into the bright, studio-grade lighting, basking in its familiar glow.

At once, several of the Darkners turned to look at him, their chatter shifting in curiosity. His antennas twitching, he could pick up on some of it from a distance:

“…Tenna’s back already?”

“Huh…? I thought Mike said we’d be in the clear for a while?”

“…looks kinda weird to me… think he should be here…?”

And then, after a few moments of this, a particularly insistent, loud voice broke through the crowd:

“What?! WHAT?! WHAT?!”

Spamton then watched as the small figure that was “Mike” burst through the onlookers, whirling his head from side to side as he searched the room, freezing in shock once he’d finally spotted him standing there, and then at last, broke into a sprint directly towards him.

“MOVE!!” He shouted, paying no one around him any mind. “Tenna!! Tenna, oh thank gods!”

Ah, yes. If the other TV World Darkners were among Tenna’s playthings, then this was surely his most favorite toy of all. And if he wouldn’t allow Spamton to break it in one fell blow, then he would have to do so slowly.

Even as Mike came to a halt in front of him, Spamton merely kept watching him with a closed-mouth smile, waiting for him to get it all out.

“Why did you disappear last night?!” Mike asked, hardly pausing for breath. “Of all the things you make me do, why couldn’t you just let me do this one thing for you?!” This time, he did pause, wiping at his cheek for some apparent reason.

Ugh. When are you and this guy gonna get [[FREE HOTEL ROOM DEALS]] already, [[Cathode]]?

“I was so worried about you, damn it—”

Okay, okay, that was enough.

“Mike.”

Mike stopped at last, looking up at “Tenna” with a still-shaky breath. “Y-yeah?”

His smile warped into a smirk. “Don’t call me Tenna.”

He paused more abruptly, needing a moment to process this. “H-huh?”

“You heard me. Address me properly.”

Mike’s brow furrowed, his expression shifting wildly between different states, almost struggling to comprehend the order.

“Uh… sorry… Boss?” He offered eventually.

“That’s better.”

Mike swallowed nervously. “Wh… what happened to you? Why do you look… different?” He eyed Spamton warily. “Did you hurt your antennas?”

“Oh, these?” Spamton said, flicking one playfully. Doing that did kind of hurt, to his disdain, but not enough to get more than a small wince. “Nah, turns out they just work better like this. Should’ve been doing it the whole time!”

“Right… okay…”

As he spoke, Spamton noticed that Mike was rubbing his thumb across the rest of his gloved fingers on his right hand repeatedly. Likely a nervous response of some kind, the continuous motion supposed to be calming.

It would almost be charming, if it weren’t getting on his nerves.

Then, as a slight wave of agitated motion swept behind Spamton in response, Mike jumped a bit in surprise.

“What the—what happened to your tail?!”

That was quite the question, wasn’t it? Luckily, he wasn’t just an authority figure here—he was the figure of authority, and so whatever answer he gave, Mike would have no choice but to accept it. That was how that worked—everyone knew that.

“Just keeping up with the times, of course! How else is an old, unwanted TV like me supposed to connect with all that newer, better hardware? Seriously, this thing doesn’t even have email! Ahahaha!”

At that, Mike’s expression dropped like a rock. “What… what did you just say…?”

Whoops. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned that last part.

Nice going, [prize winner]. Are you TRYING to get [caught on tape]?

He needed a distraction, and fast.

Reaching up into his suit jacket, he hurriedly retrieved the rest of the pages he’d been keeping there and shoved them towards Mike hard enough to push him back a step.

“Aaanyway, no more questions! Here, these are the directions I need you to follow for tonight’s star-studded broadcast. Get everyone here and ready to go—we haven’t got time to waste!”

Between scrambling to keep the pages from scattering everywhere and hearing this, Mike was quick to lose his composure.

“Broad—WHAT?! Are you outta your mind?!” He shook his head out of desperation, willing himself to understand what he was listening to. “Seriously, are you having one of your manic fits or somethin’?! Or is this a psychotic break? Because there is NO way we can do something like that right now, let alone by tonight!”

Spamton tilted his head in mild amusement. “No? Hmm… That’s odd. The real Mike wouldn’t hesitate to do everything in his power to make this happen.” Spamton leaned down closer to him, making a fang visible on his screen as he spoke, slow and deliberate: “You are the real Mike, aren’t you?”

Mike tensed up completely, as if every muscle in his body had turned to stone. Sweat had begun to bead down the side of his head, glistening in the glow of “Tenna’s” screen. Again, he swallowed hard, his thoughts likely reeling in his tiny head.

“…Of course I am.” It had barely come out as more than a whisper.

 “Then make. It. Happen.”

Glaring up at him, Mike gave him one last stare of defiance before, at last, he knew he had no choice but to concede. With a sigh of frustration, he gathered the papers more neatly in his hands, then turned away. But before he could get very far, Spamton called out once again:

“Oh, and Mike?”

Mike halted and glanced back over his shoulder, his expression what Spamton might have described as hopeless.

Another smirk tugged at his mouth. “Get me a cup of coffee.”

The hopelessness turned to misery.

 “…Yes, Boss.”

And with that, Spamton watched in vindication as Mike stormed off through the doors at the back of the lobby, disappearing into the depths of the studio to do his bidding. Man, this being-in-charge stuff was easy. Why hadn’t he tried this earlier…?

Oh, right. He had, and he’d gone [[INSANE]].

But he didn’t have that to worry about anymore. So long as he looked like this, he could do more than act like Tenna—he could become him. Hell, he practically already had. With the way he was mimicking his vocal patterns, it wasn’t as if he was just making it all up. No; much of this was coming directly from Tenna himself, and for that, Spamton had to give him credit where it was due.

In a bizarre, twisted way, it seemed they really were in this together after all.

After having been lost in his thoughts for several long minutes, Spamton turned his attention toward the main entrance to the studio, as a number of TV World Darkners—Pippins, Shadowguys, Zappers, and the like—had suddenly began streaming into the building. A few Darkners from other former Dark Worlds had gathered, too, likely curious about what was going on in the building. Good—Mike must have called them in already. Now things could really get underway.

As they passed him, some of them shot him a friendly look or quick greeting, while others simply acknowledged him with a look of a worker’s unenthusiasm. Some, though, avoided his gaze entirely.

Through the continued hum of background chatter, most of what he’d picked up consisted of variations of:

“Tenna’s back! Hooray!”

“This is all a bit sudden, don’t you think…?”

“Careful, I heard he’s in one of his moods…”

It didn’t bother Spamton, exactly, but he couldn’t say it pleased him, either. He was used to it, the constant whispering behind his back, and yet for some reason, it felt different now that they were directed towards someone they only thought wasn’t him. Almost… worse.

Drawing his antennas slightly closer towards his head, he shrugged the feeling off. As he’d said to Mike, there was no time to waste. He knew he should head backstage too, if he wanted to make sure everything was done to his specifications.

So, without further hesitation, he made his own way through the back doors and began navigating through the narrow yet expansive hallways of the studio. But as he did so, he slowed his pace as he felt an odd sensation droning in the back of his mind, as if something were stirring awake.

And then, a soft voice, barely audible:

“Mmnh… Wh… where…?”

Well, it was about damn time.

[[Trash heap]]! Spamton spoke back internally, you finally [Rise and Shine] yet?

Tenna’s consciousness flickered weakly in response. “Nghh… what… happened? Where…?”

You still don’t [[GET IT]]? Look AROUND! Isn’t it [the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen]?

Still disoriented, Tenna seemed to comply, as Spamton could feel him testing the edges of his mind, akin to prodding at the boundaries of a cage one was trapped inside. Except in this case, the bars of the cage were more so made up of shadows and raw data. Same thing, really, when one got down to it.

Eventually, he heard his voice resonate again.

“I’m… You’re…”

That’s it, [[Cathode]], almost [[PRIZES HERE]]!

A few more seconds, and then panic began enveloping him.

“No, no, no, no, NO, this can’t be happening, th-this can’t be real—"

Aaand there it was.

Spamton sighed audibly. It’s [Authentic Guarantee], and you’d better get used to [YOUR WONDERFUL NEW LIFE], because you’re just in time for the [[PRE-SHOW]].

Tenna seemed at a loss for words, sitting motionless in the dark, until, “Show…? What… what’re you doing with me…?”

Spamton laughed, causing a passerby in the hallway to eye him in bewilderment. Just [Wait and See], [[Cathode]]. Trust me, it’s for your own [safety protocols].

Tenna somehow doubted that. He didn’t yet seem to have the energy to pry further, though, as Spamton continued walking for a good few paces in silence, and soon enough, a pair of familiar faces had begun to approach him.

“Tenna, can we talk to you for a moment?”

He paused as Elnina and Lanino had reached him, still holding the pages of the scripts he’d given them earlier.

Of all the Darkners under his employ, these were among the few that he needed to appease the most if this was all going to work. And given his earlier behavior, that might take a little more effort down the line. So, putting back on his [[award-winning]] smile, Spamton replied, “Of course! What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Lanino began, “it’s just… these scripts you gave us… they’re, um… how do I put this?”

“They’re a bit… bleak?” Elnina finished.

“Bleak? Oh, no, no, you misunderstand, my friends! It’s just a little dramatic flair, that’s all!” He raised his hands in the air; a gesture he’d watched Tenna do countless times before. “Something new and exciting, you know? We can hardly expect to keep the audience’s attention if we run the same old stories!”

They exchanged a glance.

“Yes, well, um… it’s maybe a bit more than ‘a little,’ is all?” Elnina said.

He dropped his hands back to his sides. “And sometimes, that’s what it takes to get the right kind of attention, isn’t it? A few drastic measures—that’s what we need tonight!”

“Um, sure,” said Lanino, “but it’s also kind of… hard to follow? Like, a lot of what you wrote just doesn’t make much sense?”

He felt his smile twitch involuntarily. This was getting bothersome. “It’s a new direction. Look—just follow the main points and we’ll call it a day, how’s that sound?”

“Uh…”

“I mean…”

Spamton leaned forward, bringing his face closer to the both of them—close enough that they could feel the static electricity humming underneath the screen.

“Listen. You two trust me, don’t you?”

Their eyes darted towards one another again, more frantic this time.

“O-of course we trust you, Tenna,” Elnina said. “It’s just…”

“Good, good, then get moving!” Spamton cut them off, ushering them back down the hall. “We haven’t got all day!”

In a whirlwind of confusion, they were sent on their way, hopefully to where they would practice their lines, but more importantly, where they wouldn’t interrupt him with any more inane questions. Before they could try to reel him back in, Spamton resumed walking, making progress towards the main stage.

In the back of his mind, Tenna chimed in:

“So, your master plan here is to… steal my TV show? Really?” He gave a breathy huff of amusement. “Wow. How creative and original. Were you that jealous of me this whole time or something?”

Shut up, [[Trash heap]]. You don’t know what you’re [barking up the wrong tree].

“Don’t I, though?” He shot back. “You were always riding my coattails back in TV World. Even if you found some semblance of success before that, it led you to me, and when you threw that away? Everything else went too, didn’t it? Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

Spamton growled slightly under his breath. You’re [[WRONG]].

Tenna said nothing for a moment, but then his voice echoed again, more quietly this time. Then… is part of your plan to make everyone hate me? Because we can go ahead and skip to the end. Most of them… already do.

Spamton stopped in the middle of the hallway. That had caught him off guard.

What are you on about, [[Cathode]]? Feelin’ sorry for yourself back there?

From his perspective, most of the Darkners around here had been greeting him with friendliness or respect—a feeling that Spamton had been reveling in thus far. That is, until he’d taken those sentiments and ground them into the dust. In his experience, fear was a better motivator anyway.

Even after a moment, Tenna didn’t reply.

Fine; if he didn’t want to talk, then Spamton would happily continue to ignore him.

At last, he reached the end of the hall leading to the large double doors guarding the main stage. They were already propped wide open, as a significant amount of traffic would be continuing to move through them as everyone was preparing for the broadcast, making it easy for Spamton to stride through. Immediately, the room opened up into a massive amphitheater, the ceiling towering well above them while the center stage commanded a grand portion of the ground level.

“Wow…” Spamton breathed, unable to help the reaction. It genuinely was impressive, and more than that, it reminded him of the one that came before it. The one that the two of them had shared so many moments together on, for better or for worse.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to dwell on that, though, as a whole different sensation pricked at his senses. Upon entering the showroom, the electricity running through his body seemed to surge in response, coursing through him with greater speed and force than at any other point he’d felt in the day so far. Each and every tiny movement in his limbs practically crackled with energy. Needless to say, whatever it was, it was invigorating.

Oh, he could use this.

Woah, [[Cathode]], you been [holding out] on me?

Tenna still didn’t respond, though Spamton could feel his consciousness recede a little further back as though shrinking away from him.

Fine, fine, [overdramatic] much?

Either way, it seemed as though whatever Dark World magic flowed through Tenna at any given time was heightened here specifically. It made sense—as a creature born of and for entertainment, the stage was the perfect catalyst.

Entertainment wasn’t quite what Spamton had in mind for it, though.

As he was delighting in the sensation, he noted the groups of Darkners rushing back and forth across the room, many of whom were carrying various set pieces or equipment, desperately scrambling to get everything in place on time.

“Keep it moving, people,” Spamton called out, still smiling as though it were nothing more than a pleasant conversation. “Lights, cameras, mics, all of it! We have a deadline here!”

A few of them shot him a look, but most of them simply heeded his words and kept working without pause.

Pleased with himself, he meandered around to the other side of the room, scanning the crowd for anything out of place. But somewhat to his surprise, it seemed that Mike had done a stellar job of getting everyone organized so far. Sure, he would never, ever amount to the person his former friend had been, but Spamton could see why Tenna had settled on this particular replacement. If nothing else, he certainly seemed reliable.

Speaking of, Mike was just up ahead, facing away as he spoke with a handful of the other employees. His gaze now locked onto him as a cat stalks a mouse, Spamton approached, his tail trailing behind him in a wave-like motion. Upon hearing his footsteps, Mike turned to face him, and the other Darkners quickly shrank away, escaping back into the chaos of the stage room.

“Boss! H-how’s everything looking so far?” He asked, raising a hand to adjust the suit collar around his neck.

Immediately, Tenna’s consciousness riled itself back up.

“Mike!! Mike, I’m here! Please, please listen, you gotta help—”

“Quiet, you,” Spamton hissed, not realizing he’d done so out loud.

Mike jerked back a little in shock. “H-huh? What did—”

“Ahh, sorry, sorry, it was nothing!” Spamton exclaimed, placing a hand on the back of his head. “I just wanted to pop over and say to keep doing what you’re doing. We don’t want to fall behind, now, do we?”

“No, Boss. We’re working as fast as we can,” he replied, an edge of defeat apparent in his voice.

“Good. Then—”

“Ooh, Tenna, sweetie!”

Both of them whirled around at the sound of a new voice. At once, Spamton spotted a bizarre-looking Darkner approaching him, a wide smile centered on its head and eyes well above that.

Who the [&$!$] is this [[CLOWN]], [[Cathode]]?

Without actually waiting for a response, he reached into the stream of consciousness separating them, quickly sifting through for an answer.

“Hey, hey, stop that!!” Tenna protested.

But it was over fast, and the name reached his mind in a flash.

“Shuttah, yes, good, you’re here!” He said, feigning delight.

“Ah, it’s been so long since we’ve stood in front of a premier like this, no?” Shuttah said, tilting its odd eyestalk-like hands up at Spamton’s screen. “What do you say to a little commemorative photo, for old times’ sake?”

Mike simply looked between the two of them with quick, nervous glances.

“A… photo?” Spamton echoed. It had, in fact, been a very, very long time since he’d done something like that, in a place like this, in a body like…

He shoved the sentiment down as fast as he could. Just [get it over with], don’t [think] about [[IN MEMORIUM]]—

“Sure, go right ahead!” He said after a moment. Putting on that same manic smile of his own, he grabbed Mike by the shoulder and pulled him tight against his side, his claws visibly curling around Mike’s arm even underneath the gloves.

Mike yelped softly, but didn’t dare try to move away.

“SMILE, you two!”

Spamton held his expression; Mike didn’t even attempt to change his. Then, a bright flash of light enveloped them both, followed by the loud sound of a camera shutter clicking.

“Oh, gorgeous, darlings! Just fabulous! I’m really digging the black suit, by the way! Though I must say, your lighting looks a little different here, Tenna. Going for a more melancholy mood, my dear?”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” Spamton replied, still gripping Mike with more force than necessary.

“Hmm. I’m not sure it suits you, but to each their own, I suppose,” Shuttah said. “Now then, I’ll be off for the rest of the photos—we have a night’s worth of memories to capture, don’t we, darlings?”

“Oh, yes, we most certainly do,” Spamton said with a slight tilt of his head.

Contented, Shuttah took its leave, and at last, Spamton released his grip on Mike. At once, the latter moved to rub his shoulder, though he didn’t have much time for relief before Spamton was leaning down over him again.

“So. Where’s that coffee I asked for?”

A spark of rage flickered across his face. “I ‘forgot’ it. Sorry.”

He had very obviously intended for Spamton to pick up on the fact that he had not actually “forgotten.” Spamton felt the corner of his mouth twitch reflexively, but forced himself to stay composed. As fun as it had been toying with him, he couldn’t risk pushing too much further, it seemed. He’d just have to let this one go.

“Mm. It’s no trouble; I’ll get one myself. This time.”

With that, he stalked off, just barely catching Mike mutter under his breath as he went:

“Yeah, you’d better…”

Meanwhile, as soon as they began growing distant, Tenna’s voice rang out in his head again. “Mike!! Damn it, come on, please, Mike! It’s not me! Don’t let him do this to you!”

He [[CAN’T HEAR A THING]], [[Trash heap]]. But go on, keep [screaming] back there, it’ll do me a favor if you [tired out after a long week].

Tenna was practically seething underneath the surface. “I am going to wring your tiny fucking neck when I get out of—”

Spamton couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him. I’d like to see you [Live now or die trying], [[Cathode]]. Now shut it and [[ENJOY THE SHOW]].

With little more than a growl, Tenna went silent, though Spamton could feel him trying hard to pull himself in a different direction, struggling against his body’s current trajectory.

Amused, Spamton simply moved faster, leaving Tenna with no other choice than to obey his will as he headed towards the set of double doors on the opposite side of the stage he’d come in through.

Alright, [[Cathode]], where’s the [[GOOD STUFF]] at?

“What, you expect me to just tell you?”

I can just [[search query]] your head if that’s more—

A groan of frustration resounded in the dark. “Okay, OKAY, fine. Down the hall, first door on the left. Happy?”

Very much so.

Following his instructions, Spamton made his way into what appeared to be the new Green Room, freshly refurbished and cleaned to perfection. No one else was around for the moment, though, leaving the two of them—or rather, just him—alone. Spotting the row of cups and various heating devices resting on a table covered by a decorative red tablecloth, he sauntered up to them, more than ready to initiate the process of obtaining said long-overdue beverage.

But as he approached, he heard Tenna ask, “Why are you doing all this?”

Spamton sighed. I told you, it’s for [[THE GREATER GOOD]].

“Bullshit. How is running around like a lunatic, in MY body no less, helping anything?”

Spamton seemed to contemplate that for a moment, his jaw twitching in uncertainty. He wanted to reassure Tenna, but would he understand? Probably not, but perhaps it was worth a shot. At the very least, it might shut him up for a while.

You want [the truth and nothing but the truth]? Fine. It’s… the only [$4.99] way. The [quiet], the [dark], the [alleys], they just keep [[ABANDONING]] me in the [shadows]. The [[shadows]]… He shook his head aggressively before continuing. We need the [LIGHT], [[Cathode]]. The [LIGHT] will [ASCEND] us.

Tenna’s consciousness flickered uneasily. “Light… As in, Lightners? Are you trying to say you want to…” And then, he seemed to darken suddenly, burning black in the back of their mind. “Are you going to hurt them? Kris and Susie—Spamton, if whatever you’re doing brings them harm, you have to listen to me and stop—”

Unfortunately, that had been the opposite of the reaction he’d hoped for.

KRIS! Why are you protecting that [[little worm]]? They hurt BOTH of us—[lies], [deals], [stabbing me in the back over and over and]—now’s our chance to [[make this right]]!

But Tenna refused to relent. “NO! We don’t need revenge, and especially not against them! Look, maybe if you let me just talk to them—”

Spamton had had enough of this.

You’ve [Talkshow Host] enough already, [[Trash heap]]. I think you need another [[COMA]].

At his word, Spamton focused in on himself, grounding his control over Tenna’s body, taking over every circuit and wire until it pushed everything else away, suppressing Tenna’s glimmer of consciousness along with it. In a matter of seconds, he’d gone quiet, leaving Spamton alone again at the helm.

Sorry, [[Cathode]]. It’s for your own—

And then, he shuddered, violent and uncontrollable. The sensation had thoroughly caught him unawares, and his antennas instinctively stood in alarm.

Pausing, he gave himself a once-over. From what he could tell, everything seemed fine…

…until Tenna’s voice rose back up from the depths, low and threatening:

“GIVE. ME. BACK. MY. BODY!!”

W-WHAT…?! How—

With another violent spasm, Spamton suddenly felt his right half being jerked in the opposite direction, his arm outstretched, metallic claws pointed in the air. Fear pulsed through him—this wasn’t supposed to be happening, he was supposed to be stronger than this!

Right—he wasn’t going down without a fight.

Gathering his strength, Spamton forced his body back the other way, swinging the both of them wildly into one of the tables and shattering the wooden legs as he crashed through it.

[[STOP]], IDIOT!!

But as he managed to stand back up, his body seized again, torn between two different directions, flitting rapidly between commands. His TV screen had filled with lines of static, sharp and diagonal as they writhed underneath its glass surface. The two of them fought hard against the other, smashing Tenna’s body into half of the remaining furniture and the walls haphazardly. Neither seemed any closer to gaining ground over the other, locked in a tide of wills colliding.

As if trading blows, the body’s arms occasionally snapped up against the wall, leaving long, deep scratch marks running down the wallpaper. In turn, his tail swished wildly, the cables lashing every surface within reach, sending up sprays of wood splinters as they collided with the chairs and tabletops.  

Then at last, as they came to another stand near the backmost table where they had started, Spamton felt his left arm raise suddenly with tremoring, jerky motions, stopping only as it was held out in front of his face. And then, slowly, with little control of his own, he felt his jaw open wide.

Woah, WOAH, [[Trash heap]], WHAT’RE YOU—

He immediately shrieked in pain as his—Tenna’s?—teeth snapped forward, sinking deep into the sleeve of his suit, ripping and tearing away the fabric like a rabid dog.

STOP, [[STOP IT]]!!

The teeth bit down hard again, this time with nothing blocking the way between them and the hard metallic exterior of his arm. Spamton could feel the pressure of the two parts against each other, threatening to tear one another to pieces. Shockingly, they made little work of the steel, bending it in seconds and snapping off the hatch that had been protecting his arm’s inner components.

“Wha… wha’re you doing?!” Spamton spat, trying to get the words though his currently preoccupied mouth.

“You want to be the star so badly? Fine—then let’s see you DANCE!” Tenna snarled in his head, the sound reverberating alongside the clatter of metal as a piece of his arm fell to the floor.

No, NO, [[Trash]]—

Spamton fought hard to lift his neck away, but it was no use. In a swift motion, Tenna forced his head forward once more, his teeth connecting with a generous helping of wires nestled intricately inside his arm. With one last tug, the fangs severed them, sending up a spray of sparks and smaller bits of metal as the arm tremored and then went fully limp at his side.

The scream of pain that tore through Spamton was nothing short of agonizing.

“[[ENOUGH]]!!”

The word was strained yet clear even through the static that encapsuled it.

His anger reaching its crescendo, Spamton mentally gathered every ounce of energy he could muster as he shoved Tenna back into the depths once again, snuffing out the light of his consciousness as thoroughly as he could. He immediately went silent, and Spamton reached out to lean his good arm against the table in front of him, the other now hanging uselessly from his shoulder. His breathing had devolved into fast, ragged panting, and he fought to keep himself steady, the rest of his limbs shaking against his will and his tail strewn weakly across the floor.

And then, before he had a chance to recompose himself, several pairs of footsteps came rushing into the room.

At once, Spamton was greeted by the horrified faces of Elnina and two red Pippins, all of whom must have heard the sounds of their struggle. At first, Elnina seemed shocked by the state of the room, chairs and broken table legs thrown about like a hurricane had ripped through it. But as soon as she noticed Spamton at the other end, appearing as a now badly-injured Tenna, her expression shifted to accommodate the sheer worry over him.

“Oh my—Tenna, what happened?!” She rushed forward, having to dodge a good amount of debris in the process. “Did someone do this to you?!”

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

Elnina ground to a halt, just a meter or so short of him, her eyes wide. “Wh-what? You’re hurt, we need to—”

“JUST… Hah… stay… away…” His voice faltered, unable to keep up with the strain of breathing. “It’s just some… technical difficulties… hahh… Nothing to… worry about! Mmngh…” He let go of the table for just a moment to wipe away a string of drool that was still pooling around the corner of his mouth, no doubt thanks to Tenna’s impromptu fit.

She obviously didn’t look convinced. If anything, this was making things worse given how utterly deranged he must look right now. Turning to the Pippins that had apparently decided they were invited to the show, she spoke in a calm yet direct manner:

“You two—go get help, now.”

Oh no. That wouldn’t do.

“No, do NOT—hahh—get anyone! I-it’s fine—I’ll just have Mike fix it!”

The two Pippins were frozen in place, unsure of whose orders to follow.

“Tenna, please,” Elnina tried again, “you need—”

“No, you listen, you [[HOCHI M—]]” Spamton half-slipped, forcing himself to calm back down into complacency. “Ah-hahaha, sorry, sorry, I just really need you to get back to the set, okay? Please—we’re running out of—nngh—time…”

Elnina looked conflicted, her gaze combing over him repeatedly.

“Then at least let me help you walk back to find him, okay?”

The idea was thoroughly displeasing to Spamton, but if this was the best he could get away with, then he would take the opportunity with open arms. Or, in this case, arm.

So, with a weak, piteous nod, he agreed.

Having been given permission to approach, Elnina then moved up next to him, taking his limp arm over her shoulder in order support his left side. He hissed through his teeth as the limb was moved, the pain still searing across its surface and just underneath it. If he’d still been in his previous body, he would have described it as his nerves being lit on fire, each new type of movement pulling them tight and sending embers sparking back over them. But he would manage—he didn’t have a choice.

As they gradually made their way out of the room, the Pippins now scattering ahead of them and chattering in low voices back and forth, Spamton was forced to rely on Elnina for said support as they traveled back down the hall towards the main stage. Several beads of sweat were beginning to form on both the front and side casing of his screen, exacerbated by the pain, and as they walked, Spamton’s vision began to swim with shadows. They were slithering across the walls, reaching out and whispering to him as he passed by, brushing up against his legs as they longed to ensnare him.

He tried to close his eyes, which translated to his screen dimming and flickering anxiously. That only served to make them louder, the whispers growing frantic, mocking. But soon enough, they’d made it back, and the twisted visions faded into the recesses of his mind as they always did.

The main set now stretched out before them, Elnina paused in order to seek out Mike from amongst the crowd.

“There. Come on, not much further,” she said.

Spamton didn’t reply; he only wanted to get away from anyone and everyone who wasn’t the guy who could fix this right now.

Slowly, they continued, and a myriad of hushed whispering began to break out around them. Quite a few onlookers had stopped to stare, hardly sure of what they were seeing. Automatically, his antennas perked up in response to the uptick in stimuli.

“Oh gods, what happened…?”

“Woah, was there an accident or something…?”

“Heh… think someone got fed up with ‘im already?”

They were no better than the voices from the [[shadows]].

But then, as they got closer, Spamton saw that Mike was surrounded by the two other Darkners that he must’ve been close friends with, the same specific Shadowguy and Zapper from before. They were in a sort of huddle, talking amongst each other in low voices. Spamton strained his antennas forward, actually wanting to hear this conversation, though he could only pick up the slightest traces:

“…can’t prove it…”

“…’thing’s wrong, I know it!”

“Yeah… gotta keep tryin’ ta…”

“Some way…help somehow…”

Finally, they drew close enough to snap them out of their circle, turning their attention to Elnina as she and Spamton hobbled over.

“Mike, heads up,” she called to him, “He’s your problem now.”

Despite himself, Mike’s expression immediately turned to worry. As Elnina let go, causing Spamton to stumble a little without the weight underneath him, he approached with cautious concern. Spamton raised his other arm to clutch at his shoulder, willing the pain to lessen somewhat.

“Tenn—Boss, what the hell happened?! You look like you were attacked!” He said as Elnina walked away, only glancing back briefly.

Yes, yes, very [[OBVIOUS SCAMS YOU MIGHT FALL FOR]] of you, ‘Mike,’ Spamton thought to himself. “It was just… an accident,” he said, now speaking more carefully. “Can you fix it?”

Mike looked taken aback. “Fix it?! Boss, there’s a lot of damage here! It could take hours!”

Great. GREAT. “So you can’t?”

He shook his head despairingly. “Ramb was always better at this stuff than me.”

Ramb. Now that was a name Spamton hadn’t heard in a long time. And where is HE, anyway? He’d almost asked the question aloud, but it didn’t seem to matter in this moment, as wherever he was, it wasn’t here.

“I’m sorry,” Mike continued, “there’s nothing I can do right this second, unless… Well, unless you call this whole thing off?”

Absolutely fucking not.

“Forget it, I’ll deal with it myself later,” Spamton said through half-bared teeth.

Mike hesitated, seeming as though he were searching for some way to convince him otherwise. “Are you seriously going on stage like that? How are you even—”

“It’s fine, I don’t need both arms for this,” Spamton snapped. “You know that the show must go on—no matter what.”

He then made a motion to leave, but stopped as Mike grabbed his injured arm, drawing out a gasp of pain. Glancing back down at him with a furious snap of his head, he saw that Mike was hurriedly examining the bite marks that now riddled the outer casing.

“Boss, did you… do this to yourself?”

Spamton twisted his body away from him, pulling the arm with it. “Of course not. Don’t be stupid; it was an accident, like I said.”

The disbelief obvious in his expression, Mike seemed to consider whether he should press his luck further. “I… I think we really need to revisit this psychosis thing, Boss. You haven’t been acting right since last night, and—”

“I SAID, I’M [[SHUT THE FUCK UP]]!!”

Immediately, half of the crowd gathered in the showroom turned their heads in his direction. Mike flinched, but held fast.

CALM DOWN, CALM DOWN—

Trying again, Spamton let out a shaky exhale.

"Hah… listen. I need you to do one little thing for me, okay?" He leaned in close, looming over him. "Either do as you're told and fix me now, or get the fuck away from me, Mike."

A shadow fell over Mike's expression, dark and defiant.

"...Fine," he muttered, a fist clenched at his side. He turned away then, fully prepared to leave; clearly, he had chosen the latter. Though before he did so, he looked back once more, the defiance still blazing underneath the surface.

"Clean yourself up. You're on in a few hours."

Spamton scowled after him as he turned his back and faded into the crowd.

Good. He didn't need him, anyway. He didn't need any of them.

But gods did his arm hurt right now.

It's fine. It's FINE.

He could fix it himself, in theory. He'd helped Tenna with a good number of repairs in the past, and suffice to say, he'd gotten rather good at it. But to his disdain, Mike had been right about one thing: the damage was extensive. If he wanted to end up with a limb that was even half as useful, Spamton would need at least one more set of hands to keep things steady.

No matter. He would simply cover the wound for now, and everything else would fall into place. It had to.

Still clutching his shoulder, he then stalked off beyond the doors he’d first entered from, returning to the rows of familiar doors lining the red-carpeted hall. The closest sets of doors must have been dressing rooms—he recognized their designs, replicas of the old rooms from TV World. It was distinctly… nostalgic, and as Spamton approached one, he hesitated. Behind these doors was the potential for countless memories, tucked away under the guise of a cozy respite from the chaos of the studio in its heyday. So many times, he’d found himself drowning in sorrow and self-loathing behind these very doors, but for each time he did, another would bring a spark of hope, of passion, of belonging, all under the same soft glow of a certain light.

The same light that stared back at him now in the reflection of the plaque mounted on the door before him.

With a shake of his head, he forced himself to enter.

The room was unoccupied, nor was it heavily furnished yet. Against the leftmost wall, though, was the large, circular mirror in front of the chair that he’d expected to see, surrounded by a halo of light fixtures—a throne fit for the kings of the stage, as they had been back in the day.

Right now, however, he looked more like he’d been dragged here through the streets. In a way, he did feel a sense of hurt pride over that fact, a remnant of his time under those golden lights. But in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to care as much as that remnant wanted him to. He simply needed this to be over with, and that meant patching himself up with whatever was on hand.

There were a few basic supplies scattered throughout the several open boxes on the floor. With slightly more effort than would be required with two working hands, Spamton was able to sift through them well enough to procure a handful of plain white fabric. He then took a seat in front of the mirror and began tearing at it, holding one end down with his good hand and the other in his teeth, ironically repeating the same ripping motions that had resulted in this situation to begin with.

Once he had enough, he clumsily worked to fasten the pieces to his injured arm, the makeshift bandaging pulling the loose wires tightly back against the casing. Not that that would actually help restore functionality, but at the very least, it would keep the wires from getting caught on anything and making things worse. The contact itself hurt, but as the pressure equalized, he sighed in relief as the overall pain began to lessen, even if only a little. Glancing in the mirror, he noted that the sleeve of his suit was still torn to shreds, but at least the rest of his arm was no longer exposed. It wasn’t pretty, but it would do for now.

But before he could tear himself away, he found himself gazing into the mirror a little longer, caught in a bit of a trance. Had it been his old face staring back at him, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

It wasn’t his old face, though.

Instead, the one gazing back at him was filled with a gentle sorrow. Despite everything, underneath that warm, ever-illuminated glass, there was a sort of longing, distant but unmistakable. Had it been his old face, it would have been unlike anything Spamton had ever seen in his own reflection.

In the mirror, the shadows twitched.

“…C’mon. We’ve got [[SHOWBUSINESS]] to do.”

The reminder having been spoken into the quiet solitude of the room, Spamton finally stood once more and took his leave. Just outside, the hallway was still fairly busy, but the foot traffic had begun to recede compared to when he’d arrived, now mostly concentrated near the set itself. With a deep breath, he made an effort to straighten his posture back out and, putting on a strained smile, headed back into the showroom.

All around him, the former TV World employees were still shuffling back and forth, busying themselves with whichever order had been barked at them from higher up. On the surface, it still pleased Spamton to see them scurrying about like rats at his behest, but deeper down, he was starting to lose interest. It must have been the injury—he needed to refocus, or at least find a way to take his mind off of it.

But that was easier said than done. The constant activity, on top of the flickering of the stage lights as the workers tested them, was rather difficult to navigate when each vibration of movement sent a spark of white-hot pain through the wound site. That, and if Spamton was being honest with himself, the rest of his body was aching in protest, too, battered from being tossed around in the Green Room. Perhaps he’d be better off staying still for a while, where he could oversee things from a distance.

Luckily, the back of the showroom was rather perfect for the job, as there were rows of seats lining the wall shrouded in shadow, away from the prying lights of the main stage. With haste, he made his way over to them, sinking into the one nestled into the leftmost corner of the room, the black theatre-grade material comforting after having been upright for most of the day.

Soon enough, he’d fallen into another sort of trance, watching the others work tirelessly around him. For the most part, they left him alone, and when someone did approach him, he responded dismissively, only just barely managing to avoid snapping. From across the room, he caught sight of Mike just once, but as soon as their gazes met, Mike looked away.

Time felt like it had slowed to a crawl, and before long, more than an hour or two had ticked by. How much longer was it now…?

As he dwelled on the question, he gradually began to realize that a voice was echoing in his mind.

“…What’s the matter? Bit off more than you can chew?”

Spamton grit his teeth at the remark. Then, he sighed, deep and resigned. Back so [come back soon], eh, [[Cathode]]?

Tenna stirred in response, but the sensation didn’t seem aggressive like he had expected. Instead, it had almost felt like a gentle, albeit wary approach.

"Spamton... I... Please, isn’t there something I can do to change your mind?"

I told you [[ONE WAY TICKET]] already, didn't I? Stop trying to [weasel] your way outta this like you always do.

Tenna hesitated, still in a desperate state of trying to find some way to get through to him. “Is this… a punishment? Because, if it is… then you can just leave it with me. No one else needs to get involved.”

The word resonated within Spamton. Was it a punishment? Perhaps, in a way, it was, but it certainly wasn’t just that. However, he didn’t try to justify it further with a response, giving a small shake of his head instead. Tenna wouldn’t—couldn’t see what he had seen. How could he, after all? No—it was up to him and him alone now.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Tenna’s effort would be nothing more than a vain attempt at reasoning with the unreasonable. For now, he remained helpless behind the screen of his own body.

Still, he offered, “…It was almost nice, you know.”

Spamton raised a brow. What?

“The both of us here, together. I… missed it. And I’m guessing… you did, too.”

Spamton’s antennas twitched slightly. Had he… really meant that? The words seemed genuine, and to his dismay, he felt a pit open up in his chest.

No, no, he’s trying to [[SWINDLE]] you, don’t [trust everything you see on TV]! The thought remained his own, unheard by Tenna. Why would he miss that?! The past held nothing but pain. No—it had to be another trick. Tenna had failed to best him with violence, so he must have resorted to petty appeals to emotion.

The thought infuriated him.

I—

But before he could give him a piece of his mind, a sound suddenly clicked to life, commanding in the way it reverberated throughout the room. At the same time, the lighting changed as a row of bright yellow-white bulbs illuminated around the sign mounted well above the main stage. Tilting his head up at it, Spamton saw that it read:

“ON AIR.”

Finally.

The sign itself had just been a test, but as it flickered back off, a ripple of cheers traveled through the Darkners gathered near the front. At last, the stage was set, the frenzied activity fading into a relieved sense of preparation—the calm before the storm. Spamton rose to a stand, though he found that he didn't quite reach the full height that he knew this body should attest to. It didn't matter; so long as things went according to plan, all eyes would be on him no matter what.

Then, somewhat to his surprise, he saw that Mike was approaching him again, his expression rather... indignant. Already irritated, Spamton wished he could smack the look off of his face, but he suppressed the urge. He still had use of him for a little while yet.

"Boss," Mike said, "not that I care, but are you really going on stage like that? You didn't even change your suit!"

From his side of their consciousness, Tenna’s voice came as little more than a whisper. “Mike… I’m sorry, I tried to stop him…”

Spamton twinged his neck slightly. “Not necessary. Is everything ready?”

“…Yes,” Mike said, his gaze lowered.

“And you made sure that we’ll be broadcasting on the local radio frequency like I told you?”

Again, Mike seemed to keep his gaze locked anywhere but at Spamton’s screen. “…Yes.”

Good. That would ensure that it would reach the Light World in absolution. Without the internet available throughout the town the [[little worm]] called home, one rogue radio signal would be all he needed to overtake practically every screen in the area.

Spamton smiled.

“Then let’s begin, shall we?”

As dusk befell the whole of Castle Town, a sizable portion of its denizens found themselves now gathered in the spacious confines of the TV studio showroom. The air was filled with chatter, some trembling with excitement, some hushed by nervousness as they all moved about, waiting for what would be the main event of the evening.

For several moments, Spamton watched them from behind the massive red curtains separating the audience from the back stage. His heart was pounding, the pulse strengthened by the surging electricity, though he couldn’t quite tell whether it was from excitement of his own or something else. He had managed to tune out the pain in his arm just enough to avoid wincing every time he moved, though it was undoubtedly still there, heat rising from it like a dull flame.

Either way, he was closer than ever now—and that alone filled him with a sense of elation.

Behind him, Elnina and Lanino were making their last-minute preparations as well. Their movements carried some level of uncertainty to them, but so long as they were willing to put on even a half-decent performance, it was inconsequential to Spamton.

Alright, [[Cathode]], are you [born and ready] for this?

The glimmer that was Tenna’s consciousness shrank back a little. “Do I have a choice?”

[[NOPE]].

And with that, he turned his attention forward as the lights suddenly went dim across the main room, leaving only the bright stage lights beaming down onto the center platform. Hushed whispers continued amongst the crowd, but as the lights from the sign joined in to indicate that they were at last ON AIR, they, too, died down.

Spamton perked his head as his antennas picked up on Mike’s voice from where he was stationed towards the back of the room, surrounded by the control equipment and speaking through what must have been a separate radio frequency just for Tenna and himself:

“Boss, you’re on in three, two…”

Taking a deep breath, Spamton quickly adjusted his limp arm one last time, steeling himself against the sharp burst of pain, and, with a wide, fanged grin, stepped through the curtains and into the limelight.

Immediately, he was greeted by the shocked stares and whispers of the Darkners before him as most took notice of his torn sleeve and the poorly cut bandaging underneath. In the back of his mind, he felt Tenna try desperately to pull away, to hide the both of them from view, but as he walked forward onto the center stage, Spamton only pulled the reins tighter.

Holding what would be Tenna's signature microphone in his right hand, he raised it high and, with a flourish of his wrist, discarded everything he knew about himself. Tonight, he was no longer Spamton G. Spamton: there was only one Mr. Ant Tenna on the stage.

"Hell-oooo, ladies and gentlemen of Castle Town! Thank you all for joining me tonight on this very special night for the grand premiere of my new studio!" He paused briefly, scanning the audience with a marauding gaze. Then, moving to the right a few paces, he continued, his tail flowing behind as if taking its own place up on stage with him.

"Now. You might be wondering, what sort of show could I possibly have lined up to commiserate such an occasion? We-e-ell, folks, that's just the thing—we'll be kicking off with something quite familiar, a time old tradition!" He turned again, pacing the other direction as if stalking prey. "But then, I hear you ask, 'Mr. Tenna, how is that exciting? How is that new?' Hahaha—well, you see, folks, we've added a bit of a twist to what you thought was the same old story. A whole new ending—now isn't that just something you've always wanted to see?"

The audience was watching in near silence, fixated on him and him alone. The sight brought another wave of nostalgia, and Spamton suppressed a shiver.

"So, without further ado..."

Tenna stirred abruptly. "Don't you even—"

Spamton smirked, holding the mic close and, with a deep breath, imitated his heart out:

"IIIIIT'S T!V! TIIIIIIIME!!"

Tenna's groan echoed in his mind. "I do not say it like that!"

Oh yes you do, or did you forget? A short huff of amusement escaped him. I'm [[YOU]].

Meanwhile, some of the audience was cheering and applauding, though it was clear that not everyone was on board yet. Again, he reminded himself that their reaction was largely inconsequential; so long as the world up above saw this, Spamton couldn't care less.

...Right?

With a twitchy shake of his head, he spoke once more:

"Please welcome the duo who always sticks together, Elnina and Lanino! Take it away, you two!" He made an awkward half-gesture with his mic hand, the other still useless at his side.

There was more cheering from the crowd as the curtains opened up behind him, revealing the two stars as they walked forward, their expressions more doubtful than excited. Spamton stepped aside with as much grace as he could manage, taking his leave from the stage entirely for now. The next step was up to them—but first, there was something he needed to do.

Gradually, subtly, he backed away, not stopping until he had positioned himself at the very back of the room, well behind any onlookers from the audience. From here, his backside was shrouded in shadow, hidden from even the glow of his own screen. Then, as he watched the performance, with slow, careful movements, he lowered the main cable of his tail down, allowing the split ends to brush up against the ground.

The four outputs unfurled from each other at last, and at once, the strings hidden underneath gained tension as they were willed back into existence. Still watching intently, Spamton's gaze never faltered as his command sent several strings slithering outward, trailing along the floor and up against the walls like creeping vines.

Little by little, they continued stretching and trailing out until they reached their destinations, latching firmly onto the light fixtures around the room. Soon enough, anything that emitted light found itself snagged by the end of the thin strings, nearly invisible in the darkened ambience as they avoided the beams directly. From what Spamton could tell, not even Tenna himself had noticed that the room was now surrounded.

Perfect.

Now, all that remained was to wait for his cue.

On stage, Elnina and Lanino’s weather report had started off much the same as it always did—the sun rises, the moon sets, etc., etc. There was only so much room for variation here, but variation was most certainly what he had been aiming for.

Come on, get to the [premium deals] already!

After a few moments more, the duo finally approached each other, meeting in the center of the stage. With one last glance of uncertainty between them, they raised their presentation pointers high in the air, crossing them against each other in a dramatic flair.

“…But for tomorrow,” said Elnina,

“…The sun won’t rise,” Lanino finished. “Instead…”

“…There will only be darkness.”

As they spoke the words together, Spamton’s smile widened.

[[SHOWTIME]].

And with that, a surge of electricity flowed out from his cables, traveling down the strings in a volatile trail of sparks. In a near instant, the voltage reached the ends, and every light fixture in the room surged and burst all at once, showering the audience with glass and plunging the showroom into total darkness.

Gasps of surprise rang out through the crowd, which was now awash with nervous movement and whispers. He could feel Tenna practically jump in alarm as well, his consciousness flickering rapidly.

“Spam…? What’s happening, what did you do?!”

From the back, Spamton could hear Mike talking into their private frequency:

“Shit, I—I don’t have any control, all of the lights are down… What’s going on out there, Boss?!”

Ignoring his plight, Spamton began walking forward through the crowd, the glow of his screen now the only source of light aside from the very edges of the room where it joined the hallways.

“Relax, folks, it’s alllll part of the show!” He called out in an almost sing-song tone of voice.

They watched him with a sense of uneasiness, thick enough to be palpable in the air. Spamton took note of their expressions as he went, highlighted under the bluish-white radiance that passed over them. As he strode past them, they were blissfully unaware of a new set of strings being weaved in a careful, deliberate pattern, the previous set having been severed and burned away. They flowed around him in a strange sort of dance, following him as he hopped back up onto the stage.

Having rejoined Elnina and Lanino, the two of them glanced up at him worriedly before one leaned over to whisper to the other:

“This… this isn’t in the script…!”

Now, Spamton had turned to face the audience. In the cover of the darkness, the only thing they could see was his face, twisted by his manic grin and looming over them from up above. Taking hold of the mic once more, Spamton spoke, his cadence almost mocking Tenna’s upbeat stage voice.

“Yes, yes, how tragic! The world, covered in darkness… how unfortunate that our stars’ love should end in disaster.” He paced forward slightly, excitement bubbling underneath his steps. “But what good is a story without a little… heartbreak?”

“Spamton, wait, don’t—”

Tenna’s plea went unanswered. He could only watch helplessly as Spamton lashed his tail once more, sending another surge of electricity careening down the strings that were now trailing along the floor around the audience and up the stage, circling himself. At once, the sparks grew into flames, flickering to life all around the room as they spiraled around it, racing up towards the stage platform.

Chaos broke out immediately. Screams rang out amongst the smaller Darkners, and the ground floor was quickly filled with a swarm of panicking bodies as everyone began to make a run for the exits.

Nearby, Lanino reacted fast, pulling Elnina away as they dove off stage. “Go, let’s go!”

But Spamton remained where he was, the flames still rapidly approaching until they swirled all around him, lighting up the strings surrounding him on stage. Then, he raised his good arm dramatically, the rest of his body lit by the glow of the pattern now revealed as it burned itself into the fresh wood.

The flames had coalesced to form a perfect heart with Spamton standing tall in the center, their orange iridescence glimmering in the reflection of his screen.

“And what better way to purge the darkness,” he said, his voice drowned out by the ensuing panic, “than with the light of [H E A V E N]?”

Are you watching, Kris? He thought to himself. Do you see it? The shape of [[FREEDOM]]? Come on; let’s finish what we started.

Meanwhile, the chaos continued to swirl around him, with Mike desperately trying to usher the rest of the crowd out of the building. He shot Spamton a look of urgency, willing him to run away, but when he saw that Spamton was only continuing to gaze out into the flames, he had no choice but to turn away.

Tenna could only watch in horrified despair as everything he’d worked toward was crumbling right in front of him.

“What… what have you done…?”

However, Spamton had hardly heard him. Beyond the dancing light of the flames, the shadows were growing stronger, flickering and writhing with tendrils of their own. They were drawing closer, rising all around him, clawing at the corners of his vision. Beckoning him.

Tenna had begun to panic. “Spam?! Spamton, you need to MOVE!”

The flames had drawn closer, too, but the shadows had him in a trance, their grip unyielding. He could only watch them as his wires filled with their cold embrace.

They were watching him back with blind eyes. They wanted to tell him more.

They wanted to consume him.

“We’re going to die if you just stand here!” Tenna tried again, desperately tugging at the boundaries of their consciousness. “MOVE!!”

And then, at last, the building’s sprinkler system kicked on, showering the room with a frigid burst of water that quelled the flames in seconds. Spamton snapped out of the trance as soon as the sensation hit him, and he glanced around the room with a start. Everyone else had made it out by now—it was just him all alone in the center.

Still a bit dazed, he climbed back down from the stage and began heading outside, away from the mess he’d created. He no longer had use for it, anyway—at least, not for tonight.

The hallway was pretty much deserted, as was most of the lobby by the time he arrived. It made sense; with the building potentially about to go up in flames, it would be a surprise if anyone had stuck around. On the far side of the lobby, though, three Darkners did remain, sticking close to one another as they seemed to tend to do.

Spamton eyed Mike and his subordinates, the Shadowguy and Zapper, warily. He had little more to say to them by now, especially with how exhausted he was suddenly feeling. But as he began to approach the main exit, Mike stepped forward, calling out to him.

“Boss…” he started, then shook his head. “Tenna… I dunno what’s gotten into you, but I know something’s gotta be wrong…” He looked up, gazing directly at “Tenna’s” screen, a nervous glimmer of determination visible in his expression. “But… you pushed it too far this time. I don’t know how to help you, but if I find a way, I will. Okay?”

The others nodded behind him.

“Mike…” Tenna trailed off in the back of his mind, too choked up to respond further.

Spamton merely stared down at him for a second, then turned away with little more than a huff. He pushed his way past the three of them, and as soon as he was outside the studio walls once more, he took a deep, prolonged breath. The movement in his abdomen was enough to agitate his arm, though, and he ended it with a sharp, pained exhale.

Right—he still needed to attend to that. But first, he really, really needed a drink.

Without thinking about it, Spamton found himself wandering in the direction of the café again, his body craving the gentle and comforting interior that it offered. Whether they would actually let him in again, though, was an entirely different question.

However, as he made his way across the street and up to the entrance, he found that the door was already propped open, the warm light from within inviting as it flooded the front entrance. Hesitantly, he poked his head in, surprised to see that it was devoid of customers for the time being. The person standing behind the counter, on the other hand, sparked an ember of recognition.

As Spamton took a step inside, Swatch tensed up the moment he saw who had walked through the door. He remained where he was, though, watching his approach with a somber expression.

“…Ah, now this is interesting. I was hoping that I was mistaken, but it seems that isn’t quite the case.” He set down the glass he’d been holding and placed both hands on the counter in anticipation. “So… it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

That gave Spamton considerable pause. “What are you talking about? I was just here yesterday, wasn’t I?”

Despite himself, Swatch chuckled. “Heh… so you were. But please, tell me, is the you I spoke with last night still in there?”

Spamton swallowed. Did he… know? After everything he’d just done, there was no way this conniving bastard was going to go and ruin it all with a single glance, was he?

“Yeah,” Tenna said, his voice low, “I’m here, Swatch…”

Hush, [[Trash heap]], you’re not part of this, Spamton spoke back.

And yet, the end of his tail flicked weakly on its own accord. Swatch eyed it for a second, apparently having received the message.

“…I see. I must admit, this does put our previous conversation in a new light. However, I think that you’ll find that my advice is more or less the same.” Swatch grinned slightly then, though the hint of regret in his eyes didn’t dissipate. “Now then… what can I get for you?”

Spamton hesitated. He wanted so badly to reach across the counter and choke the life from him—it was the least he deserved. After all, he’d done nothing to stop all the pain Spamton had been forced to endure when the voices and the shadows finally got to be too much, and Queen had torn him from his status without mercy. And yet, as he glared at the man across from him now, the weariness that had settled in his limbs was more than enough to dissuade him.

So, with a sigh, he pulled himself up to the counter and sat. “…The usual.”

To no surprise, Swatch needed no clarification. He got to work, swiftly preparing the drink with a steady hand, and once it was finished, he placed both the glass and the remainder of the main bottle just to Spamton’s right, knowing that just one wouldn’t be enough to sate him.

“…Here you are. Though, I do hope that you’ll go easy on our mutual friend here.”

Ignoring his comment, he picked it up, gave it a cautious swirl, and then knocked it back in one fell swoop.

Then, as soon as the glass hit the counter again, he saw movement out of the corner of his vision. Tilting his head slightly, he felt his antennas perk up in shock at the sight of Tenna himself sitting next to him, facing him as he leaned over the counter, holding his head in one hand.

“Is this what you wanted?” Tenna asked, watching him intently.

“…Figured out how to show yourself, did you?” Spamton replied. He’d forced the words to sound disinterested, though in truth, it made him nervous. If Tenna was strong enough to make him hallucinate, how much longer until he tried fighting for control again…?

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Spamton sighed. “Care to elaborate?”

Swatch merely glanced up at him from behind the counter, seeing nothing beside him. Regardless, he continued working in silence, content in listening to only half of the conversation.

“I mean, ending up alone again, drinking yourself to numbness,” Tenna said. “Breaking everything around you. Pushing everyone away.”

“I wouldn’t have to drink at all if you hadn’t lost your mind,” Spamton snapped, gesturing slightly with his injured shoulder. He just wanted to take an edge off of the pain; if Tenna was going to complain the whole time, then so be it.

“Hah… yes, and whose fault is that, exactly?”

“Shut it,” he growled. “And, you know, you’ve done a fine job helping with the breaking and the pushing yourself. All I’ve been doing is tapping into those nasty little tendencies of yours. The ones where you lash out, like a desperate little rat, puffing yourself up when things don’t go your way.”

His antennas drooped over his head as Spamton spoke the words, clearly hurt by them. Spamton winced internally, unable to stop the reaction. Maybe… maybe he’d been a touch too harsh with that. But before he could think of a way to untwist the knife, he ended up glancing at Tenna in bewilderment as his expression changed, and a sound began rising from him.

Tenna was laughing.

“What… what’s so funny?”

He continued for a moment or so, eventually managing to steady his breathing. “Ha… nothing, it’s…” Then, Tenna sighed, turning away for a moment as if to take in the sight of the near-empty room. “It’s just… well, I’d say it’s just like old times, but we both know it’s not quite the same, is it?”

Spamton looked down at his glass, gripping it a little tighter as the regret took hold. “…It could be, if you wanted it to.”

Now Tenna was the one caught off guard. “I…” He shook his head. “I want to fix this. I want to help you… help both of us. But you have to let me.”

Gritting his teeth, Spamton poured another drink. “…There’s nothing to fix,” he said, swallowing half the contents of the glass. “This is… how it has to be.”

His antennas still drooping, Tenna continued gazing at him sadly, and with a small nod, he looked away.

For the next several minutes, only silence filled the air between them. Then, after a moment or so, Spamton realized that he had disappeared, and that he was alone once more.

“…This is how it has to be,” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. Finishing off his second drink, and then half of a third, Spamton stood then, not even bothering to acknowledge Swatch again as he turned and left, heading back into the darkened streets of the town.

Behind him, the shadows twitched in his wake.

Swatch, however, had been watching him carefully all the while, and as soon as he began to depart, he reached for the phone stashed underneath the bar counter. With calm, deliberate movements, he dialed a number and, just quiet enough to avoid the detection of those sensitive antennas, he began to speak with the other side.

At last, Spamton trudged his way through the entrance to his and Tenna’s quarters, thoroughly exhausted after the day’s events. The shadows had followed him all the way here, whispering and reaching as he passed by, but as he shut the door behind him, his vision seemed to rid itself of them. For now.

Walking deeper into the living room, he removed his suit jacket and tossed it haphazardly onto the floor, much to Tenna’s dismay if the shudder he felt in the back of his mind was anything to go by. He stumbled slightly as he moved, probably courtesy of the alcohol working its way through him, but he managed to stay upright, going further still until he found himself standing in front of the bedroom mirror.

He looked… tired. And yet, despite the soreness in his limbs and the sharper burning emanating from the injured one, he still felt more powerful than he ever had at any other point in his life. It felt right. But just as before, as he gazed at himself in the mirror, the reflection he saw returned only sorrow beneath its gently flickering glow.

Turning away, Spamton headed back into the living room, taking a moment to gather his bearings. It surely wouldn’t be long now—the Lightners must have seen his message by now. Even if they were on there way, though, the discrepancy in time between the two worlds should mean that he had until tomorrow morning, giving him some much-needed time for sleep. First, though, he should probably take a look at his arm.

However, as he was debating how to best approach the issue, he paused, straining to listen as a sound rose up from somewhere else within the castle. It was faint at first, but gradually it grew, resonating from deep within the walls until it reached him.

It was… music? Yes; the way it pulsed rhythmically and melodically, there was little else it could be. It must have been coming from one of the neighboring rooms.

In response, Tenna stirred. “Hey… when was the last time we danced together?”

Spamton quirked a brow. Huh? You feelin’ [sick and tired] again or something?

“Just humor me.”

Exasperated, Spamton ran a hand across his screen. I don’t know, [[Cathode]]. It’s been a long time.

“Then… how about we try it now?”

I… [what]? I wouldn’t even… I don’t remember any [[moves to impress your date with]].

“I do. I can remember them for both of us, right? Just follow my lead.”

Wait, wait, aren’t you supposed to be the [stay sober] one of us here? Spamton glanced around out of nervous habit, trying to keep himself from getting flustered. A-and we’d need two of us to [[tango]], right? How is this gonna…

“Mmm… hold on, I think I can…”

Tenna trailed off for a moment, and as Spamton waited, he could feel him brushing up against their split consciousness, the sensation a little uncomfortable… but not entirely.

And then, in the blink of an eye, Spamton found that he was looking at Tenna again, right in front of him as though he were really there. Then, he looked down at himself and, with a bit of a start, realized that he looked like himself—Spamton, in his original glory, before the fall, before the [[shadows]], before the loss.

For a moment, he was stunned into silence, holding out his good arm in disbelief as he examined it. Eventually, he turned his gaze back to Tenna, who was towering over him again, his expression expectant yet gentle.

“This… this is your idea of a [good time tonight]? Making us [lose our [[$0.99]] minds]?”

Rather than replying, Tenna simply held out his hand in offering. Spamton eyed it warily, uncertainty and doubt heavy in his chest. He… he shouldn’t, right? After everything, it didn’t make sense. It wouldn’t be…

And yet, as Tenna continued gazing down at him with that soft glow, he found that he could no longer resist.

So, without a word, he took Tenna’s hand, and was swept up and away into a series of movements unlike any other. The dance came to him automatically, the rhythm of it complimenting the way they weaved around each other, their fingertips occasionally brushing with each new turn, sending sparks of elation coursing through them in a swirling spiral.

Despite the illusion, the awkwardness of his broken arm remained, but to his surprise, Tenna was managing to work around it with finesse, as though he had practiced the same song and dance a hundred times before. As they continued, Spamton couldn’t help himself from gazing up at him with every opportunity, hardly believing that what he was seeing could be real. After all, it wasn’t—but in this very moment, it was the only real thing he could perceive. Nothing else mattered.

And then, at last, their movements began to slow. Coming to a gradual halt, Spamton paused, expecting to look up at Tenna’s smile beaming down at him. But instead, with the last of the dance fading into the night, the shared illusion had disappeared with it, and Spamton found himself alone in their room once more, the glow of Tenna’s screen coming from himself yet again.

For a moment, he simply stood there, reveling in the memory of the sensations. But soon enough, he couldn’t help the feeling of loneliness that had begun creeping in to replace them.

“…[[Cathode]]? Are you still there?”

No response.

Spamton hesitated, prying at the darkness of their mind. He was there somewhere, but he’d grown faint again. Quiet.

Had he… fallen asleep?

Spamton gave a small huff of amusement. By this point, he, too, was more than ready to curl up and let the world fade away for a while. So, with his arm all but forgotten for now, he did just that, heading over to the bed and dropping onto it, taking in the way its soft sheets supported his body’s form.

Just before he began to drift off, he whispered something, the reassurance echoing into the darkened room: “Just a little longer, okay? I’ll [[SAVE]] us both…”

For the rest of the night, the shadows left him alone.

Chapter Text

Slowly, the next morning came, though there was no sunlight to mark its arrival. Instead, there was a gentle stirring in the dark atmosphere around them, settling over the town like a fine mist as the dark fountain in the center pulsed steadily on.

As soon as Spamton came to, he winced, a sharp pain in his head reminding him of his poor decisions the night before. The dagger was then swiftly followed up by that same burning pain in his left arm, its grip twisting its way up and over each severed wire. It seemed he’d have to manage with it still broken after all. Unfortunate, but not the end of the world—with Tenna’s power flowing through him, he shouldn’t need it.

Speaking of…

Hey, [[Cathode]], you [seize the day] yet?

Still nothing.

Spamton couldn’t help frowning at the silence. Gently, as if trying to rouse a partner, he withdrew a little into that void between them, searching for the familiar glimmer. There—just as he had been last night, Spamton could sense him in the depths, but unlike what he had expected, the glimmer didn’t seem any brighter.

Spamton’s heart skipped a beat. He’d been worried that Tenna was getting stronger, but if last night’s exertion had had this much of an effect on him, then… was it possible for the opposite to be true?

Was Tenna getting weaker?

No, no, it was fine—he just needed more time, that was all. And besides, this was a good thing; Spamton didn’t want Tenna to be awake for this next bit, anyway. This would save him the trouble.

With that, Spamton rose, stretching out what limbs he could, nearly knocking over a nightstand with his tail in the process. Then, glancing at himself in the mirror nearby, he realized that he’d probably need to actually make an attempt at cleaning up his appearance this time. The torn fabric he’d used as makeshift bandaging was still holding, but it looked ragged and disheveled. The sleeve of the white dress shirt he’d been wearing underneath the black suit blazer was torn, too, putting the bandages on full display.

It seemed he would need to change in full. But as Spamton moved over to the wardrobe, an anticipatory groan escaped him. This was not going to be easy with one hand. And, on top of everything else he had to deal with, he wouldn’t even get to keep his preferred colors. Unless Tenna had more copies of the black suit stashed away somewhere else, he was stuck with a sea of reds and yellows.

So, with a sigh of resignation, he plucked the new tops from the wardrobe and got to work. Sure enough, it was an incredibly arduous task, and he nearly gave up multiple times out of sheer frustration. As he got to the injured arm, he ended up pausing for a moment, both admiring the intricacies of the limb and cringing in horror at the sight of how badly mangled it was. If it had been any other situation, he would have loved to comb over every detail, holding each bolt and wire delicately as he took his time with the repair. But as of right now, he had no such luxury.

At last, he’d managed to get both arms in the two sets of sleeves, and with some perseverance, he got the majority of the buttons done for the white shirt as well as the main one on the blazer, pinning it closed well enough to look at least marginally professional. Unfortunately, the tie was simply not happening. Though it pained him, he opted to remove it entirely rather than draping it carelessly around his neck.

It was good enough, he supposed. He didn’t need to look perfect—he just needed to not look so out of sorts that he’d scare the Lightners off at first sight.

“Well… see you back on [[THE BIG SCREEN]], then, [[Cathode]].”

Satisfied, Spamton turned away from the innermost room and made a quick detour through the kitchen, grabbing whatever morsels Tenna might have had lying around at the time. As expected, it wasn’t much, but at least it would keep him from starving again. If things were about to go down the way he was anticipating them to, he’d need the energy.

So, with a renewed sense of purpose to his steps, he headed out and into the main streets of the town, leaving behind his quarters for what he assumed would be the last time. After all, a [[GOD]] would have no need for such trivial things.

As he approached the town center, he saw that there was a considerable gathering of Darkners, many of whom he recognized as the lesser denizens of the former Dark Worlds. However, he hadn’t gotten quite close enough to hear any of the ongoing conversations before several of them spotted him, turning to face him rather sharply.

“Hey!! What d’you think you’re doing, showing yourself around here so casual-like?!” said a Rudinn, brandishing its sword as though it believed itself to be intimidating.

“Yeah,” a Plugboy joined in, “you could’ve killed us last night! What’s wrong with you?!”

Several more Darkners stepped towards him as well, having noticed the commotion and equally wanting to show their grievances. Spamton took an instinctive step back, the sight of multiple aggressors making his heart pound.

“Now, now, folks,” he said, lashing his tail defensively, “let’s not jump to conclusions here! So there were a few, ah, technical difficulties! So what? You were entertained, weren’t you?”

That seemed to just piss them off more. They took another collective step towards him, and Spamton followed with another step back, forcing himself to keep up a nervous smile.

[[NOT GOOD]]. Where was the [[Cathode]] when he needed him?

But by some stroke of luck, before the tension could escalate any further, a figure parted their way through the crowd, their long green scarf flowing daintily behind them. They seemed to exude a particularly powerful aura that commanded respect from all the others, which prompted a flash of recognition in Spamton, briefly coating his vision in a dazzling array of blues that shimmered like glass.

This was the Prince from the Dark that the shadows had warned him about.

His actual name, however, was a mystery to Spamton. A little [get help with your finances] here, [[Cathode]]? He thought, though he knew he’d have to look for the answer himself. The name reached him from Tenna’s memories in an instant, and along with it came a burst of raw emotions—mostly fondness, but also, strangely enough, a trace of… fear? No, it was more like a sense of… self-reproach? Either way, it seemed that beyond whatever friendship they might have, there was something straining it from Tenna’s side, even if only a little.

But as the Prince—Ralsei—approached, he seemed calm and level-headed, though concern shone in his pale pink eyes.

“Everyone, please, let’s all calm down,” Ralsei called, his voice soft even when raised. “What’s going on over here?”

“This guy’s crazy is the problem,” said the Rudinn, gesturing towards Spamton with the pointed end of his sword.

“Yeah, he’s dangerous,” chimed an Ambyu-Lance. “Why is he allowed to do whatever he wants? People almost got hurt last night!”

Ralsei’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Dangerous? No, no, that doesn’t sound right. Sure, Mr. Tenna can be a little… um… eccentric, but that doesn’t make him dangerous. There must be some sort of misunderstanding.”

Spamton’s gaze flitted between Ralsei and the others. Sweat had already started forming on his screen. Yes, listen to the [ROYALTY-FREE] princeling!

But the others didn’t seem convinced. A few of them turned to one another, whispering rather aggressively and side-eying him all the while.

However, just as it seemed like one of them was about to hurl another accusation, a shout rang out from further back in the crowd:

“It’s the Lightners! The Lightners are returning!”

Immediately, everyone snapped to attention, turning away from Spamton and instead facing towards the southernmost point of the town. Spamton sighed in relief; that had gotten a little too close for comfort.

Following their gazes, he, too, turned his attention to the south, where a thick, bright beam of white light appeared to be emanating from somewhere far up above the cliffside. He watched it for a moment, until at last, he spotted the silhouettes of the two prophesized heroes descending towards them at a rapid pace. As soon as they’d landed, taking the fall with surprising grace, Ralsei had rushed up to greet them.

While the three of them talked, Spamton stayed where he was, though he made an effort to make himself stand a little taller in order to catch their attention. Best to let them come to him; with the tension already high in the air, he couldn’t afford to look too desperate right away. No; he’d need to remain cool and collected.

Of course, that had never been his strong suit.

But sure enough, the purple female—Spamton was pretty sure Tenna had called her “Susie” at some point—seemed to catch his gaze. She made a nodding gesture towards him, prompting Ralsei to turn as well, and the three of them soon began making their way over to him. As they approached, Spamton’s pulse quickened automatically; all of them were within his line of sight, but he couldn’t help keeping his vision centered on just one, the blue of their outfit reflecting off of his screen.

“Tenna!” Susie called out, her eyes shining with excitement. “It’s so good to see you! How’ve you been?”

At the sound of her words, there was a familiar stirring sensation within Spamton, but it was little more than a quick, frantic pulse.

Easy now, [[Cathode]]. Let me [handle with care].

“Hm? Oh, never better,” he returned, sparing Susie a single glance as he spoke, but immediately angling his gaze back toward Kris. A crooked grin spread across his face.

“Oh, uh, that’s good, then!” She said, though the excitement in her expression died down a little. “So, uh… is everything else good here? Kris and I were heading to the church in town, but we saw something super weird when we passed a bunch of TVs on display in town, so I thought we’d come check things here. Y’know, just in case?”

Ralsei tilted his head slightly. “Huh? Things are fine here, aren’t they? No one’s mentioned—”

“Yes, that!” Spamton interrupted, perking up his antennas. “Oh, I’m just thrilled you got my message!” His grin spread wider. Kris was silent beside them, but for a split second, Spamton thought he caught a glint of nervousness in their eye.

“So that was you?” Susie asked. “It was, uh… kind of ominous. You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes, yes, of course! I just needed your attention, that’s all. I apologize if that concerned you,” Spamton said, working to put on a softer expression, though it may not have succeeded as well as he’d desired with his fangs still visible. “But, hey, now that you’re all here, I’d like to invite each of you to my new TV studio! There’s something I’d like to… show you.”

Kris and Susie exchanged a glance.

“That’s… kinda weird, but I guess it makes sense,” Susie said. Then, with a rekindled smile, she added, “Sure, we’d love to see it!”

“Then please, follow me.” Spamton gave a charismatic bow, gesturing in the direction of the studio with his right arm.

However, several more voices from the onlookers around them called out again after he’d spoken.

“What?! Don’t go with him, he’s outta his mind!”

“Yeah, I’d watch yourselves if I were you!”

Both Susie and Ralsei seemed startled by the unexpected reactions from the crowd, and Spamton cursed under his breath. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy; not with these menial Darkners breathing down his neck.

“Guys, seriously, what’s going on with you all…?” Ralsei asked, then turned his gaze up at Spamton. “Tenna, did something happen last night?”

“No,” he said, perhaps a bit too hastily, “don’t listen to them. Always whispering and chattering.” He snapped his head in the direction of the studio then, the motion twitchy and demanding. “Come on, we haven’t got time to waste.”

He began heading further up the street, not pausing to see whether they were following. Aside from being a little too eager to get out of the open, he was confident that they would. They trusted him, after all. They had no choice.

Sure enough, after a few seconds, they caught up to his faster stride. Next to him, Susie was closest in his peripheral vision.

“What was that about?” She asked, an edge of concern to her voice. “You’re settling in okay, right?”

Spamton didn’t turn to look at her. “Everything’s fine.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she narrowed her eyes, but said nothing more until they reached the front entrance to the studio. With a short exhale, Spamton stepped up to the gilded doors, but as he reached out to pull one open for them, she again seemed to notice something off.

“…Hey, is your arm bothering you or something? I don’t think I’ve seen you move it this whole time.”

Damn it.

At once, Kris and Ralsei glanced over at it as well, though Ralsei was the only one to audibly react as he realized that it did, in fact, look rather unnatural in the way it hung there loosely, even after he’d covered it.

“Oh, Tenna, did you break it somehow?” His brow creased with worry. “Why didn’t you come to me for help?”

“It was just an accident on set. Happened all the time back in TV World!” Spamton forced himself to offer a casual smile while turning that side of his body away from them self-consciously, putting it back out of view. “It’s not a concern; I’ll get it fixed later. Now, let’s just get a move on, yeah?”

Again, they shot each other a look that made him twitch in trepidation, but to his relief, they seemed willing to comply with his request. Without further delay, they stepped through the door and into the studio lobby, Spamton following closely behind as soon as they were all inside.

As if by some miracle, the building seemed deserted right away. Spamton had been preparing to at least have to intimidate Mike into staying out of their way, but to his surprise, he was nowhere to be found. At least SOMETHING is going [for the right price].

“Woah… nice place!” Susie remarked, her eyes wide as she took in the grandeur of the architecture.

“Mm, yes, it’s quite… old-fashioned,” Spamton replied, making his way toward the back where the hallways connected with the lobby. Though it would’ve amused him, he wasn’t particularly interested in dragging them along for a tour steeped in mockery. He needed to hurry—the showroom was waiting. “But the real sights are down this way. Care to join me?”

As he gestured, they fell in line, though not without another hesitant glance. However, as the three of them began to make their way down the hall with Spamton behind them, they seemed just as captivated by the craftsmanship as before, taking a moment to admire the vibrant gold and red hues adorning the walkway. There were still a few signs left behind from last night’s chaos, evident in the way the carpet was folded or kinked in some places, and in the way several of the framed photos hanging on the walls were tilted carelessly. Regardless, they didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

“Man, this place is huge! How’d you guys build this so quickly?” Susie asked.

“Well, they’ve had more time here than has passed in the Light World,” Ralsei offered, saving Spamton the trouble of responding.

As the group continued walking, keeping their eyes ahead, Spamton slowed his pace. “Yes, it’s impressive, isn’t it? It was… the pride of my life once, after all.” His throat tightened involuntarily at the end. Ours, once… but I’ve got my [sights] set on something [[BIGGER]].

He slowed a little more, watching them carefully and, when it seemed they were fully immersed in the view ahead, he allowed his tail to stretch out behind him a little more.

The cables separated only slightly, just enough to unveil a thin web of strings between them—thin enough to remain difficult to see even under the bright lights of the halls, so long as he avoided catching them directly under the beams. Slowly, they unraveled, snaking their way back toward the lobby doorway, where he commanded them to weave themselves in a messy pattern all across the entrance. Each of them contained thousands of volts as they brushed against the outputs of his tail, and by the end, none of the strings remained attached to him, instead leaving them trailing across the frame of the doors like delicate threads of electrically-charged silk.

It would have to be good enough.

It didn’t take him long at all to catch back up to them, his height giving him a major advantage over them in terms of speed—something he’d never have been able to boast about before. But as he did, he paused, his expression flickering across his screen as he began feigning a look of confusion.

“Ah, whoops—sorry, I seem to have forgotten something back in the lobby!”

The others turned back towards him, sparing each other an equally confused glance.

“Susie, Ralsei,” Spamton continued, “would the two of you mind going back to grab it for me?”

“Uhh… sure, I guess?” Susie replied. “What are we looking for exactly?”

He… hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.

“Oh, heh, you’ll know it when you see it.” His crooked smile returned, despite his efforts to suppress it.

Susie’s eyes narrowed. “Way to be weirdly vague and unconvincing, but okay.” She gestured to Ralsei by tilting her head in the opposite direction down the hall. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“O-oh, sure!”

With a quick adjustment of his glasses, Ralsei followed Susie as she began heading back the way they came. However, it was clear as they walked that they were whispering to each other, and so Spamton took a moment to angle his antennas further towards them.

“…He’s acting really weird, right?”

“…Um, I don’t know if I’d word it that way, Susie, but… yeah, I suppose…”

His pulse quickened again. It’s FINE, they’re [too little too late]. Just a little further and [[FREE TICKETS TO NOWHERE]].

As soon as they disappeared around the corner, he turned back to Kris, doing his best to maintain his smile. “Now then, let’s keep going. They can catch up later—and we can catch up now, isn’t that right, Kris?”

Kris looked up at him, that same nervousness having sprouted into something deeper, but they held their ground. Then, as Spamton stepped forward, they realized they had little choice other than to continue down the hall, physically blocked off from the other end by his menacing size.

That’s it—they just needed to reach the showroom, and then there would be nothing left standing in between him and what he’d been denied. The other two were surely seconds away from falling into his trap; whether it outright killed them or simply knocked them out for a while, he didn’t care, so long as they were out of the picture. Just a little more, and—

“…Spam…?”

Oh no.

Not a good time, [[Cathode]]. Go back to [the dark] sleep.

Tenna’s consciousness seemed to rise a little before settling again, as if he were trying to stand, but couldn’t quite find the strength. “Please… whatever you’re doing… stop…”

The quiet desperation in his voice tugged at his heart. But it didn’t matter; it couldn’t. Not when he was this close.

It’s almost [[GAME OVER]]. I’m trying to [[WIN BIG]] for both of us, okay?

It was the only comfort he knew to offer. Whether Tenna had accepted it, he wasn’t sure. He’d gone quiet, though he was undoubtedly still alert, as Spamton could feel him close to the edge of their collective subconscious, fluttering there anxiously.

Right—no more room for distractions, then. If he’d been in a hurry before, he was even more so now.

At last, they reached the end of the hall, the double doors to the showroom sprawled out ahead of them. Spamton wasted no time leaning forward in order to pull one open for Kris, encouraging them to go in ahead of him.

“Please, go right ahead,” he said, doing his best to imitate one of Tenna’s calmer, friendlier expressions.

And then, as soon as Kris stepped through, Spamton closed the door behind the both of them. The lights had been destroyed in the showroom, once again leaving the only sources of light as Spamton’s screen and the glow that trickled into the room from the small windows on the doors leading out. As it closed shut, the sound of the door’s click echoing through the wide, open space reverberated with an eerie cadence. Kris turned immediately, their gaze directed up at his luminous screen, though they remained ever-silent.

The friendly expression melted into a manic one.

“Kris. Kris, Kris, Kris,” he began, already feeling the effects of Tenna’s power practically doubling in intensity now that the stage was within reach. He took a menacing step forward. “You really thought you could get away with [scamming] your old pal, didn’t you?”

Kris’s eyes widened in surprise at the sudden shift in demeanor. They backed away, and as Spamton advanced again, he could sense himself growing a little taller, invoking Tenna’s capabilities with ease. “[Deleting] me from [existence]? Leaving me to [[SUFFER]]??”

No longer even attempting to conceal his voice, the static flooded over his words like liquid malice. He raised his good arm, pointing at Kris threateningly with a sharp, clawed hand.

“What, did you think you were some sort of [[Big Shot]]? We had a [[DEAL]]!!”

Kris flinched, and at last, a look of horrified realization fell over them, the glow of Spamton’s screen shining in their eye.

“You’re…”

Their voice was little more than a monotonous whisper.

Spamton laughed, the sound itself just as manic. In response, Tenna flared back to life, if only for a moment.

“Kris! Run, NOW!!”

Spamton twitched sharply, glaring down at Kris. “Sorry kid, but if only one of us is going to reach [HEAVEN], it's not going to be YOU.”

And then, with a flourishing lash, his tail rose high above his head, a crackling spark of electricity revealing a tangled array of bright green strings as the cables fanned out like the heads of a hydra.

FINALLY—LET’S [[FINAL OFFER]]!

But before they could strike, two rows of blindingly bright white emergency lights suddenly powered on above them, and a voice rang out from above and behind him:

“I think that’s quite enough for now, old friend!”

Startled, Spamton whirled around to face two figures as they emerged from backstage, stepping up onto the recently-scorched platform.

“You,” he spat the moment his gaze locked onto Swatch, standing tall before the edge of the stage center. Beside him, remaining a little further back, was Mike, looking nervous but defiant as he had been throughout the previous day. In each of his hands, he appeared to be holding two thick cables that had been sliced open, exposing the live wiring inside.

Kris backed away again, although there wasn’t much opportunity for escape just yet. Swatch eyed them sympathetically.

“Sorry about the trouble, Kris,” he said. Then, with a glance at Mike, he nodded.

Mike moved forward a pace or two, looking over at Spamton with more than a hint of hesitation in his expression. “Tenna… if you can hear me, then… I’m so sorry, but this is for your own good.”

Spamton immediately straightened in alarm.

“Don’t worry about me,” Tenna cried within their mind, “Just stop him!”

“[$!?$]—NO!”

At near lightning-speed, he turned his tail onto Mike, sending a cascade of strings heading right for him, piercing the air. It was as if time had suddenly come to a halt—in no more than a few heartbeats, they reached him, coiling around his limbs and pinning him against the nearest surface…

…But not before he managed to make the cables connect, if only for a split second.

The resulting electromagnetic pulse that erupted from the showroom equipment hit him in an instant. The pain in his head was astronomical, sharp and pulsing, and he doubled over, clutching desperately at it with the one hand he could. Thick, erratic bars of static and washed-out colors ran across his screen, dizzying him as they stabbed at his vision. Any trace of Tenna’s consciousness that remained had immediately been razed into the depths, condemning him back to that endless nothingness—for now.

Spamton staggered backwards, a series of pained groans rumbling deep in his throat, but through the assault, he managed to lift his head back up just enough to see Swatch watching him in curious apprehension. However, as soon as he realized that Spamton wasn’t going down, he moved with a start, rushing towards the cables that Mike had dropped.

“Oh no… you… [[DON’T]]!”

Another volley of strings rushed through the air. With his vision still spiraling viciously, several of them missed their mark, but luck was on his side, as the rest made short work of restraining Swatch as well, pinning him down onto the stage. Spamton hadn’t had the opportunity to charge them with an electrical current this time, but it satisfied him nevertheless, watching the two of them struggle against their bindings.

“Urgh… You didn’t tell me he could do that,” Swatch muttered.

“I—I didn’t know!” Mike said, panic gripping him. “Tenna, what did he do to you?!”

“Hah… nice… [[TRY AGAIN]],” Spamton growled, his breathing labored as he continued to reel from the pulse. Gods, he felt like he was going to be sick, especially with the way he could feel his heartbeat pounding in his throat. But he couldn’t afford that right now—he was still standing, and that meant he still had a shot. Their clever gambit had failed.

Turning away from his aggressors, Spamton fixed his gaze back onto Kris, the bluish-white glow of his screen forming a flashing, glitchy beacon of light that pierced the room, only partially lit by the beams overhead. They looked pointedly terrified, though underneath that, there was an undeniable ferocity growing within them.

Good.

“Hahh… Well, Kris…? Go on, show it to me already—your [[heart-shaped object]]!”

At his word, he lashed his tail once more, sending a spark running down the cables in a brilliant flash of light as a new set of strings rained forth. Simultaneously, Kris raised their shield just in time to block the onslaught, sending a shower of sparks flying past the metal.

“Kris…!” Swatch called from where he lay immobile up on the stage. “I’m sorry… looks like you’ll have to join in on the fun after all.”

Spamton was currently looming over Kris, his form still massive enough in size to pose a considerable threat despite his being off balance. Beyond the glitching, there was a frantic layer of static hissing just underneath his screen, causing it to flash a more erratic display of colors with every other breath.

However, it didn’t stop him from preparing another attack, this time sending a cluster of strings racing up to the ceiling. In less than a second, they were hooked above them, stretching back down to form high-tension cables teeming with voltage that lit the room further with each crackle, spanning the entire height of the room.

Kris dodged backwards before they hit the ground where they were standing. It seemed there was no other choice now—with a nod of understanding towards Swatch and Mike, they pointed forward, and at last, the SOUL was freed from its cage.

The sight of its brilliant red and white light filled Spamton with nothing short of euphoria. His ticket to [[FREEDOM]], within his reach at last.

Now all that remained was to send its current owner to [[OBLIVION]].

With another maddening laugh, Spamton attacked again, flooding the space between him and Kris with voltage-ridden strings, each visibly sparking with volatility. The Soul flitted desperately through the growing maze, dodging with quick, borderline random movements, becoming little more than a red blur in a sea of greens and electric whites.

But it didn’t take long for him to trap it, swishing his tail with such precision that the strings formed a circular pattern. At once, the Soul halted, surrounded by a whole new cage that would bring it closer to death on impact.

“How does it feel to be [betrayed], Kris?” Spamton taunted. “Look at me—this face trusted you, and now it’ll be the last thing you see when I send you to [[HELL]].”

Though Kris flinched at his words, they didn’t sway from their determined stance, watching him as if daring him to try.

Well, he’d certainly do more than that.

But before he commanded the cage to collapse in on itself and squeeze the life out of them, the doors to the showroom suddenly swung open. Everyone in the room whirled in an instant to see Susie and Ralsei, standing tall as they burst through, their eyes shining with concern.

WHAT? How—?!

At the moment of his distraction, the Soul slipped free, zipping back over to Kris protectively.

“Tenna?!” Susie exclaimed. “What’s going on? Why the hell are you and Kris fighting?!”

“I’m afraid that’s not Tenna,” Swatch called out, still struggling in vain against the strings.

“Swatch?” Ralsei said, his expression even more surprised at the sight of him and Mike restrained. “What… what do you mean? What’s happening?”

“What? Then who—” Susie started.

“It’s, ah, complicated,” Swatch returned. “Rather, it is him, but he’s not the one in control at the moment!”

Nearby, Mike struggled harder. “Please, save him!”

That was apparently all Susie needed to hear. At once, a fire lit in her eyes. “…Heh. Alright, then.” She then brandished her axe, wielding it towards Spamton with threatening expertise. “So… I don’t know who you are, but if you’ve done something to Tenna, then you’re gonna regret it.”

Beside her, Ralsei still looked confused by the situation, but he, too, followed suit, taking up a defensive stance, a glow of magic might radiating from his palm.

A growl of frustration tore through Spamton. This wasn’t supposed to be happening! He could’ve taken Kris by themselves with ease—but now, it seemed the real fight would begin.

“You… fine, you want the [Fresh from the Juice!]?” He said, taking up an offensive stance of his own, “Then [get ready] for the [[SHOW]]!”

At once, another cascade of strings formed from the tip of his tail, piercing the air like serpents lunging toward their prey. Susie and Ralsei wasted no time, dodging to the opposite sides with graceful precision.

However, as several of them curved midair, Susie raised her axe, swinging it full-force into their center. It didn’t cut—instead, she grimaced as an electric shock ran through her, traveling through the axe like a lightning rod.

“Nngh… Okay, so that doesn’t work,” she said, squinting one eye shut. She snapped her gaze over to the stage. “How’re we gonna beat him without hurting Tenna?!”

“There’s a set of live cables up here,” Swatch called down to her. “If you can cross them, they should knock him out!”

Right—as if he’d let that happen.

In an unbalanced, jerky motion, Spamton turned back toward the stage, commanding the current cluster of strings to weave themselves all across the floor and above where the cables lie, turning it into a hazardous blanket of raw energy.

There—try [buying low selling high] NOW.

“Woah!” Susie exclaimed, just barely sidestepping the strings as they flew past her.

Swatch winced as he watched the cables become practically unreachable. “That does, er, complicate things…”

But then, Mike spoke up beside him: “He’s being reckless—I bet he wouldn’t be able to take one of his own attacks if the voltage is high enough. Maybe you can trap him in his own snare!”

At that, Ralsei seemed to perk up from where he’d fled to on the leftmost side of the room. “Oh, that might just work! Everyone, follow my lead and keep dodging!”

Spamton bared his teeth, his gaze darting between all of them. How dare they assume he could be overtaken by something so simple?! He was mere seconds away from becoming a [[GOD]]—these so-called “heroes” were nothing compared to him.

So with another flurry of sparks, he began to strike, both raising more high-tension strings across the room and trying to snag one of his attackers with the strings directly as they raced through the air.

All three of them sprang into action without a second thought, falling into a circular pattern as they weaved their way around the room, avoiding the strings with sharp, reactive movements. The Soul remained closer to Kris, helping them to pave the way with its guiding light as they navigated through the still-growing maze. As they dodged, it was quickly becoming apparent that the room was filling with enough of them for the air to become electrically charged by the thick, tangled nest encompassing it.

“You can’t keep [avoid downpayments] forever,” Spamton taunted. “Didn’t you know this [CRTs] got more than one channel?”

Alright, [[Cathode]], help me out here…

Focusing on the pounding pulse in his wires, Spamton shuddered as his screen flashed with harsh static, and at his command, the entire room shifted abruptly. Every string hooked onto a surface was suddenly occupying a different spot, as though the whole room had changed to a different frequency.

Caught off guard, the Soul ran directly into one of them, sending a current sparking through it in a brilliant flash of light. Kris, Susie, and Ralsei all winced, the damage spreading through the Soul’s forced bond with tendrils of lightning. Kris was hit the hardest, going down to one knee with an unceremonious thud.

“Kris!”

They’d both shouted the name at once. However, before either of them could rush to their defense, Spamton seized his opportunity. His tail snaked upward once again, and four strings unraveled from within them, hanging in the air for just a moment before lunging towards them.

Each of them connected with a limb, and with little effort, Spamton raised Kris into the air like a marionette. They eyed him with a look of terror, their expression reflecting deep within his screen.

“Hah… finally, [nowhere to run].”

A surge of electricity began forming at the tips of his tail, the sparks flying erratically in all directions, each one biting at the air in a show of hostility. With one last breathy laugh, he sent it forward, spiraling down the strings in a violent flash.

But just before it connected, a large, bright purple burst of magic rushed into the center of his vision, slicing through the strings with ease. Kris dropped to the ground, and in an instant, Ralsei was by their side, helping them to their feet with a swirl of green healing magic.

Startled, Spamton snapped his gaze in the direction of the attack.

Susie was glaring at him, a purple flame lit on the edge of her axe.

“Huh… so that works,” she said, a toothy grin shaping her expression.

“Nice work, Susie!” Ralsei called out.

Spamton’s pulse lurched on instinct. IT’S FINE, IT’S FINE, JUST [[KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE PRIZE]]—

He didn’t have much time to recollect himself, however, as Susie was quickly gaining on him, her weapon poised to counter anything he might try to throw at her. In response, Spamton called upon that same static within him, forcing the room to shift to the right.

But she’d been prepared this time. As she ran at him, she leapt hard to the left, narrowly avoiding a cluster of strings as they appeared before her out of thin air. Spamton could only watch in dismay until she was right in front of him, the sharp end of her axe pointed at his screen.

Despite his size advantage, he found himself stumbling back a few steps, stopping only when he realized that there were more strings rising from the ground behind him, crackling ominously. Susie moved in closer yet, a look of triumph shining in her eyes.

“Wait, wait,” Spamton began, putting up his good arm in front of him, “You’d really hurt the [[Cathode]], too? How [heartless] of you!”

To his satisfaction, that seemed to give her considerable pause. She hesitated, worry glimmering underneath the triumph. “I… Tenna, I’m sorry, but…”

That was the only opening he needed. In a flash of movement, he swung his tail forward, preparing to physically lash her with the sharp outputs on the end.

She reacted fast. Her axe flew up in front of her, blocking the blow with the middle of the shaft. For several heartbeats, the two of them stood at odds with each other, straining against the other in a contest of might. Susie slid back a hair, but stood fast, determination burning in her gaze.

It wasn’t enough—he needed more.

Still straining against her defenses, Spamton reached into the depths of Tenna’s mind, willing his body to lend him as much strength as he could grasp.

In response, a whispering shadow seemed to reach out to him, obliging his request as it brushed up against their subconscious. It slithered around him, empty and inviting, and as it extended a dark, shimmering tendril, a familiar trance wrapped itself around his mind.

Against his better judgement, he reached back. The contact was akin to a drop of ink in a glass of water—spreading, contaminating. For a second, he recoiled from its chill touch, but it was too late—he’d asked, and it answered. There was no going back now.

He then felt his tail begin to shake, the motion violent and uncontrolled. The power now coursing through it was spectacular—but underneath that, Spamton couldn’t help feeling that something was off.

And then, to everyone’s surprise, with a harsh, thunderous CRR-RA-ACK, it suddenly ruptured in two.

Starting from in between two of the four outputs at the tip, his entire tail split open right down the middle, revealing a maw of vivid green strands webbed thickly across from the one-made-two cables. Each half was moving independently, stretching and contracting the strings that writhed in the center, and before Spamton even registered what was happening, the ends snapped forward, curving around Susie’s axe and ensnaring it.

“Wh… what the hell…?” She whispered, her eyes wide as her weapon was ripped from her grip, the bright colors from the maw in front of her reflecting in her gaze.

Ralsei simply covered his mouth with his paws, too shocked by the sight before him.

“T… Tenna?” Mike said from onstage, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, dear…” Swatch murmured, a mix of horror and pity in his expression.

Meanwhile, Spamton himself could only watch as his split tail snapped Susie’s axe in half, completely of its own accord.

This… this was good, right? It… It had to be.

As he dwelled on the question, Tenna’s consciousness finally flickered back to life.

“…Spamton, wh… what’s happening…? I—I don’t feel right…”

It’s fine, [[Cathode]], everything’s under control! He responded, though his inner voice rose in pitch more than he meant it to.

Without speaking aloud, he then made an attempt to invoke Tenna’s room-shifting abilities once more, this time focused more on himself. With a flash of static, it succeeded, and he managed to whisk himself away from the spot where he’d been trapped. Now, he was closer to Kris again—closer to the soul he so desperately craved.

“Now then, where were—”

Spamton had started to speak, but found himself cut off as a sharp, almost burning sensation suddenly began rising along the surface of his metal casing, crawling all over his body. He halted, a shudder running through him. He tried again to advance, to strike out, but something inside him seemed to be preoccupying every muscle and wire.

Out of the corner of his vision, the shadows in the room began to flicker and rise.

Then, before he could try to take another step, Spamton howled in pain.

All at once, strings had begun to erupt from his body, penetrating the metal of his flesh and the fabric of his suit as they wound all around his limbs and chest. They squirmed and writhed above and within him, piercing his wires and drawing more power from the current inside, latching and draining like a swarm of parasites.

The others watched on in abject horror.

“What’s happening to us…? What did you do?!” Tenna asked, the fear prevalent in his voice.

No… it’s… fine…

At last, he managed to move himself forward, though the motion sent another flare of strings forcing their way through his flesh, coiling around his arms as they twitched hungrily. He couldn’t even feel the rise in power they were supposedly after—everything belonged to them and them alone.

“Hah… Ahahaha…” Spamton laughed, though it was a struggle to even vocalize now, and his screen was flickering erratically. “This… Who needs the [POWER OF NEO] when you’ve got [[CABLE TELEVISION]]?!”

And then, without warning, his body attacked all on its own.

Immediately, the three combatants braced themselves. The soul swerved to the right, away from one of the tails as it lashed towards it, with Kris dodging the opposite way from the other half. Ralsei, however, found himself caught in between them, staring up at the maw of strings waiting to entangle and devour him.

“Move, dumbass!” Susie yelled, rushing in to pull him away before it could reach him.

“Th-thanks,” he responded, visibly shaken. Then, with a quick adjustment of his scarf, he looked up at Susie with uncertainty in his gaze. “Wh… what do we even do now? Tenna… this wasn’t supposed to happen—the prophecy—”

Susie shook her head. “Forget the prophecy, we got bigger problems right now!”

That was all the conversation they had time for, as Spamton sent another cluster of strings towards them, unraveling from the center of the maw and crackling with electricity. They leapt up as quickly as they could, picking up the pace as they fled from them, the ends seeking them out as though each thread was eager for blood. Each part of his body seemed to be quivering underneath the writhing motions of the strings pulsating inside him—even his broken arm was in motion, the strings puppeteering it with unsteady bursts of movement.

“Spam, STOP THIS!” Tenna called up to him, pleading one last time.

I… I…

He was growing desperate now. Spamton tried to pull away, to focus his efforts back onto the Soul, but to his dismay, his body wasn’t listening anymore.

I… can’t…

It wouldn’t obey.

I’m… I’m scared…

With the dawning realization, the shadows morphed into dark, twisted flames. They danced across his vision, taunting him with tendrils that lashed out at his mind, leaving deep, biting scars over its surface. That dissonant whispering rose up around him all over again, echoing insistently through the never-ending void they came from. They wouldn’t stop, only growing louder and louder, until at last, they became clear:

“Join… us…”

And with that, Spamton fell back into the dark of their subconscious.

He didn’t know for how long he was falling—only that the sensation brought about a sense of finality to it. Not a peaceful one, though, but rather one coated in fear and remorse. He kept falling, the shadows grazing him all the while, their touch cold and unforgiving. But then, at last, he reached the end.

Only it wasn’t the sudden, violent end he was expecting. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Tenna was looking down at him, the soft glow of his screen radiating concern as he held Spamton in his arms. In this manifestation of their conscious selves, they were reunited, surrounded by the shifting stream of data within them. Devoid of light, his screen was the only source of warmth.

“[[C… Cathode]]?”

“…Yeah.” Tenna looked up, trying to glimpse what was happening on the outside. “So… show’s over, huh?”

Spamton followed his gaze. It seemed neither of them was in control anymore. The shadows had won.

“I… I’m sorry… I wanted to [[SAVE]] us…”

Tenna merely continued watching, unable to bring himself to respond… but even then, he didn’t let go.

Spamton could only guess what was running through his head.

Meanwhile, on the surface, Tenna’s body fought on, lashing out at anything and everything in sight. Ralsei and the Lightners were looking to each other desperately, still unwilling to hurt what they believed was their friend.

Now a truly monstrous form, Tenna’s body was practically falling apart at the seams. He had grown to over twice his normal size, every joint and wire near bursting with those writhing strings controlling his every action. His claws and fangs had become more prominent with each swing, and his expression was devoid of the kindness and enthusiasm that was once there, replaced by only blind rage. Every movement seemed racked by pain, driving the madness even deeper.

And as the affliction seemed to be reaching its peak, the strings had begun to penetrate his screen itself, burrowing deep underneath the casing and filling the surface beneath the glass with their spreading tendrils. They branched out like veins, dark and poisoned, contaminating the last of his will with their own.

The despair that washed over Spamton at the sight was overwhelming. It was really over—either the Lightners would kill them now, or Tenna’s body would kill them first, leaving the two of them trapped inside this dark husk forever. He wasn’t sure which fate he’d prefer at this point, but either way, it seemed that the strings of fate had come back to take what they were owed.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up closer into Tenna’s embrace and forget it all.

However, he wasn’t given the option, as Tenna began moving to set him down, though the action was slow and gentle. Still looking up, his expression was both saddened yet defiant.

For a little while, they could do nothing but watch, helpless against the tide of shadows that had submerged them.

Then, with a deep breath, Tenna lowered his gaze back down at Spamton, the defiance risen until it had become a blaze.

“I think… I think it might be my turn to save you.”

“H-huh?” Spamton murmured, tilting his head up at him. “But… how?” They were too far gone, weren’t they?

He never received an answer; in the blink of an eye, Tenna was gone. Now alone in the dark, the sense of loneliness hit him in an instant, and Spamton could only continue to watch from their prison.

Up above, Tenna’s body had advanced on the others, nearly managing to corner Kris by the stage, his jaws hanging open in a silent snarl. But then, in the heat of the fight, something changed—for a moment, he’d stopped in his tracks, trembling and twitching erratically.

“What… what’s happening?” Susie asked, out of breath from the constant dodging. “Is he…?”

Then, with a single, violent shudder, Tenna’s right hand lifted itself up, his claws facing his own screen. He spoke once, his voice strained and gravelly:

“I won’t… let you… hurt them…!”

In an instant, his metallic claws dug into the top right corner of his screen, scratching the surface and, as the center of the wound began to crack, pixelating the display underneath. A scream of agony rippled through him, and he staggered back, his split tails flailing wildly until he finally collided with a cluster of strings behind him.

His body became awash in blinding light as what must have been hundreds of thousands of volts poured into him all at once. They coursed through him, short-circuiting every last component in less than a second. Soon enough, his screen had gone completely dark, and as he fell to the ground, every string in the room suddenly lost its tension, falling harmlessly to the floor alongside him.

Neither Tenna nor Spamton heard the others rush to his side. For them, there was only darkened silence.

In the depths of the mind, two souls lie in a sea of turmoil, drowning in the throes of twin nightmares. One seared by light, the other steeped in shadows, each equally desperate in their struggle to find one another again.

Before one can venture into the shadows, there must be light.

Spamton stood alone in the void, the deepest layer of unconsciousness pressing against him, reminding him of the loss of sensation he’d felt when he had first been transferred into the Disk. Like then, he was alone. However, there was something coming from above him, shining down and piercing the dark that surrounded him.

Light, bright and blazing as it washed over him, its warmth seeping into his skin like a pleasant spring day. He squinted up at it, trying to discern where it might be coming from, or where he might be at all. However, as he did so, it grew in intensity, blazing ever-brighter and ever-hotter.

“[Heaven], is that…?”

Had he actually done it? Had he somehow managed to break through, even without the Soul?

At first, a sense of hope filled him. Maybe now, he’d finally be free of it all—the shadows, the doubt, the voices… maybe now, he could finally be happy.

But the longer he looked, the more it burned, the more it blinded. Soon enough, the hope melted away into discomfort, and then fear. It was overwhelming, searing not only his flesh, but his mind as well.

“No—no…!”

He had to get away—he had to get back to the dark. It was safe there; he was sure of it. But as he tried to move away from the light, it seemed to pull him back, and to his horror, he found that it, too, whispered to him from afar.

Somehow, this voice was even more terrifying and commanding than the shadows.

Adrenaline spiked within him, and he fell forward into the void, scrambling to claw himself further away. It was too much—he’d been wrong. This wasn’t freedom—this was condemnation.

“[[C… Cath…]]—T—Tenna!”

He forced the name past his tongue in a fit of raw desperation. If he could just get back to the dark, he could find him again, he could make it right—

But before he could get any further, the light reached out to him. With one last searing touch, its tendrils closed around his mind, snuffing out the last of his own light, leaving the dark empty once more.

Spamton regained feeling before he was fully awake again. Everything hurt beyond reason, and for a moment, he wondered if he would simply pass out again before he managed to open his eyes. But as time ticked on, he found himself becoming more alert, and soon enough, his vision returned, whether he wanted it to or not.

He was back at the helm of Tenna’s body, that much he could tell. It was immediately apparent that the damage to his screen had affected his vision; the whole right side was fragmented and dark. Something else was different, though, and as he tested the motions, wincing sharply in the process, he discovered that the transformation had reversed—he was no longer that horrible, shadow-infested self that had taken control, having been banished by the light.

His arms and tail, however, were definitely tied up, if the pressure and lack of mobility were anything to go by. Glancing back, he found that the elongated cables were restrained in two different places, and his hands were thoroughly tied behind his back, the restraints for each part attached to one another. Clearly, they weren’t taking any more chances.

As he struggled a little, managing to get himself into an upright sitting position, he heard voices nearby:

“Oh, shit—guys, he’s awake!”

Looking up, it took a moment for his sight to unblur itself enough for him to identify the group of figures staring down at him. Susie was directly in front of him, the others close behind her, and she was currently pointing the front half of her broken axe at him threateningly.

“Tenna, is that you…?”

Spamton stared back at her for a moment, considering her thoughtfully.

“Try again [[during business hours]].”

Her expression fell, and she glanced back at the group.

“Kris, who is this? Why did they attack us, and why are they… in Tenna?”

Kris angled their gaze downward, avoiding eye contact. “…It’s complicated.”

Swatch stepped forward a pace. “If you want the short answer, it’s someone from his past. Mine, too, if we’re getting it all out in the open. He tried imitating me once as well, but it seems he’s moved on to a different strategy. A more successful one, unfortunately for our friend here.”

Behind him, Mike looked away, failing to conceal the anger in his expression. “I should’ve known…”

Susie blinked at him sympathetically. “Okay… so, how do we get him back?”

Several of them exchanged uncertain glances.

“Well, I…” Ralsei began, “I could try healing spells, but I don’t think they’ll be of much help. He came to me early on, before he got worse, and I… I couldn’t do anything to help him.” He lowered his gaze, his voice laced with regret. “It’s… it’s my duty to protect everyone here, and I failed…”

“No,” Swatch said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “None of this is your fault. If anything, it’s mine. I knew what might be wrong with him; Mike and I tried to stop him here, but I didn’t know he’d be this dangerous. Not until it was too late.”

Spamton tried to flick his tail in irritation at that, but of course, he couldn’t move it much at the moment.

The others all shook their heads in solidarity. None of them could have predicted this.

“Maybe… maybe we can try some sort of hard reset?” Mike suggested. “Like… unplugging him completely in the Light World. I’d hate to do it to him, but if it helps…”

Spamton squirmed uncomfortably. He highly doubted that would actually do anything to him, but the idea was off-putting nonetheless.

“Yeah, maybe,” Susie said, though she seemed doubtful, too.

For a moment, they all looked around at one another, still riddled with uncertainty. But after another minute or so, Kris stepped forward, breaking their silence.

“…Let me talk to him. Alone.”

They seemed startled by the idea. Spamton’s antennas perked up in interest.

“Kris, are you sure?” Susie asked. “Swatch is right—this guy’s dangerous. Should you really be alone with him after he attacked you first?”

They remained undeterred, nodding in confirmation.

“Okay, if you’re sure…”

“We’ll be right outside the room if anything happens, alright?” Ralsei said.

Another nod, and then Spamton watched as they all took their time with leaving, gathering just outside the doors to the showroom. They shot Kris one last look of reassurance before the doors clicked shut, leaving the two of them alone together.

Avoiding their gaze directly, Spamton spoke first.

“So, you’ve [[grand prize winner]]. Come to screw me over at the [end credits] again?”

“…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen to you.”

Startled, Spamton looked up at them. “Then… then why? Why did you leave me in the [endless supply] dark?! I couldn’t even [[scream]]!!” He leaned forward, baring his teeth. “Do you have any idea what that’s like?!”

Kris stared back at him silently, a glint of distress in their eye, the other obscured by their hair. As he watched them, Spamton paused, recognition flaring within him.

That [$9.99] look… I guess… they do know?

Then, Kris spoke again, their voice low and shaky. “I… I was scared. I made a mistake.”

Spamton watched them for another moment, holding his angered expression. Then, when it became apparent that that would get him nowhere, he gave in with a sigh. “…I just wish it hadn’t been at my [all-paid expenses], kid. Would’ve [[BIG SAVINGS]] us a lot of trouble.” But… I think… they may have just saved me from an even worse fate, he thought.

Now that he’d been beaten down and broken, he was tired. There was nothing left to fight for. So, with another deep breath of resignation, he kept his shattered gaze locked onto Kris.

“…Do what you will with me.”

And then, at last, without giving them the chance to respond, he allowed himself to slip back into their subconscious, relinquishing the control he once so desired.

Heads up, [[Cathode]], you’re on in [5].

Tenna’s screen went dark once more, and slowly, over the course of a few seconds, his body shifted, his antennas straightening and his tail cables shortening, slipping through one of the restraints entirely. He remained motionless for almost a full minute, but eventually, his screen flickered back on, and his facial features gradually reappeared as he came to.

Like Spamton before him, it took him a moment to adjust to the fact that half of his vision was dysfunctional, and that pretty much every part of him was crying out in pain. But soon after, he managed to raise his head, and a half-hearted smile formed on his expression.

“Heya… Kris… I’m guessing you’re not here for the concessions?”

Kris smiled back, and at their signal, the showroom doors reopened, and everyone rushed in to greet him.

“Tenna!”

“Tenna, is it really you…?”

“…Well, that’s a relief.”

Upon seeing them all, Tenna’s gaze shuffled between them, a little overwhelmed. “…What, did I miss the show or somethin’?”

He was trying to keep his demeanor light, but his head was swimming. In truth, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up.

“Tenna… welcome back,” Susie said, beaming down at him.

They all mirrored her sentiment, gathering around him with relieved yet concerned gazes. But out of all of them, Mike was the most distraught.

“Tenna… I’m so sorry, I should’ve known, I—I shouldn’t have let that bastard get away with this…” He trailed off, fighting hard not to break into tears.

Tenna’s heart lurched in sympathy. “Mike… it’s okay… you did so much for me, I don’t even know where to begin.” He looked up a little more, trying to get a better view of them through his fragmented vision. “And… I think he and I can sort things out now. He’s… calmer.”

The group exchanged another glance.

“Right…” said Mike, clearly doubtful. “We, uh, need to figure out how to deal with that whole… issue.”

Tenna could sense that he didn’t approve of the whole “sorting things out” idea whatsoever. However, he was far too exhausted and disoriented to get into that right now. In the end, they’d cross that bridge when they got to it.

“Sure,” he said, “but first… can we, uh, maybe fix my arm now? It really hurts…”

Mike jumped a little, possibly kicking himself for forgetting. “Oh! Yes, of course, I—I’ll take a look right away!”

“Ah… th… tha… anks… mmn…”

As he tried to get the words out, all of them turned to him at once, their eyes widening in concern.

“Tenna…?”

The black spots were filling the rest of his vision, and before he realized what was happening, he’d already begun falling over to the side, the dizziness overtaking him. He heard them for just another second or so, but their voices were distant, and soon enough, he slipped away into the ethereal grip of unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

…And from the other side of the sea dividing the two souls, the nightmare steeped in shadow.

Tenna found himself standing alone at the edge of a dark, dreary hallway, staring down what appeared to be an endless corridor stretched out before him. He hesitated, a creeping feeling of dread filling him, tugging at his insides relentlessly. And yet, there was an undeniable sense of familiarity as well, prickling at his mind like a lost memory, begging to be rescued from the dark.

In the distance, a few lights flickered and sparked from the ceiling, most of their wiring torn mercilessly from within, though they still fought to serve their purpose, each spark an echo of what once was. However, most of what little lighting there was didn’t come from those desperate echoes. Instead, the hallway was infested with what appeared to be long, thin strings, stretched across the walls and roping themselves from the floor to the ceiling like strands of spider silk.

Each one seemed to be radiating a bright, fluorescent green, flooding the atmosphere of the hall with an eerie glow. As Tenna got closer, each step filled with trepidation, he saw that the glow didn’t appear to be coming from the strings themselves, but from a liquid coating their surface, oozing and dripping in an endless flow of bioluminescence. The drops scattered onto the floor, spreading their glow across its surface in messy streaks and dots.

Unnerved, Tenna continued forward, the recognition scratching at the surface of his mind as he weaved his way past the strings, slowing his pace to a crawl whenever he came close enough to touch them. The torn, peeling wallpaper, the ragged and rotting remains of the carpeting, the faded and splintered doors lining the hall—they all jumped out at him as a twisted version of a place he once knew.

Yes—this was his old TV studio, now in ruins, the memory corrupted by something unwelcome. And yet, the end of the hall beckoned him, whispering for him to go further yet, the shadows drawing his vision deeper in.

He had little choice but to obey.

Tenna moved even further down, his arms wrapped protectively over his chest as he went, feeling as though every small sound or flicker of movement were to bring about his end. The deeper he went, the more the shadows seemed to scurry across the floor, darting in and out of the piles of debris lining the corridor. But at last, he seemed to reach the end.

Before him was a single large door, the top of it cut diagonally in a stylized design. It, too, was in near ruins, the surface scratched and burned as though it had barely survived the place going up in flames. At once, Tenna recognized the room the door once belonged to: it had been his old dressing room. A place where Tenna had spent countless hours in instead of his own… and then, it had been the place where he’d torn everything down in a fit of rage and sorrow, locking it behind him for good, never to return.

Carefully ducking his way past the web of strings roped across the hall in front of it, Tenna opened the door.

Inside was just as ravaged as the hall, but at the same time, that familiarity remained. The glowing strings riddled the inside of the room as well, providing that same sickly source of light, spreading its influence over every surface it touched. However, as Tenna spared a nervous glance or two around it, it seemed as though things were largely just as he remembered—posters on the wall ripped in half, some flayed by vicious claw marks running down the middle, the mirror shattered, and, of course, the black rotary phone, still perched on the stool by the wall, the receiver hanging eternally off the hook.

He wanted to look away, to bury it deep all over again.

But it seemed that wasn’t an option. Stepping a little further in, Tenna halted, his heart skipping a beat as he realized that there, in the corner, a figure was kneeling away from him. Though his instincts were telling him to run, he found himself approaching, his movements slow and steady.

“…Spam? Is that… you?”

No response.

With a nervous swallow, he stepped closer yet, holding one hand out in front of him. Then, by the time he was right behind the figure, he reached out.

“Spam…?”

As soon as he made contact with the figure’s shoulders, it fell over onto the ground with a hollow clatter, and Tenna jumped back in surprise. It had Spamton’s features, but it was empty. Abandoned.

A lifeless vessel.

Then, all around him, a soft, disembodied whispering began to stir, the voices brushing against his senses. They rose in cadence, distorted by their urgency, swirling in his head until it had become a maelstrom of hushed, frantic voices:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I—”

Frightened, Tenna backed away. But as he turned, hoping to escape them, he froze. Before him, one of the strings had suspended itself from the ceiling, now at face-level as it considered him, wavering slightly in the air and still dripping with that eerie, luminous fluid. Again, Tenna tried to back the other way, but it sensed his movement, poising like a snake.

With no time to react, it struck forward, coiling tight around his throat. Tenna reached for his neck, trying to pull it away, but it was no use, as it only pulled tighter. In seconds, the room began darkening, and despite the rapidly spreading haze, the voices never ceased their choir.

Tenna woke with a start, his mind clouded by a heavy fog. Immediately, he tried to sit up, but was quickly accosted by a pressure on his chest, forcing him back down.

“Woah, woah, easy, Tenna, don’t move!”

Startled, he looked around, but that only served to confuse him more, as the entire right half of his vision had gone dark. He was laying down, so he tried turning himself onto one side, only to find that he couldn’t.

On the one hand, his right arm was thoroughly restrained, pulling tight against something as he struggled to raise it. And on the other, he couldn’t feel his left arm at all.

Needless to say, panic settled in fast.

“Wh-what’s happening?! Why can’t I—”

“Shh, Tenna, please calm down, it’s okay,” the voice reassured, still putting a gentle pressure on his chest so as to encourage him to stop. “It’s just me—I really need you to hold still, got it?”

Still breathing hard, he forced himself to comply, though his screen flickered anxiously as he worked to figure out where he was and who was talking to him.

“M… Mike?”

“Yeah. Hi, boss,” he said, offering a smile, though it didn’t last. “It… it is you, right?”

The question made his head hurt even more than it already did. The memories from before he’d lost consciousness were perfectly clear in his mind—more so than anything else right now. He didn’t want to remember.

“Y-yeah, it’s me,” he responded, hoping that would be enough.

“Good.” Mike exhaled sharply, seeming relieved. “Sorry ‘bout the whole… tying you up thing. We just… didn’t know who was going to wake back up.”

Oh.

Carefully, Tenna moved to test his right hand again, and sure enough, it was tied to what he recognized as one of his bed posts. While he did so, he also realized that there was something covering the top right corner of his screen—likely bandaging, which explained why it had gone even darker than before. His screen and the casing surrounding it was slick with sweat on all sides, though, making the experience even less comfortable.

While his half-functional vision was focused on himself, he also realized that while he was wearing the same red suit blazer and white dress shirt that he assumed Spamton must have put on him, the clothing was riddled with holes and tears. It looked like he’d been caught in a whirlwind of knives, each one slicing him up and down the sleeves and piercing the front of his suit repeatedly. Though it was technically shredded, the holes were either small enough or misaligned enough to not completely expose his upper body.

Looking back up, he appeared to be back in his room; beside him, Mike was sitting on a chair in front of a nightstand he must have moved next to his bed, his left arm splayed lifelessly onto it. He had a toolkit and a bright lamp next to that, aimed down at the mess of wires spilling from inside it.

Noticing his gaze, Mike spoke further. “I’ve got some extra wires disconnected above the wound here, so you shouldn’t be able to feel anything at all on this side. That, and, uh… we’ve got you on, like, a lot of painkillers right now, so don’t be surprised if you feel kind of weird. You’ve got a bit of a fever again, too, so that… probably isn’t helping.”

That was an understatement. His head was still reeling a little, and though he did feel a lot less pain than he was expecting given… well, everything, most of his body still ached under the surface. He was dreading the inevitable feeling that would hit him when they wore off.

Before Mike continued, he leaned over to unfasten Tenna’s restraints. “Here, we probably don’t need this anymore. I hope.”

Tenna took a moment to stretch out his wrist, grateful for the removal of the pressure around it. “Where… where’s everyone else?”

“Hm? Oh, well, the Lightners both went back to the Light World. Told ‘em we could handle things from here. Ralsei went with Swatch to talk to some folks about… uh… fixing you. Said they might have a lead.”

Fixing, huh? That was… one way to put it. Tenna wasn’t sure it was the right one exactly, but he wasn’t about to argue.

“…I see. How, uh… how much longer before my arm is repaired, do you think?”

Mike sighed. “Sorry, I’d hoped to be done with it before you woke up. It’s such a mess though, I can barely tell what goes where…” He suddenly straightened back up, changing his tone. “B-but it’ll be soon, I promise! I’ll figure it out, don’t you worry!”

“It’s fine,” Tenna said in a low voice, “take your time. Not like I’m going anywhere.”

Mike bit his lip. “…Yeah, well, that’s what we all thought last time…” He shook his head. “Ugh, sorry, I just… I still can’t believe this is happening. You even tried to warn me, and I still didn’t get it.”

Tenna frowned. He didn’t remember doing anything like that, but then again, there was a fair bit he couldn’t remember in between bouts of consciousness. He shuddered slightly at the thought—knowing what Spamton had done while he was awake was one thing. But what else had he done when Tenna hadn’t been aware…?

He didn’t want to worry about that right now. So, he offered, “…Well, it’s over now, isn’t it? I’ll be fine.”

Mike stared at him. “Tenna, you, uh, got messed up pretty badly. I don’t know how that counts as everything being ‘fine.’”

His antennas drooped a little. “I mean, it will be, won’t it?”

“…Yeah, of course.” Mike paused, though, looking as though he wasn’t sure whether he should say something more.

“…What?”

“It’s… ah, it’s just… some of the others…” He sighed, the exhale particularly harsh. “They, uh… don’t trust you right now. They’re… scared of you.”

Tenna’s brow furrowed in distress. “W… why? You told them it wasn’t me, right?”

“’Course I did! But that’s kinda the thing… they’re scared that you could just… turn at any moment. That you’ll stop… being you.”

That… that won’t happen though… right? But in the end, he knew it was a possibility. The thought was deeply upsetting, and automatically, his body started to shrink down.

Mike leapt up in alarm. “No, NO, stop, don’t—!”

“Ah—sorry, sorry!” Tenna jolted, forcing himself to snap back into his default size.

Mike held a hand against his temple in exasperation. “Just let me fix your arm first, please.”

Tenna nodded, a little shaken by the sudden shouting. But then, he let himself relax again, and after a few minutes, Mike got back into the rhythm, slowly but surely piecing and soldering things back together. It was rather peaceful, laying there while listening to the sounds of his work drowning out some of his more unpleasant thoughts.

However, about fifteen minutes into it, Mike cleared his throat nervously.

“So, uh… what… what was that thing, anyway?”

“Hmm?” Tenna questioned, perking his gaze a little towards Mike, but not enough to put the sight of his arm in view.

“I mean… your whole body, it… I don’t know.” He paused, shaking his head. “I—I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to know.”

A deep frown graced Tenna’s expression. In all the chaos that had been swirling around him like a storm, he hadn’t had the chance to realize that, perhaps, Mike wasn’t okay, either. Not after seeing that.

In truth, that part of his memory was fuzzier. What he did know was that that thing had been born of fear and desperation. Something that Spamton had been holding onto for far too long—something that he, in turn, had been controlled by. Something that he couldn’t have fought alone.

“I… I’m not sure, but… I can promise, it won’t happen again.”

Mike looked up from his work. “How?”

Because he’s not alone anymore.

But Tenna decided against telling him that. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

For a moment, Mike sat there in contemplation, unsure of whether that was an acceptable answer. Then, with nothing more than a quiet “…Okay,” he returned to the task at hand.

Not long into the newfound silence, Tenna readjusted himself a little, and as he lifted his gaze, he tensed up as he saw him.

Sure enough, Spamton was across from him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, though he was very pointedly looking away from Tenna.

Mike saw the tension and paused. “That didn’t hurt, did it? Because if it did, I really screwed something up—”

“O-oh, no, it’s nothing, sorry. Just a little twinge somewhere else.”

Mike eyed him rather suspiciously. “…’Kay. Let me know if it’s too much.”

He nodded again, but as soon as he returned to his work, he fixed his gaze on Spamton. Still looking away, he seemed… upset, as though he were sulking.

You okay? Tenna asked internally, figuring he’d hear it.

Spamton flinched slightly, squinting his eyes shut for a moment before reopening them. “What does it [look for the best deals] like?”

Mhmm… learned our lesson, then, did we?

Spamton grit his teeth, still looking down towards the floor.

His antennas managed to droop a little further, and he searched for something to say, something a little more reassuring.

Look… I know things didn’t go your way—and they sure as hell shouldn’t have—but for what it’s worth… I’m glad no one got hurt.

Spamton glanced up at him immediately, disbelief and regret both painted across his expression. “Are you [crazy opportunities], [[Cathode]]? You’re hurt! I… I messed up. Again.”

Tenna wanted to contradict him on instinct, but in reality, he knew that it would be pointless. He was right—things had very much gotten out of hand. But they were here now, and if they wanted to make it out of this somehow… at the very least, they’d need to reach an understanding.

It was either that, or let the animosity fester and grow until the cage broke again, leaving them no choice but to fight for control until one beast consumed the other.

Tenna would prefer to avoid that outcome.

Yeah, I gotta admit, those were some less-than-stellar decisions on your part. So… how about you flip the script and make it up to me, then?

Spamton blinked a few times, uncertainty in his gaze. “I… how?”

That was a great question. After everything… it would certainly take a lot.

I guess we’ll have to figure that out, won’t we? Let’s just deal with this whole stuck-in-my-head thing first.

Spamton hesitated, though he seemed in agreement—or at the very least, he wasn’t jumping at every opportunity to push him away anymore. It was a start.

“Augh, FUCK—”

Tenna snapped his attention back to his left as Mike let out a frustrated groan.

“What happened?”

“Ahh… sorry, this wire’s just so mangled, I dunno how I’m gonna get around it yet…”

Tenna leaned over a little to look, though he regretted doing so immediately, as the sight sent a wave of nausea through him. “Mm… maybe just… skip that one for now…”

Across from him, Spamton sighed loudly. “You’re not going to have a full range of motion if you let him [press any key to continue] like that.”

Turning away again, Tenna tilted his head slightly. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Mike looked up at him in confusion. “Uh… I didn’t say anything?”

Oops—he’d said that out loud.

“Sorry, I wasn’t talking to… er, never mind,” he said, trying to deflect.

But Mike’s expression darkened fast. “You’re talking to him, aren’t you?” He glanced around the room. “Where is he? I just wanna give him a piece of—”

“Mike, no,” Tenna tried, “that’s not—”

“HEY!” He shouted, undeterred. “Leave Tenna alone already!”

His tail twitched in irritation from its spot over the edge of the bed. “Mike, knock it off!”

The effort dizzied him a little, but it definitely got Mike’s attention, and he looked down at the ground in quiet frustration.

“Look,” Tenna said, “you don’t have to like it, but he actually wants to help.” Then, with a pointed glance at Spamton: Right?

“…Fine,” Mike muttered.

Spamton watched the two of them for a moment, his arms still crossed in half-irritation, half-amusement.

“…Yeah, yeah. Let’s [[TAKE A LOOK]] already,” he said at last with a slight roll of his eyes.

To Tenna’s delight—and Mike’s dismay upon seeing Tenna follow the motion—Spamton then stepped up to stand by his bedside, peering over the table where his arm lay flat. For quite a few minutes, he simply stood there, studying it with an undeniable glint of fascination in his eyes, and Tenna wondered if this was just as nostalgic for him.

“…Well? What’s going on?” Mike asked, growing impatient.

“Just give him a second,” Tenna said, though admittedly, the delay was making him nervous. What if it was too broken for even him to repair?

But to his relief, Spamton finally looked back up, his expression confident.

“Okay, [[Cathode]], just sit tight and [repeat after me].”

With that, Spamton began listing out his instructions one at a time as they went, and Tenna repeated each one out loud for Mike to follow. It was most definitely a strange situation, hearing the exact method that was being used for each process coming from his own mouth despite the fact that he refused to even look at what they were doing to him. He wasn’t typically this offput by his own insides, but on top of the way everything was already swaying, the sight was simply a bit too much for his stomach right now.

Over the course of just under an hour, Spamton continued guiding Mike and, although they half-bickered over some of his directions, with Tenna’s mediation, they eventually reached the end.

“’Kay… I think everything looks good,” Mike said, almost in disbelief.

“Of course it’s [[PREMIUM SPECS]], who the [!?$$] do you think I am?!”

Tenna didn’t relay that.

“He said he agrees.” He smiled slightly, both happy to have this over with, and in amusement at Spamton’s expression in response to the paraphrasing.

“Great. I’m gonna go ahead and reconnect the main connection for your whole arm now. Tell me if it hurts too much right away, okay?”

With just a little hesitation, Tenna gave him an affirmative nod. Then, with a small click and snap, the feeling suddenly returned to him.

His arm jerked slightly in response to the abrupt onslaught of stimuli, but as Tenna gave it a tentative test by squeezing his palm a few times, he found that it appeared to be in good condition. Slowly, he lifted it from the table, testing it a little further with a series of stretches and taking the time to move each finger individually. There was an undeniable layer of soreness throughout the limb, but he’d been expecting that given how sore everything else was.

Spamton watched in silence with what must have been a sense of pride.

Mike sighed in relief. “Finally. Glad that’s over with. Mind if I close up now?”

“Be my guest,” Tenna said, holding his arm back out over the table for the finishing touch.

Mike procured the final piece that served as the protective casing for the limb, though Tenna noted that it appeared to be brand new. Right—the old one had been thoroughly dented and misshapen after he’d bitten into it. This must be one of the spares.

So, with a final set of clicks, the cover slid firmly into place. Tenna lifted his arm again, giving it a thorough rub with his other hand, trying to soothe the deep-seated soreness. But, at last, it seemed that it was in good repair.

“Thank you. Both of you,” Tenna said, each of them just barely in frame of the left side of his vision.

“Don’t thank him,” Mike snapped. “He’s the reason you’re even hurt in the first place.”

A flash of anger sparked in Spamton’s eyes, but it only lasted for a moment before it was replaced by guilt, and he turned away in shame.

And, to Tenna’s surprise, he’d felt each one a little too strongly, as though they were his own. He squirmed uncomfortably from his position over the bed—the emotions had flooded over him in much the same way the rage had overtaken him back in the café a few nights ago. When he’d truly begun to lose control.

That… can’t be good, he thought, hoping it had been kept to himself. It must have succeeded, as Spamton didn’t react.

Even if Tenna was the one in control—even if Spamton wasn’t lying about his regret—he was, perhaps, a little too volatile for Tenna to handle in his current state.

He’d have to tread carefully.

“Yes, well,” Tenna turned back to Mike, “I told you, he’s… better now. So let’s just play nice, okay?” He’d enunciated the words rather strongly—a hint of desperation. Hopefully it would be enough for him to understand. Don’t antagonize him.

Mike stared back at him for a moment, considering him carefully. “…Whatever you say, boss.”

Tenna had no idea whether he’d gotten the message.

However, he didn’t have time to pry, as a knock at the door drew both of their attention.

“One sec, I’ll get it,” Mike said.

As he left the room, Spamton spared Tenna a quick glance, then gestured toward his arm.

“So… it’s [[NEWLY REFURBISHED]] then?”

Tenna raised a brow, which hurt more than he thought it would given his damaged screen. “Yeah, it’s…” He trailed off for a moment. “Spamton… I meant it. Thank you.”

He looked away again.

This still wasn’t going to be easy, was it?

“…How is he?”

His antennas perked at the sound of a new voice as it drew closer. Turning his attention towards the entrance to his bedroom, he saw that Mike had returned with Swatch by his side.

“…Well, you can see for yourself.”

They entered the room, and immediately, Tenna noticed that Spamton had disappeared. He must not have wanted to remain visible while Swatch was present.

Upon seeing him, Swatch’s expression was one of pity. “My, you’ve seen better days, haven’t you?”

“Dunno what you mean—I’ve never been more ready for the spotlight,” Tenna joked out of reflex. He smiled faintly, but as Swatch approached him, he dropped it, a little unnerved.

He peered down at Tenna, seeming deep in thought. “The damage to your screen—can that be fixed as well?”

“It could be replaced, in theory,” Mike answered, “but we don’t have the resources for that here.”

“It’ll heal on its own,” Tenna said. “…Eventually.”

“…I see.” Swatch then moved even closer, standing directly over Tenna’s bedside, making him tilt his head up slightly to keep up with his calm, gentle gaze. “Tenna—forgive me, but would it be alright if I made contact? There’s something I’d like to test.”

Tenna’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure what exactly this “test” entailed, but as he continued looking up at the man before him, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of trust settle over him. So, without a word, he nodded.

Swatch leaned forward over the bed, taking Tenna’s chin into his right palm, his touch slightly cool underneath his fevered casing. Swatch then raised his head up a little further, angling it so that he could take in every last detail, his gaze perfectly centered on Tenna’s screen. From the reflection in his glasses, Tenna could see that beneath the natural white glow, it was already tinted a pale pink from the heat, and after a second, the color deepened even more.

He gave a nervous swallow. For a moment, it felt as though his pulse had stopped completely.

But then, a different sensation stirred within his mind—rage, white-hot and uncontained, though within its flame, there was an undeniable twinge of jealousy.

It overwhelmed him immediately. Without warning, Tenna’s teeth sharpened into his signature fangs, and with a low growl, he snapped his head forward, though thankfully, he caught nothing but air.

Swatch drew back in an instant, but underneath the flicker of alarm in his eyes, he didn’t seem particularly surprised.

“…Ah. That’s what I was afraid of,” he said, sparing him another look of pity.

Behind him, Mike had jumped a little at the reaction. “Woah, what the—”

For a few seconds, Tenna’s teeth remained bared, but soon after, he relaxed. He shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the confusion. “Mmn…” Then, the realization hit, and he looked up at Swatch, mortified.

“I’m sorry! I—I didn’t mean to, it was…”

“Yes, I know,” Swatch returned, his voice still gentle as ever. “It’s not your fault. But I’m afraid that so long as you remain… infected, there’s still a danger to be posed.”

The word sparked a deep discomfort in both Tenna and Spamton, and he felt the latter twitch in disdain from their subconscious. It seemed he didn’t appreciate the implication.

“So… what do we do?” Mike asked.

Swatch sighed, taking a step back from the bed. “We haven’t found a solution yet. However, I believe we may have something of a lead.”

Tenna and Mike exchanged a glance.

“Well? Spit it out, then!” Mike demanded.

Swatch eyed him for a moment. “…Very well. The young prince and I spoke with the Addisons briefly; you see, they have the most familiarity with our… er, friend… Spamton’s biology. From what they said, they may be able to help create a new vessel of some kind for him to inhabit instead of poor Tenna here. But—”

“Great! What are we waiting for then?”

“But,” Swatch emphasized, a touch irritated, “as I’m sure you’re both well aware, they can be… difficult creatures. Stubborn. Selfish. Greedy.”

Tenna had to fight to keep his expression neutral with each word.

Turning to face Tenna, he continued. “They want to speak with you directly, I’m afraid. They weren’t interested in anything else we had to offer at the time, despite the severity of the situation. So, I must ask you…” His gaze darkened then, taking on a graver look. “Can you control yourself for the time being?”

Tenna’s brow furrowed in alarm. “Huh? I… I’m not—”

“I only ask because, depending on your answer, it may not be wise to leave you unattended. I’m… sure you understand.” Through the darkness, there was a heavy glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. “So again, I ask: if push came to shove, do you really think you could talk him down?”

The question was more than he had been expecting, and as Tenna dwelled on it for a moment, it only filled him with despair. Within him, he could feel a flicker of fear resonating from the other side—Spamton was afraid of the answer, too.

But he had to try. They were in this together.

“…Yes,” he said at last, his gaze locked onto Swatch’s.

Swatch narrowed his eyes, but seemed to accept it. “Then, whenever you’re feeling well enough, I’d recommend heading to where they keep shop at the southeast of town. Though I must warn you, their help likely won’t come without a cost.”

Tenna frowned. Were they really so unwilling to help him…?

Still, the news was better than nothing.

“…Got it. Thanks,” he said, shooting Swatch a shaky smile of gratitude.

He returned the gesture with a small nod. “Happy to help. Although…” He trailed off, a look of uneasiness creeping into his expression.

It made Tenna nervous. “What is it?”

“I… suppose you ought to know. There is… an alternative.”

He and Mike exchanged another glance.

“Well, you’re not making it sound all that convincing,” Tenna said.

“No, I should hope not,” Swatch sighed. “You seem fairly sure that things are under control right now. But, on the off chance that things slip from your grasp—that they become dangerous—there is a way to deal with the situation… permanently.”

Tenna swallowed. That didn’t sound good in the slightest. “As in…?”

“You are familiar with the Ambyu-Lances from the city, yes?” As Tenna nodded, Swatch continued. “They specialize in anti-malware countermeasures. If they were to create one specific to… him, it would follow that he could be removed without incident to yourself.”

Tenna hesitated, processing his words carefully.

“But… that would kill him, wouldn’t it?”

Swatch nodded gravely. “Yes, it would.”

A flicker of fear rose up from their subconscious as Spamton seemed to back away. And yet, in a moment of rarity, it did little to overshadow Tenna’s own panic, rising even faster in a chaotic tide.

“No—no way! I am not doing that!”

“Don’t worry—I’m not suggesting that you do. Believe it or not, I was once close with Spamton, too. I don’t wish to harm him in such an unforgiving way, even as misguided as he is these days. However,” Swatch emphasized, “we should keep it in mind, just in case. A last resort, if you will.”

Tenna looked helplessly to Mike. “Mike, tell him there’s no way—we can’t!”

His companion looked alarmed by his pleading. “Tenna… we’ll do what we can, but… he’s right—at least consider it if things… you know…”

Distressed, Tenna whirled back around to face Swatch. “No, just no. It’s not happening, end of scene. I’ll take my chances with the Addisons.”

Swatch considered him once more. “I understand. I just thought you should know. If anything, the knowledge may help to rein him in a little while we find a more humane solution.” He straightened then, readjusting himself slightly. “Now, then… will either of you be needing anything more from me before I take my leave for the evening?”

“No, I… I think I’ve heard enough for now.” The conversation had begun to wear him out by this point, anyway.

“Yeah, I think we’ll be fine for now. Thanks for all your help, Swatch,” Mike said.

“Very well,” he replied. “I’d like to return at some point to check on things, if you’d have me. Or, if you’re feeling up to it, perhaps I’ll see you back at my establishment soon. I’ll likely be there most of the day tomorrow to keep an eye on things and catch up on work. But in the meantime, please do try to rest.”

“…If you insist,” Tenna said. He would have offered a weak smile, but with the newfound anxiety coursing through his wires, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Seeming satisfied, Swatch nodded once more before turning to head through the door. However, as he did so, he signaled for Mike to follow him into the living room.

Curious, Tenna focused on the sound vibrations from beyond the door, his antennas twitching eagerly. The only thing he could pick up, though, was a quiet instruction, muttered under Swatch’s breath:

“…Don’t leave him alone tonight.”

His heart dropped in his chest. So not even Swatch trusted him entirely. After what he’d just been told, he suspected as much. Despite his hopes for the opposite to be true, he knew deep down that he didn’t really trust himself, either.

But as the thought manifested, so, too, did Spamton. He reappeared nearby, a look of regret shining behind those pink and gold glasses.

“You… you’re not going to [[poison]] me, are you?”

Of course not. So long as you don’t give me any more reasons to… but you’ve certainly given Swatch one. He shot him a look of warning.

“Don’t give me that look! You saw the way he was [staring] at me, right?! He threatened [license to kill]! What was I supposed to do?”

Tenna raised a brow as best he could. Not… attack him?

Spamton looked as though he didn’t understand the concept. Still, he opted not to argue, but instead changed the subject.

“So… you’re going to [[click here to chat]] with… them?”

The Addisons, Tenna assumed he meant. You heard, didn’t you? They might know a way to get your body back. Or, I guess, get you a new one? I don’t know yet. Surprisingly, they don’t teach you how to build a body from scratch on TV.

“…Yes, I heard.” Spamton lowered his gaze.

Tenna frowned, confused by his reaction. I thought you’d be happier about that? Especially with the alternative.

He hesitated, unable to bring himself to look back up. “I don’t [trust fund] them. They [screwed] me over once—what if they pull a [[two for one]]?” He shook his head. “Don’t fall for their [scams], [[Cathode]]. They won’t help us.”

Tenna pondered his words for a moment, uncertain. Weren’t they friends, once? Or had that bridge been burned, too, along with a whole host of others? Well, either way, he supposed they’d find out. They had to at least try.

But for tonight, he was feeling too sick to do much of anything. The ache in his joints was lulling him back into a state of exhaustion, and despite the thoughts buzzing around in his head, he could feel his screen dimming involuntarily.

Spamton seemed to notice, too. With a sympathetic glance, he leaned back against the wall as if taking up a more relaxed stance of his own. “…Yeah. [Sleep tight] for now, [[Cathode]]. Not like I can go anywhere.”

Tenna complied, laying down fully once again. The sensation worked quickly to lessen the lightheadedness that had been hanging over him, bringing with it a sense of peace as he dimmed further. However, as he began to drift off, he noticed a peculiar sensation brush up against the back of his mind.

In front of him, Spamton was looking away, but he hadn’t moved from his spot. And yet, Tenna could feel the manifestation of his consciousness cozying up to his own rather prominently, the touch somehow warm and inviting despite its lack of physicality. In a way, it was as though he’d nestled into the sheets beside him, even if he was trying to be subtle about it by keeping himself visually distant.

The subtlety had failed, and it brought a smile to Tenna’s screen.

Yes—for tonight, he’d sleep through the worst of the pain, with Spamton settled nearby within their shared subconscious, and Mike keeping watch over things from the other room. As a quiet darkness fell over the atmosphere, he drifted a little further, though one thought remained sharp in his mind:

He had the feeling that tomorrow was going to be a long day.

At last, Tenna stirred. It was only a little at first, but over time, he began to wake, and as he did so, a voice—or was it a pair of voices?—sounded from somewhere in the room.

“Hey, look, I think he’s wakin’ up!”

The other voice was nothing more than the short, musical trill of a saxophone.

The moment his screen flickered back to life, Tenna saw that two familiar Darkners were standing over his bedside, looking down at him with eager anticipation.

“Mm… you… two…? What’re you… doing here?”

The still-fuzzy outline of Zapper moved a little across his broken vision. “Keepin’ an eye out for you’s, of course! We’s made a promise, didn’t we? Sorry we’re a little late, though, boss!”

Shadowguy nodded beside him, smiling quite happily.

Tenna considered them for a moment. He knew them, somehow—more intimately than the other common variety of TV World Darkners. But how he knew them specifically was escaping him for some reason; the harder he tried to remember, the more his memory failed him, as though something were physically obscuring it.

Looking up at them, though, he supposed it didn’t matter. They were friends—that much he could be certain of.

“You… came to see me?” Though he was still a bit confused, Tenna couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s… I don’t know what to say, but… thanks,” he said, pausing as he processed Zapper’s words. “What do you mean, ‘promise?’ I don’t remember anything like that.”

“Oh, just somethin’ we was helping B—er, Mike with ‘s all. Don’t you worry about it.”

Needless to say, Tenna was worrying about it.

“Did I… did I do something to the two of you while I was…?”

They exchanged a glance, and each of them shook their heads.

“Nah, it’s all good, boss. The other guy just tried’ta scare us a little. We weren’t, though, were we, pal?”

Shadowguy trilled affirmatively, putting on a brave stance.

Tenna couldn’t be sure whether they were telling the full truth, but given how genuinely relieved they seemed to see him now, he figured it must not have been too traumatic. “Oh—I’m so glad you’re both okay… I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to two of my best stars—”

Before Tenna had the chance to say anything more, he stopped short in surprise as the two of them leaned forward to embrace him in an awkward hug. He tensed up at first, caught off guard by the gesture, but as the warmth of their contact began to spread over him, he felt himself being overwhelmed by the comfort it offered. Slowly, he raised his own arms over each of them, doing his best to return it.

“We missed you’s, boss,” Zapper said.

Shadowguy hummed softly, offering the same sentiment.

Tenna felt his throat tighten in response. “Guys… I… O-ow…”

At once, they let go, concern falling over their expressions.

“You okay? We’s didn’t hurt ya, did we?”

He tried to shake his head, but it only worsened the pain. “Nngh… head hurts…”

With another exchanged glance, Zapper took a step back. “I’ll get Ba—ah, Mike. Yeahs, Mike. Be right back.”

He then headed out of the bedroom, with Shadowguy trailing him closely. Tenna tried to follow their movement, but the right side of his head had suddenly began pounding as though someone had driven a spike through it. He reached up to hold it, feeling the bandage underneath his hand, though the pressure of it wasn’t helping his situation right now. Cautiously, he lifted it a bit, wincing as that half of his vision brightened, revealing the same blotchy, fragmented sight that he’d seen before passing out. It wasn’t a pleasant experience in the slightest, and he dropped the bandage back over it rather quickly.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before they returned with Mike in tow, looking like he’d just woken up. He was carrying a glass of water in one hand, and a bottle of something in the other.

“Hey, Tenna,” he said, his voice low as he approached, “here, I figured you’d need this ‘soon as you were awake.”

Handing them each over to Tenna, he accepted them without hesitation. The medicine appeared to be generic painkillers—something he was more than grateful for at the moment. Oddly enough, the rest of his body, though undoubtedly still sore, wasn’t hurting much more than before. For the most part, it was just his damaged screen that was crying out in pain.

So, he downed it fast, hoping it would take effect just as quickly.

“Feeling any better? Y’know, besides your head?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, a little,” Tenna responded. It wasn’t even a lie—although he was a far cry away from being his old, lively self, the general malaise had faded into the background. He could almost sense that things might in the beginnings of an upswing, even if it were a slow one. After everything his body had just been put through, it would likely take a good while longer to recover, after all.

Gradually, Mike leaned forward, closing the distance between them to place a hand against the top of Tenna’s screen. Tenna didn’t flinch away; despite the lack of warning, Mike was one of few—or possibly the only one—that he trusted enough with such a gesture unprompted.

“…Good, your fever’s down.” For a second, he looked relieved, but then another thought seemed to cross his mind. “Does that mean it’s any different with… him?”

Tenna paused. He hadn’t heard or felt anything from Spamton since waking up this time around, but as he focused on the void within him, he could sense the familiar flicker of consciousness different from his own. Distant, but there.

“…If he’s awake, he hasn’t said anything to me yet. But I think… I think my systems are getting used to him by now.”

Then, in response, the flicker brightened just for a second. Ah—so he was alert. Perhaps he just didn’t want to be perceived while Tenna had company over.

All three of the others looked to one another with a few quick glances and gestures, as if communicating silently in a practiced manner.

“So, uh,” Zapper said, “How’s dat work exactly? Is he really still in there?”

Tenna almost found the question amusing. “Yes, he’s here. He’s calm right now, if you were worried.”

“Yeah, well, ‘calm’ or not, we still need to talk to those Addison guys about getting rid of him,” Mike said, decidedly less amused.

Tenna flinched at his words. Get… rid of him? That didn’t sound much better than what Swatch had been proposing last night. A renewed spark of anxiety flared within him, and once again, he knew it was all his own, as a foreign flicker of dread soon rose up to join it—this time not the fear of death, but of being cast aside and back into the jaws of loneliness. It seemed neither of them was fond of that phrasing.

“No, we’ll talk to them about getting help,” Tenna corrected. “And speaking of which, I think now is as good a time as any.”

Mike looked him up and down for a moment. “Not that I want to delay it any more than we have to, but are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just give me a couple minutes to get ready.”

He gave a somewhat resigned nod. “Okay then. I’ll go with you. As for you two,” Mike said, turning to Zapper and Shadowguy, “get back to the studio. You’re in charge of things while we’re getting the showroom fixed back up, got it?”

They gave him a synchronized salute. “Yessir! You’s can count on us!”

Then, on cue, they waved Tenna goodbye once more before scurrying out to see to their mission. With a sigh, Mike took his leave as well, though it wasn’t as far.

“I’ll be in here when you’re ready.”

Tenna nodded, and with that, the door to his room shut behind him.

So, he said internally, you ready, too?

Spamton shifted slightly. “What’re you asking me for? You’re the one [at the wheel].”

Yes, and I want you to be comfortable, too. And what I say goes, now, isn’t that right?

Again, Spamton shifted restlessly within him. “…Let’s just get this over with.”

Pleased by his agreement, even if it were reluctant, Tenna rose from his bed. The sensation was a little dizzying, especially after having been laying down for so long, but for the most part, he found that it felt good to stretch his legs again. The more difficult part, as it turned out, was keeping his balance properly adjusted given the way his vision was favoring one side. But, with a little effort, he was able to walk over to his wardrobe with relative ease.

He spent the next few minutes getting changed, not particularly caring whether Spamton was paying any attention to the process. It wasn’t like he’d never seen it before, anyway. Finally, he slipped back into his classic attire, this time with each piece lovingly put into its rightful place. As he discarded the shredded suit he’d been wearing, he noted the black suit still on the floor—the others must have moved the jacket here from the living room—with part of it also ripped into unrecognizable shreds. With any luck, he wouldn’t lose a third suit today.

However, as he went to pick up the black suit, he hesitated. The sight of it crumpled and ragged on the floor saddened him—it was, for a moment, as though he weren’t looking at a mere pile of clothing, but at Spamton himself, broken and torn apart as he lay lifeless on the ground. The image his mind had conjured was thoroughly upsetting, and with a deep breath, he forced it back down.

Regardless, it didn’t feel quite right to just throw it away. So, instead, he opted to set it aside for now; maybe he could get it repaired sometime in the future.

Taking one last glance at himself in the mirror, Tenna noted that he looked mostly like he had before he’d gotten sick, save for the bandage wrapped around the top right corner of his screen. The cracks in the glass were peeking out just beneath them, branching out like veins and accompanied by pixelated discoloration underneath. They were hidden well enough, though, and in time, he hoped they would begin to recede. That, or he’d have to wait for someone to take him in for repair, either in the Light or Dark World—whichever had the time and resources for him first.

Beyond that, he supposed that he did look a little wearier, and perhaps a little gaunt compared to a few days ago—but that, too, should go away with time.

Hopefully.

Adjusting the lapels of his blazer one last time, Tenna exited his bedroom. Upon seeing Mike waiting for him, he gave a short nod of acknowledgement.

Then, to both him and Spamton at once, he said, “Let’s go, shall we?”

The streets of Castle Town were bustling with activity. All around them, Darkners were traveling and mingling with one another, filling the air with ambient chatter. However, as they walked, Tenna found himself drawing his antennas in close, discouraging them from picking up on any of it. Already, he’d witnessed a few of them shy away from him as they passed by, and he couldn’t help but lose a few inches in height in response.

He was grateful for Mike’s presence; without it, he feared he’d shrink until he became practically invisible. But with his friend at his side, he felt a little more confident that he’d survive the onslaught of side-eyes and whispers around him. And then, more than that, he was grateful for the second set of eyes beside him; as they continued down the streets, the flickering shadows and the sounds of voices from his right side startled him more than once, hidden from view beneath the darkened side of his screen. With each time that he jumped in surprise, Mike was there to reassure him.

But even then, Tenna felt as though something was missing.

Hey—walk with us, he tried.

Spamton, who had been stirring rather uneasily before now, perked up at the sound of Tenna speaking to him.

“What? Why?”

Tenna tilted his head at his reply. I want to see you. You don’t have to hide the whole time.

An anxious flicker. “But… there’s so many [[ALWAYS WATCHING]]…”

They can’t see you, right? And besides, you’re safe with me. Tenna attempted to smile at him, though it probably just looked like he was losing it.

Still, it got him somewhere, as Spamton hesitated, seeming to consider his offer. Then, in another heartbeat or so, Tenna smiled a little wider as he saw that Spamton was now walking beside him on his left, taking up his hallucinatory form.

He was clearly nervous, though, as his eyes were darting left and right, and he shrank back into himself defensively each time he felt as though a passerby had gotten too close. Tenna wished he could reach out to hold his hand, but not only would it likely not work, it would probably make him look even crazier. All he could do for now was keep trying to talk him into a more comfortable state of mind.

Spam, seriously, it’s alright. I’m right here with you.

“Yeah, well, no offense, [[Cathode]], but you’re not in much of a state to [[protect your PC]]. They all [[HATE. LET ME TELL YOU—]] me.”

Tenna sighed. Okay, yes, there’s bound to be some… uh… hard feelings. Maybe you can start by, I dunno, apologizing to some of them?

Spamton merely continued looking away, lowering his gaze in silence. Tenna couldn’t see his expression, but the feelings surrounding his subconscious were still too intense for him to hide easily. A quick glance inward, and Tenna could feel them for himself—he was frustrated, but also scared and maybe, just maybe, a good deal remorseful.

Meanwhile, to his right, Mike had heard him sigh out loud. “Everything okay?” He asked, pausing to look up at Tenna.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Just, uh… talking. Or… thinking, I guess.”

“He’s not bothering you, is he? ‘Cause if he is, I’ve got a few words that’ll—”

Tenna made a waving gesture with his hand. “No, Mike, it’s fine. He’s just nervous. I think it’s been a while since he’s had a chance to be around people… like, normally.”

Mike raised a brow. “You mean without trying to scam or murder them? And what part about this is normal, exactly?”

“I can hear you, you know,” Spamton muttered beside him.

“Ahh… never mind,” Tenna said. This was becoming a more difficult conversation than he was intending. “Let’s just keep going.”

This time, Mike was the one sighing. “If you say so. Come on, it’s a little further down.”

With that, Tenna fell back into pace just slightly behind Mike, with Spamton still trudging alongside him. He was keeping his gaze low, facing away from Tenna rather conspicuously, even after a good few paces more.

Tenna frowned. You can talk to me, you know. Or at least look at me.

Spamton’s jaw clenched at that. “I don’t want to.”

Which part, the talking or the looking?

It clenched a little harder. “Both.” Then, with a frustrated exhale, he elaborated. “Because of me, your [just another pretty face] is [in shambles]. It hurts to…” He trailed off, the end of his sentence rising in pitch a little as though his voice was shaking.

That gave Tenna pause. Was that what was bothering him? Then, an idea crept into his head, and with a half-genuine, half-sly cadence to his voice, he thought, You don’t think I’m pretty anymore?

Immediately, Spamton finally looked up at him, caught fully off guard. “Wh—that’s not what I—I don’t—”

Heh. That got him.

Well, Tenna continued, leaning into it, sorry if my saving our lives made me look like a trainwreck. I guess you don’t have to look if it’s that disgusting. He swished his tail dramatically.

Spamton was nothing short of flustered. “N-no, c’mon, [[Cathode]], i-it’s not like… I didn’t mean…”

No? Then what did you mean?

He looked away again, but this time, Tenna could see that it was because he was desperately trying to hide the bright pink that was spreading across his pale face.

“…Nothing.”

Tenna couldn’t help smiling again.

However, as they walked a little further, with Spamton left to chew on his own words and Tenna eyeing him in amusement, they rounded a corner, turning onto the street harboring their destination at last. Soon enough, the bright neon signs advertising the shops run by the Addisons came into view, and Mike rushed ahead.

“Finally!” He said, the excitement evident in his steps.

Tenna followed, and while Spamton did, too, he did so reluctantly.

On their approach, a pair of Addisons—one pink, one blue—spotted them, and without missing a beat, they moved to the front of their stand to meet them halfway.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t today’s premium customer,” said the pink one, putting on a wide, friendly smile.

“Yes, welcome, welcome,” said the blue one. “Please, step right up! I’m sure we’ve got just what you need!”

In an instant, a look of recognition flooded Spamton. “You guys…” But as soon as he’d began, he shook his head aggressively. “No—just cut the [act] already! [[Cathode]], don’t trust anything they say!”

Tenna did his best to ignore him, twitching an antenna slightly. Before he could speak, though, Mike stepped forward.

“You know why we’re—”

“Ah, ah, not so fast, there, buddy,” the pink one interrupted, holding up one hand. “Like I said, this here’s our premium customer,” he said with a gesture towards Tenna, “and that means we got a deal for him and him alone. You catch my drift?”

“What?!” Mike glanced between the both of them, hardly believing what he was hearing. “You can’t do that—”

Tenna placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mike, it’s okay. I can handle them on my own.” It wasn’t like it was his first time dealing with success-hungry Addisons, after all.

Mike looked up to meet his gaze, still a little distraught. But given that he didn’t have much of a choice, he conceded.

“But… ugh, fine. If that’s the way they’re gonna play, then…” He shook his head. “I guess… I’ll head back to the studio for a little bit. It’d be good to check on things there anyway. Meet me there as soon as you’re done here, okay?”

“You bet,” Tenna replied.

Releasing his shoulder, Mike then backed away, preparing to leave. Before he got too far, though, he looked back once more.

“Tenna… be careful, please?”

Tenna nodded, shooting him a gentle grin. “I’ll be fine. Just go.”

Though he still looked worried, Mike complied, and after a moment or two, he’d disappeared around the corner, leaving Tenna and Spamton alone with the two salesmen.

“Now then,” the pink one spoke again, “I suppose we should introduce ourselves. The name’s Mauve.”

“…And I’m Indigo,” said the blue one with a wink. “Pleased to meet such an esteemed customer such as yourself.”

Tenna glanced at Spamton, but he appeared to be frozen at the moment. The names seemed to have brought another wave of recognition, which was, apparently, difficult for him to process. Right—guess he’d be engaging on his own, then.

“…Pleasure. So, I assume you’re aware—”

“Oh, yes, we’re quite aware of your situation, Mr. Tenna,” Mauve said. “The head butler was rather detailed in his explanation. But, as it turns out, you’re in luck!”

“That’s right—we may just have a way of helping the two of you out,” Indigo chimed. “We’re more than ready to make a deal here. That is, if you are.”

There it was. Tenna sighed deeply.

“Fine. What is it that you want, exactly?”

The two of them glanced at one another. But, to Tenna’s surprise, their expressions didn’t seem malicious. Instead, they seemed to share a look of hope.

“Actually… we just want to talk to him,” Mauve said. Indigo nodded beside him.

At once, Spamton straightened in alarm. Tilting his gaze up at Tenna, his eyes were wide. “No—NO way! I am NOT [[doing that]]!”

An antenna twitched again. “Oh—that’s it?” Tenna’s heart leapt. Was it really going to be that simple after all? “Well, go ahead, then. He’s here, and I’m sure he’d be happy to talk,” he said, putting on a cheery yet somewhat strained smile.

“NO! [$!?$] YOU!”

The Addisons exchanged another look.

“No, no, you see… we want to talk to him. As in…”

“One-on-one,” Indigo finished. “No middle man.”

Oh.

And just like that, Tenna’s heart dropped again.

“I… I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he started, uncertainty filling every wire in his body. “He’s, uh… well, you probably heard about what happened, didn’t you? Seems like everyone in town has already…”

“Yes, we know,” Mauve said. “It’s part of why we want to talk. We actually, uh…”

“…We’re worried about him.”

Spamton’s attention snapped in their direction as they spoke the words. His expression had shifted dramatically to one of confusion and disbelief. “…What?”

Tenna raised a brow. “…I see. So… you really just want to talk to him? No deals or anything?”

They nodded in unison.

“Really. Just letting us see him again—uh, sort of—would be a huge favor to us,” Indigo said.

“Yeah. We’re willing to call it pro-bono, just this once. Next time’ll cost ya, though.”

Tenna turned to Spamton again. Well? What do you think?

He didn’t look pleased. “Are you seriously [[ACCEPTING OFFER]], [[Cathode]]?”

Spamton. I don’t know what your deal with them is, but they sound genuine. Just talk to them.

“Of course they sound [100% legit]! They’re [scam artists]!!”

Tenna swished his tail irritably. So are you. Talk to them—beat them at their own game, if you’re so worried they’re trying to play us.

At first, Spamton looked like he was going to refuse again, his body visibly shaking with fury. But then, as his gaze darted between the two Addisons and Tenna’s pleading look, he seemed to have a change of heart.

“…Alright, alright, fine! I’ll [do it].” Then, with a deep breath, he locked eyes with Tenna, a more serious look overcoming his gaze. “Is it… really okay…?”

The question made Tenna’s heart pound automatically. The memories from before were filled with an overwhelming sense of terror and despair—and yet, here they were, the only way forward being for Tenna to subject himself to those same sensations once again. But… things were different this time, weren’t they? They were working together, not fighting against one another. Perhaps he’d just have to trust that it would all be okay.

It was either that, or…

He shook away the thought. Then, with a deep breath of his own, Tenna nodded, and with the permission granted, Spamton disappeared.

“He says he’ll do it. One sec—ack—!”

On cue, his screen darkened and his body tensed. The convulsions ran through him in quick, unstable bursts, but they weren’t nearly as violent as they had been the first time. Instead, after the first few shuddering jolts, he began to calm down, until at last, they had faded into several final twitches. His body shifted alongside them, the possession taking hold of its very being, manifesting those same features as before, the elongated cables at the end of his tail flicking excitedly as they came back into existence.

As Tenna felt himself slip back into the darkness of his own mind, he winced briefly at the feeling of his wires filling with fire—the feeling of his consciousness being purged from them in favor of a new, more volatile one.

The Addisons’ eyes widened in shock—they hadn’t been expecting such a painful-looking display from the normally composed TV star they’d familiarized themselves with. Had it been any other situation, they would’ve assumed he was having some kind of medical emergency.

Once it was over, he brightened again, and Spamton was the one looking down at the Addisons through the soft glow of Tenna’s screen. He let out a short, shivery breath, then looked himself over, stretching out his arms and, of course, his tail. He hardly seemed to believe that he was back in this form, but as Tenna watched him, he also seemed to be perfectly calm.

“…Spamton?” Mauve asked cautiously. “Is that really…?”

He paused, centering the salesman in the left side of his vision. “…Heya. Been a while since [last payment], huh?”

The pair exchanged a glance of relief.

“It really is you!” Indigo exclaimed.

“You’d changed so much last we saw you! Do you even recognize us still?”

Spamton’s expression softened. “Wha—of course I [MEMORY FULL]! Why… why wouldn’t I…?”

“Well, I mean, you’d practically disappeared for a while,” Mauve said. “We thought you didn’t need us anymore, so we thought maybe… you’d forgotten about us.”

Indigo nodded. “But then, we heard about what happened to you at the mansion. How things started going… downhill.”

Spamton simply listened for a moment, the metaphorical gears in his head spinning at a rapid pace. From this side of things, Tenna couldn’t tell what he was feeling, as there was nothing left of him to be overwhelmed by. Spamton was already in control; he could only guess.

“We’re sorry we weren’t there to help you.”

“You… are…?” Spamton echoed. He shook his head again, still struggling to believe what was in front of him. “You… what’s your [[game]] here? What’re you trying to [pull]?”

And then, to both of their surprise, the Addisons leaned forward to wrap themselves around Spamton’s now much taller torso in a hug.

“Hah… there’s no game, Spammy. Just let us help you now, instead.”

“Wh-what are you…?!” [[Cathode]], help me!!

From within their subconscious, Tenna smirked in amusement. “I think you’re on your own here, big shot.”

For the next few seconds, they held their grip as Spamton panicked, unable to squirm away from them as easily as he could if he were smaller. Soon enough, though, they let go.

“So,” Mauve began, “we don’t know how you ended up like this, and we’re kind of hoping you’ll get the chance to tell us over drinks later. But first, we’ll need to get to work on a new vessel for you, won’t we?”

Spamton attempted to blink in surprise, his screen flickering briefly. “You can just [sell at full price]? How?”

“Eh, with a little Dark World magic and a copy of your original programming, anything’s possible,” Indigo said. “And boy, with all those spam emails you practically embedded yourself into, do we have copies. They’re, uh, hard to get rid of, actually. We’ve tried.” He shrugged. “But, anyway, before we get started, we do need one last thing from you.”

Spamton failed to stifle a low groan. “…What now?”

This time, Mauve spoke. “Just tell us… in all that success you found when you made it big—even if it didn’t last—was there ever a point where you could say you were truly happy?”

Spamton visibly flinched at the question. As he seemed to process it, Tenna shifted curiously, finding that he, too, quite wanted to know the answer.

Another moment ticked by, and at last, Spamton seemed to find his words.

“…Truly happy? [[NO]].”

The Addisons looked disappointed.

“…But,” Spamton continued, getting their attention again, “I got close. When I threw it all [down the drain], when I stopped listening to the [voice] for just long enough, I was almost… we were…”

Tenna shifted closer as if to encourage him.

“For just a moment… I almost made the [right] choice… I almost chose…”

[[YOU]].

He never said it aloud, but it wasn’t the Addisons that he was speaking to.

He shook his head. “My choice wouldn’t have mattered. [Happiness] was never an option. Only the [shadows]. Only [Hyperlink Blocked].”

Once more, the two salesmen exchanged a glance.

“Alright,” said Mauve, “I’ll admit, I’m not sure I really understand, but… well, we know you’ve been through a lot, so that’s good enough for me.”

“Yeah,” Indigo agreed. “We’ll hold up our end of the bargain. It shouldn’t take more than a few days—maybe even less than that. We’ll let you know as soon as it’s ready.”

Spamton hesitated. “That’s it? Don’t I get any [final input]?”

“Mmm, nope! It doesn’t really work that way. But hey, we’ll see you soon—hopefully for real next time.”

“Just let us worry about it for now, okay?”

He sighed. “…You better not [screw me over].”

The two of them smiled. “We wouldn’t dream of it.”

With that, they bid their farewells, turning to head back to their stations. Spamton followed suit, heading a little ways down the street and leaving the Addisons behind. Once they were left well enough out of sight, he paused.

I’m done here, [[Cathode]]. Your turn.

Without waiting for a response, he ceded control, and Tenna felt himself being forced back into the forefront of their consciousness. It felt natural, like waking up from a dream, though the way his body shifted back into normalcy was a touch uncomfortable. However, as the next round of convulsions faded and Tenna found himself looking at the world through his own screen again, he couldn’t stop himself from doubling over immediately.

Even if he and Spamton were somewhat more in harmony with each other, it seemed the sudden and violent switching between consciousnesses was not good for his stomach. For the first few seconds, he merely stood there, fighting to keep the nausea at bay. Thankfully, it lessened on its own, though the discomfort remained at a background level, lurking underneath his casing.

Ugh… is this gonna keep being a thing while you’re in my head?

“Maybe. Not my fault you can’t handle a [SUPERIOR DEAL].”

Tenna lashed his tail. Whatever. Let’s just get out of here.

However, he took no more than a few steps before Spamton’s voice rang out again.

“Woah, woah, [hold the line], where do you think you’re going?”

Tenna halted, confused. The studio? I told Mike I’d meet him there, remember?

“…Seriously? [[Cathode]], can you not feel your own [free real-estate] or something?”

What are you talking about? He asked, raising a brow.

“You’re—we’re starving. I don’t know if you [FINAL NOTICE], but we’ve had almost nothing but whiskey and [[$15.99]] pastries for DAYS.”

Oh. Come to think of it, Tenna couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and he certainly didn’t remember any pastries. He’d gotten quite used to ignoring those signals anyway—a habit he’d developed way back in the TV World days, when things got so busy that he wouldn’t have time to eat. But Spamton didn’t need to know that.

Well, maybe this wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t make me want to spill my guts every time I wake up. Have you ever considered that?

Spamton’s consciousness flickered in frustration. “You are [literally] less than an hour away from collapsing. Fix it or I’m [turning this car around].”

God damn it. At least he was threatening it over something more reasonable, though. He supposed Mike could wait a little while longer. In the meantime, it might be nice to see Swatch again and deliver the news from the Addisons. He’d even invited Tenna back to the café earlier—who would he be to refuse?

So, despite his initial reluctance, Tenna changed course. Now heading for the café instead, the path lit up before them, the azure flames flickering in the distance and the everlasting darkness above them glittering with starlight.

Chapter Text

In much the same way as they had been on the trip down, the streets were alive with an abundance of Darkners, the activity lit by the dancing blue flames of the lanternlight lining the edges. As Tenna approached the café itself, a few more Darkners seemed to avoid his gaze, while others seemed less afraid and more surprised that he was up and walking around at all. Some of them must have seen the aftermath of the fight, with Tenna’s battered, restrained, and unconscious form being hauled across town and back to his room. He could only imagine the types of looks he must’ve drawn, and instinctively, he shrank back a little in shame.

Upon entering the café, he was immediately greeted with the same inhospitality. The Swatchling at the front counter saw him and froze in place for a moment, then snapped his head to the side as he shouted towards the back of the building.

“Shit—Boss! Hey, get out here! He’s here!”

Tenna froze as well, waiting as he heard the sounds of dishware clattering rather chaotically from somewhere in the back. Then, after a few more seconds, Swatch appeared from the door separating the main shop from the employees-only area. Interestingly, he wasn’t wearing his vest at the moment, revealing the half-black, half-white collared dress shirt underneath, embellished with the pale pink tie in the center. His sleeves were rolled up above his elbows as well, revealing more of his black fur underneath. With a quick adjustment, he looked up, spotting Tenna and stepping up to the counter with a friendly gesture.

“Ah, Tenna! Good, I was hoping you’d drop by! So, I take it you’re managing a little better this afternoon, then?”

Tenna relaxed a little—at least someone seemed happy that he was around. Out of his left-sided periphery, he could see that there were at least a few other patrons currently here, and while they were definitely looking at him, none of them had reacted too negatively just yet.

“Yep, doing just dandy!” He said, willing himself to show a little more enthusiasm now that he was, to some degree, back in the public eye. As he moved up to the other side of the counter, though, the Swatchling watched him through narrowed eyes.

Swatch nodded, though he still seemed concerned beneath his calm exterior. “I’ll admit, I was expecting your friend to accompany you here. There hasn’t been any trouble on your own, has there?”

“No, no trouble! He’s been behaving, actually.”

“Behav—HEY!” Spamton raised his voice to Tenna. “I’m not a [[pet-sitting services near you]]!”

Tenna continued to look forward with a smile.

That seemed to amuse Swatch, even if he remained a touch skeptical. “Oh? Well, that’s good news, I suppose. How is he, by the way?”

Tenna paused, giving Spamton a chance to answer for himself. He did not appear to be nearly as amused, however.

“Tell him to get [$?&!]ed, [[Cathode]]!”

“Ahaha… he’s, uh, fine,” Tenna said, the edge of his smile twitching a little. “You know, same as ever.”

“I’m sure he is,” Swatch said, returning a wry grin. “So, have the two of you had a chance to visit our resident Addisons yet?”

His antennas perked up in recollection. “Oh, yes! They’re willing to help, as it turns out!”

Swatch did seem surprised by that, furrowing his brow. “Really? And what did they want in return?”

Tenna hesitated. He probably shouldn’t tell Swatch how casually he’d let Spamton take control again—it would only serve to erode the trust he’d built with him. That, and Spamton, too, squirmed a little in the back of his mind. Despite his earlier feistiness, he still feared being caught out in the open. It was so much easier—safer—to hide behind Tenna, whether it was by hiding in his mind like he currently was, or by using his face as his own.

And then, as much as he’d made his own bed here, Tenna didn’t want to throw him to the wolves. Not after feeling the loneliness, the desperation that had led him back to this place after being cast out for so long. In a way, he felt responsible for him. Protective.

So, despite himself, he lied.

“Oh, uh, not much. Just money, like usual. Not a problem for someone like me.” He smiled again, trying to make it look as natural as possible.

He felt a glimmer of confusion rise from Spamton.

Swatch narrowed his eyes. “Hm. I thought they would almost certainly set their sights a little higher with someone as high profile such as yourself.”

Tenna’s pulse quickened.

“But,” Swatch continued, “I suppose Spamton is one of them. Perhaps I underestimated their willingness to support one another, even if they are in constant competition. For that, I must admit I admire them.”

Oh. That was a good point, Tenna thought. And now that he was thinking about it a little more, he recalled that Spamton had usually only spoken ill of his fellow Addisons back in the day, claiming that they were jealous and always trying to steal his success. But after just having witnessed the rather endearing display between him and his former friends…

Had it all been projection that whole time?

Spamton…

He didn’t answer, and Tenna got the sense that he’d turned away.

With a sigh, he turned his attention back onto Swatch. “Yeah. I think he’s lucky to have someone like them.”

“So should we all be.” Swatch paused then, looking past Tenna. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, but with a sharp inhale, he got back on track. “But I digress… now, what’s your next step in all this?”

“Just wait and see, I guess,” Tenna said. “They said it’d take at least a day or two.” Then, he felt Spamton push against his subconscious rather demandingly, and Tenna shifted uncomfortably in response. “…Er, but first… can I get some food, please? Something plain?”

Swatch chuckled softly. “Of course. Wait right here.”

As he disappeared into the back again, Tenna seated himself in front of the bar. In no time at all, to both his surprise and delight, he saw movement from his left side—Spamton had manifested again, hopping onto the stool beside him.

Noticing that Tenna had spotted him, his tail flicking unsubtly in joy, Spamton rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too [[exciting deals here]], [[Cathode]]. You’ll knock something over.”

But Tenna couldn’t help it.

I wasn’t lying before, you know. Coming back to a place like this… it really is just like old times, isn’t it?

Spamton considered him for a moment. “…Still [lost in the sauce], are you?”

That was far from the first time he’d heard that before. Well, it hadn’t quite been worded that way, but still.

Mm… maybe. Maybe… that, or I just think that sometimes, looking to the past is the best way to move forward.

“Uh… I don’t think that’s right, [[Cathode.]] Or healthy.”

Oh, like you’re one to judge. His expression shifted. Speaking of… are you ever going to tell me what happened? You know… after you left?

Spamton visibly tensed. “I told you, that’s not a [award-winning] idea. I’ve… seen things, [[Cathode]]. Things I [[BEYOND ALL COMPREHENSION]]. You’re better off not knowing. Just [forgive and forget] it already.”

But I’ve seen what those “things” did to you. To us. Why should I have to sit here and let you suffer with them alone?

For a second, his eyes widened as though he couldn’t comprehend the suggestion. To not be alone in the depths of a nightmare from which he believed he could never wake from… was it even possible?

“I… think I’ve [quota met] the spreading of my own [misery] for a while, [[Cathode]].” Then, with a sigh, he looked forward, leaning against the counter. “Just… not here, not now, okay?”

Both Tenna’s tail and antennas dropped a little in disappointment. He knew better than to push further, though—for now, he’d leave it be. Perhaps there would be a time when he was ready, but if it wasn’t now, then Tenna could respect that, as much as it frustrated him to have to wait even longer when it was already far overdue. When he was owed it.

Luckily, he wouldn’t have had the time to push anyway, as Swatch reappeared from the back. Walking up to where he was seated, he placed a rather decorative plate in front of him alongside a glass of water.

“Here, this should be easy on the stomach,” he said in a gentle tone.

“Oh… thanks,” Tenna responded, glancing down at the contents with little enthusiasm—a plain bagel and some crackers. The presentation was still surprisingly nice despite how simple the dish was, which he was admittedly appreciative of. It seemed Swatch wouldn’t bring out even something as mundane as this if it weren’t up to his own overly professional standards.

“Please, let me know if you need anything else. I assume the two of you have much to discuss in the meantime.”

“…We’re working on it.”

With a nod, Swatch moved further back to focus on tidying things up around the bar, though he made sure to keep himself close by.

For the next minute or two, Tenna simply watched him, unmotivated to do much more than that. But then, Spamton turned to him again, noticing the delay.

“[[Cathode]], you can either [[claim your prize]], or I can do it for you. Quit [stalling].”

His antennas twitched in frustration. Shut it. I can take care of myself, you know.

Spamton gave a pointed shrug. “Fine, you’re the boss. But if you [[top 10 celebs caught passed out in public]], don’t count on me to drag your sorry ass off the street.”

Tenna bared his teeth in resentment but said nothing back. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Spamton was probably right. For once.

So, with a generous amount of hesitation, he forced himself to take a few slow, unenthusiastic bites, fighting against the background pit of nausea that had taken up residence ever since his encounter with that accursed disk. Though it was an uncomfortable process, it seemed to be working well enough, so long as he continued taking it slow.

In an effort to distract himself, he asked, By the way… did you mean what you said back there?

Spamton cocked his head, holding it up with his elbow against the counter. “Care to [[details below]]?”

With the Addisons. You said you were happy back then—when it was just the two of us. Did you mean it?

“Oh, that?” Spamton turned away again, his face reddening slightly. “N-no, I was just telling them what they want to hear! Classic [#1 rated salesman] tactic—you should know that [better than anyone]!”

Uh-huh. Suuuure you were, Tenna said with a smirk.

He quickly found that that had been the wrong response. As soon as he went to pick up the glass of water, hoping to help wash down some of what he’d managed to swallow, Spamton flicked his wrist, and in turn, Tenna felt a jolt in his. The glass shattered instantly as his hand contracted, spilling water all over the counter and partially on himself. The sound had drawn a considerable amount of attention as well, with several patrons tensing up and eyeing him warily.

Without missing a beat, Swatch snapped his gaze up towards him. “Everything all right over there?”

Stunned into silence, it took Tenna a second to be able to reply. “Ah—yep, everything’s peachy, thanks!”

He turned to glare at Spamton, who was now smirking right back at him.

“Whoops—[handle with care], why don’t you, [[Trash heap]]?”

Oh, so that’s how he wanted to play, huh?

Tenna’s expression warped into a forced, fanged smile. Why don’t you handle this, you little shit—

His tail swung abruptly into the legs of the stool next to him, promptly—and loudly—knocking it over. But to his surprise, Spamton didn’t fall with it, instead disappearing and reappearing onto the next one over in the blink of an eye.

Oops. How had he managed to forget that? Obviously that wasn’t going to work.

At least one other café-goer leapt up from their seat and made a run for the exit. Swatch sighed.

“Tenna, do I need to be concerned right now? Or should I ask the two of you to take this outside?”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s fine,” he said, his smile becoming even more strained. “Just catching up a little, that’s all!”

Meanwhile, Spamton laughed. “[Nice spare], [[Trash heap]]. You learn that one on the [[IDIOT]] channel?”

It took everything Tenna had not to audibly growl at him. You think you’ve still got the upper hand here? Ha—how much do you think it would cost to pay off those buddies of yours to let me make a few changes to that code of yours? A couple hundred dark dollars? Less? Ooh, I bet I could get it real cheap—

Spamton’s expression fell quickly. “Don’t you dare—”

But Tenna wasn’t about to relent. How about I bribe ‘em to make you even shorter—now that would be hilarious! Or—oh, even better…

He leaned in a little closer, making Spamton flinch away.

Remember what you used to say for me during those old commercials? Hmm… what was it again? Oh, that’s right: ‘I love TV.’

Spamton grit his teeth in disdain.

How much to get you to say it on command? It could be a whole new feature! He snapped his fingers dramatically. Go on, say it. You owe it to me.

“…Go fuck yourself, [[Cathode]].”

Another contented smirk crossed Tenna’s face, and he turned back to his now partially waterlogged plate, convinced that he’d won for now. However, as soon as he did so, Spamton twitched in the corner of his vision, and Tenna felt another jolt course through his body. Instead of biting into another morsel, he bit hard into his tongue, fang and all. He let out a muffled yelp, raising a hand to cover his mouth as a numbing, staticky sensation began spreading inside of it, accompanied by the taste of phosphor.

Spamton watched his reaction in satisfaction.

Okay, now he was pissed.

He stood up suddenly, the stool underneath him clattering as it rocked from the abrupt movement. What’s your fucking problem?!

Spamton stood, too, standing directly on top of his stool, though he still came nowhere near Tenna’s height. “What’s my [&$?!]ing [DEAL]?! My ‘deal’ is that I’m trapped in a [retirement age], outdated, useless [CRT]!”

Tenna’s lips drew back in fury. Yeah?! And how’d your newer, fancier bullshit work out for you in the end, huh?! Oh, right, it didn’t, because you lost everything! You’re reduced to nothing, and now you’re back to where you started—leeching off of me. How’s that for useless and pathetic?!

As he shouted the words through their subconscious, his hand slammed down onto the counter, drawing Swatch’s ire.

“Tenna, I think that’s enough—”

As he approached the edge, both Tenna and Spamton’s gazes snapped towards him.

“Stay out of this, [[EASEL]]!”

They had spoken simultaneously, with Tenna’s voice breaking into that harsh, prickly static at the end. Then, in a flash, the fury overwhelmed him, and he reached out with his claws unsheathed, grabbing Swatch by the collar and pulling him forward over the counter.

For a moment, all three of them were frozen in a flurry of shock and anger, with Tenna breathing hard and Swatch watching him with cautious hesitance. But then, another heartbeat, and Tenna came to his senses. Mortified, he released Swatch, his hand shaking as he lowered it back down against his side.

“I—I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

However, despite the fact that the words hadn’t been his, he couldn’t be sure that the wrath wasn’t.

The thought terrified him.

But instead of reacting with anger of his own, Swatch merely reached up to readjust his shirt and tie.

“Easy, now,” he said, his gaze steady and his voice composed. “Both of you. Perhaps we should all take a moment to refocus, yes? No need to escalate this any further.” As he spoke, he peered into Tenna’s screen, as if looking past him and instead at Spamton somewhere deep within.

Tenna felt heat rise underneath his own collar, and beside him, Spamton turned away. His expression was still one of anger, but at the same time, the tension in his illusory body seemed to relax a little. It seemed not even he was immune to Swatch’s persuasive charm, even if he wasn’t fond of watching Tenna fall for it.

“Look,” he continued, “right now, whether you like it or not, you are both one and the same. So, I suggest you act like it and set aside your petty differences, or at the very least, do me the favor of taking your squabble outside of my establishment.”

The two of them tensed up in unison as his tone sharpened—something Tenna hadn’t heard from him before.

“Sorry, I’ll leave,” Tenna murmured, and as he did so, he couldn’t help but feel himself lose a few inches in height. However, as he began turning to make good on his words, Swatch reached out to catch him on the shoulder.

“Wait—I… I apologize, that was rather harsh of me.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just concerned, that’s all. That, and I would genuinely rather you didn’t scratch up my countertops.” He offered an apologetic smile.

Tenna returned it, though it was difficult. “It’s fine, I… I get it. I should get back to the studio anyway.”

“Oh. Very well, then,” Swatch said, dropping his gaze as he gave a slight nod. “I… suppose I’ll see you around. But please, don’t hesitate to reach out if you feel things are getting out of hand.”

“…Yeah, right,” Spamton muttered, hopping down onto the ground beside Tenna.

Hush, Tenna warned. Then, to Swatch, he replied, “Yeah. See you around.”

However, as the two of them made their way out of the café, Spamton remained oddly silent. They walked a few more paces, and eventually, Tenna tilted his head down at him, having to angle it a bit to get him in frame of his undamaged side.

Hey… I’m sorry. I got a little carried away back there.

Spamton seemed surprised by the sentiment, looking up to meet his gaze for a moment before facing the ground again.

“…Yeah.”

His antenna’s remained lowered at his response. Even back in TV World, before he’d become… whatever it was that afflicted him now, Tenna had rarely heard an apology from him. At least, not one that was untarnished by sarcasm or venom. This was, for the most part, as close as he could get, and on instinct, Tenna wanted to tease him for still not being able to say the words.

But now wasn’t the time.

Instead, they continued on in silence. As before, it wasn’t a particularly long walk from the café to the studio, but on occasion, Tenna caught sight of Spamton jumping slightly or whirling his head to the side as though he’d seen something come at him. Similarly to their walk through town earlier, he could feel his intense paranoia seeping through, although this time, it was a more specific flavor of fear: it was the keen feeling of being watched.

By what, he couldn’t be sure.

Tenna didn’t have much of a chance to ask, though, as soon enough, they found themselves standing in front of those grand, golden-tinted doors. On their approach, there had been a small handful of Darkners hanging around the front, but each of them had stiffened in alarm as they spotted Tenna, opting to slip away before he got too close.

Immediately, the feeling of dejection returned, hanging over him like fog. He stopped just in front of the doors, hesitance crawling under his casing.

Maybe… maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come back here yet. Maybe he should just go home and bury himself under some sheets; tune everything out for a while. It’d certainly be easier.

But he’d made a promise. He had to at least let Mike know that he wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere. So, with a deep breath, he put aside his woes and made his way into the studio lobby.

They hadn’t gotten far in before Spamton froze beside him. Out of the corner of his vision, Tenna could see his expression change, his eyes widening as if he’d seen a ghost. For a moment, he merely stared ahead at the room before him, and then, with a slight tremble, he disappeared from sight.

At once, Tenna paused, looking around briefly for any sign of him. He was met with only disappointment as there were none; in the back of his mind, his consciousness seemed to be making itself as small as possible. He must really, really not want to be here right now.

With a sigh, Tenna offered, It’s okay. I’ll be here if you change your mind.

He didn’t respond.

But as Tenna glanced around the room, a different set of movement caught his attention. On the far side, nearer to the entrance to the hallways leading to the backstage areas, three Darkners were grouped closely together, though he only recognized two of them. The Zapper and Shadowguy that had visited him earlier—some of his closer friends—were among them. Despite not looking particularly different from the others of their kind, Tenna could tell them apart with ease. In between them was a green Pippins; given their unusual color, Tenna could recall that he’d seen him around before, but he had rarely taken to speaking with him. There wasn’t a need for it, after all.

They appeared to be roughhousing a little, with the other two playfully teasing the one in the middle. Zapper had his elbow around the back of the Pippins’ neck, pulling him in close as they laughed about something, a smile on all three of their faces.

Had they been stuck in the past when tensions were running higher by the day, Tenna might have snapped at them for the display. But right now, it only served to bring him a spark of joy. It was nice seeing some of the TV World Darkners enjoying themselves again, even in small doses. But as he approached, they noticed him and stood to attention, though their expressions still shone with excitement.

“Oh, hey, boss,” said the Pippins, “We, uh, thought you’d be a little longer. How’s it going?”

“Hm? Oh, fine, fine,” Tenna replied. “Better than yesterday, anyway. But never mind that—have any of you seen Mike around?”

His expression fell immediately.

“Oh… yeah, he’s, uh, in the back.” A heavy sigh. “I’ll go get him for you.”

Without waiting for a response, the Pippins took off, still looking rather dejected as he disappeared into the maze of hallways behind them. The others looked away for a moment, as if avoiding his gaze.

Tenna raised a brow in confusion. Had he said something wrong?

“Erm… well, we’ve been doin’ our best with keepin’ things running here while you’s been away, boss,” Zapper said. “It’s been somethin’ of a team effort, I guess. Uh, under Mike’s orders, of course.”

Shadowguy nodded emphatically.

“Is that so? Well, in that case, thank you. All of you,” Tenna said, offering a smile of gratitude.

“Anything for you, boss,” Zapper affirmed with a quick salute.

Nodding in acknowledgement, Tenna took a moment to evaluate the state of the lobby. It seemed to be in good condition, though the wall trimming still hadn’t been finished yet. Not that he had expected it to be, given everything. At this point, he was just glad it hadn’t been more damaged. Which brought him to his next question…

“Was anything else damaged while I was… uh… away?”

“Nah, just the showroom and the Green Room. No clue what happened in there, ta be honest. We’ll get it fixed for you’s, though, no problem!”

Ah. Right—that one might’ve been more on him.

“Oh, good, that’s… good.” Tenna paused to tug at his collar uncomfortably. Was it hot in here…? “Hey, uh, the AC still works, right? You’re sure that wasn’t damaged?”

The two of them exchanged a glance, and Shadowguy shrugged.

“Pretty sure it works,” Zapper said. “We’s haven’t messed with the settings, either.”

Hm. Perhaps he was just imagining it, then.

“Right… well, keep up the good work, you two. I really can’t thank you enough,” Tenna said, putting on another smile.

“’Course, boss!”

Meanwhile, as they returned his sentiment, he recognized Mike as he appeared from the back entrance of the lobby. Before he spoke, however, he took a deep, recomposing breath.

“Oh, hey, Tenna! There you are!”

Tail swishing excitedly, Tenna rushed over to meet him, leaving the others to their own devices.

“So,” Mike continued once he’d arrived, “how’d it go with the Addisons? They didn’t try to gouge you too much, did they?”

“No, no, not at all! They were, uh, very reasonable with their pricing, as it turns out!” Tenna’s expression flickered ever so slightly. It hurt to continue the lie, especially with Mike, but it was for the best. “They were friends with Spamton, after all! They have a special discount for that sorta thing.”

Mike looked skeptical, but the hope beneath that seemed to outweigh any misgivings. “Can they help, then?”

“Yep! They’re already working on making a new ‘vessel’ for him, whatever that means. Shouldn’t take long, either.”

Though, in truth, Tenna was hoping they’d take as long as they needed. Despite all the repercussions, he couldn’t help that deep down, in perhaps a twisted sort of way, he was enjoying the feeling of keeping Spamton so close now that he wasn’t at his throat, fighting for control. It was surprisingly intimate, the way he could feel his emotions rise up alongside his own. If only they weren’t mostly negative.

But as his thoughts drifted towards Spamton, he felt his chest tighten a little, and another discomforting flash of heat rose inside of him.

Hey, Spam…? Is everything okay in there…?

Upon receiving no response, Tenna took a moment to focus on him, prodding at their shared subconscious with a delicate touch. At first, it took longer than normal to even differentiate Spamton from himself, but as he pinpointed the glimmer of his consciousness, Tenna found that it appeared to be doing the equivalent of backing against the wall of their mind, quivering like a cornered animal. And then, as Tenna drew closer, his heart lurched uncomfortably, the tightness closing in just a little more.

Well, that was concerning, to say the least.

“…Tenna? Did you hear what I said?”

His antennas lifted as he snapped to attention.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, no.”

Mike sighed. “I said that’s good. Maybe you can rest easier for a bit while they do whatever it is they’re doing. But hey,” he said, his expression brightening, “now that you’re here, I think there are some folks that’d like to see you while we’re working on getting the showroom all fixed up.”

“Really? They… want to see me?” The concept was almost foreign to him at this point. It seemed most of the Darkners in town were more inclined to avoid him at the moment.

“Yeah, of course! I mean, like I said, there are some who are more… wary, but they’ll all come around again soon, I’m sure of it!”

Tenna wasn’t entirely convinced, but he appreciated the thought. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure he was ready to see the showroom again, either. With the state it had been in and the memories of what had gone down in there… it likely wouldn’t be pleasant. But, given how hard at work everyone was with fixing it, stopping by to see them was the very least he could do.

“…Yeah, maybe you’re right. Lead the way, I guess.”

“Sure, if you want.”

With that, the two of them exited the lobby, making their way down the hall towards the showroom. However, the second they did so, Tenna felt his pulse quicken even more. The feeling was rather odd; misplaced, even, and yet, with the intensity of it, it was indistinguishable from his own. Was he really this nervous about it?

Regardless, he did his best to push the feeling aside. They continued for a good few minutes, but eventually, Tenna slowed down, falling a little ways behind. It didn’t take long for Mike to catch on and turn back to him.

“Tenna? You okay?”

“…Yeah, yeah, I think so. Just need a second to… catch my breath.”

Concern fell over Mike’s gaze. “You’re, uh… kind of dripping.”

Confused, Tenna raised an arm and ran it across his screen, surprised to find that it came away with a generous layer of moisture. Huh—so he was. The heat, wherever it was coming from, must be getting to him.

Spam? Seriously, what’s going on? Because I don’t think this is me this time.

Evidently, he was refusing to respond, as he was met with more silence.

Fine. He’d just have to focus on pushing Spamton back a little—it shouldn’t be that hard, right? Spamton had done the same to him a good number of times when the roles were reversed. Swallowing hard, he looked back down at Mike, forcing a smile.

“It’s fine. Just a little stage fright. From him, I mean.”

“…And it’s affecting you this badly?” Mike seemed disbelieving.

“I’m working on it.” I’m in control—I can do this. “Let’s just keep moving.”

Exasperated, Mike rubbed at his temple for a moment. “Okay, but we’re making this quick.”

That was more than fine with him. So, without further delay, they made their way to the end of the hall, greeted by the doors to the showroom. They appeared to be in pristine condition, but as Mike opened one for Tenna to step through, he was promptly met with the chaotic sight beyond them.

Much of the room still looked to be in disrepair, with various sections having been taped off while they worked on repairing the missing or damaged infrastructure. His employees were scampering back and forth with various tools and equipment in their arms, similar in manner to the other night when Spamton was dictating their work. This time, though, their eyes were shining with determination and passion rather than fear.

As soon as Tenna made his way in front of the main stage, its wooden base still scorched by the fire that had briefly ravaged it, nearly everyone in the room paused at once to look up at him. The way they considered him made Tenna nervous in his own right, and his tail and antennas each drooped involuntarily.

But then, to his surprise, instead of shunning him, many of them dropped whatever they were carrying and began to rush towards him.

“Tenna!”

Faster than he could process, he found himself surrounded by a small crowd of Pippins, Shadowguys, Zappers, and the like, each looking up at him with a sense of fondness.

“G-guys?!” Tenna cried, unsure of how to react to this. “What’s… what are you…?”

They were talking all around him at once, spurred on by their excitement. From the crowd, he could pick out a few specific lines among the cacophony:

“Tenna, we’re so sorry!”

“We didn’t know!”

“We missed you!”

Automatically, their words threatened to bring tears to his screen. His breath caught in his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was a touch broken in pitch.

“I… everyone… I’m sorry for what I put you through… I’m so… hahh…”

Man, it was getting kind of hard to breathe with the way his chest kept tightening.

But as he was focusing on holding back the waterworks, two familiar faces stepped forward from where they’d been observing further back. The crowd quickly dispersed in order to make way for them, and through his half-vision, Tenna saw that it was Elnina and Lanino.

“You guys… you came, too?”

“Of course we did,” Lanino said, gazing at him sympathetically. “We wanted to help get things fixed up, too, didn’t we, dewdrop?”

“Of course,” Elnina echoed. “We thought it was the least we could do.” She looked at him directly, her expression filled with regret. “Tenna… we’re sorry we didn’t realize it wasn’t you. I had my suspicions that you weren’t feeling quite yourself, but I had no idea it’d be so… literal.”

“Yeah,” Lanino continued, “in all honesty, we thought you’d just lost your mind again. And I guess, in a way, we weren’t wrong? But still, that’s on us.”

“Haha… I suppose… not… hah…” In between the words, Tenna took in a deep breath, and then another, but panic sparked within him as he realized it wasn’t helping.

Yep—sure enough, he couldn’t breathe.

As it became too much, he leaned backwards, catching the edge of the stage with one hand, his claws digging into the brittle wood in the process. With his other hand, he began clutching at his chest.

Elnina and Lanino’s eyes widened in shock, and behind them, the crowd of Darkners looked to one another in concern.

“…Tenna? What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Alarmed, Mike stepped closer, too. “Woah, woah, easy, boss—”

Tenna’s heart was pounding at a million miles a minute, and as he tried gasping for air a few more times, his hand shook uncontrollably underneath his weight. Oh, gods, it felt like he was dying.

“S-sorry, it’s fine, I j-just need a… a minute…”

Spamton, stop it! You’re fine! He snapped into their subconscious, desperate to get his attention. Whatever this was, it must have been his doing.

Unfortunately, it was a little more than “stage fright,” as he soon found out. In response to Tenna’s outburst, Spamton’s consciousness flared to life, no longer able to contain itself as the fear swallowed him whole.

With a violent shudder, a convulsion ran through him, and Tenna doubled over in pain. Everyone backed away, save for Mike, who had frozen in place, terrified by how helpless he was in the moment.

“Hahh… don’t… do it… nghh…”

He was fighting the feeling with everything he had, his claws scraping against the stage beside him in a frantic attempt to ground himself. But the panic was overwhelming—his wires were already burning with that same fire, its flames seeking out the last of his will in their path of destruction.

It was a losing battle.

“I’m sorry… I can’t… fight it—!”

Another violent convulsion racked his body, and in seconds, it shifted as Tenna was thrown into the depths of his own mind. In turn, Spamton was thrust unwillingly into the forefront, waking with a hysteria-fueled start.

He glanced down at himself for a split second, then back up at the group of onlookers who were eyeing him with a mixture of shock, fear, and wariness. He took a few shaky breaths of his own, his now partially darkened gaze darting between them all in rapid bursts.

It was all too much. The stage—the shadows—the staring… The memories of what had happened here were too fresh, flooding the open wound of his mind in a frenzied tide. He wasn’t supposed to be here—he didn’t want control. He wanted to jump back into the dark shadow of Tenna’s mind, but this body wouldn’t let him. The emotions were too powerful, too commanding to let him hide in peace. So long as the storm was raging in his head, he was trapped on the wrong side.

“D… Don’t come closer!” He shouted. He tried to back away, but the stage was directly behind him, and he jumped as it touched him.

The whole room was swirling with panic and anxiety as the crowd watched him, uncertainty behind their every word and action. Nearby, Mike held out one hand, though he didn’t dare move towards him.

“Spamton… hey, uh, i-it’s alright, we’re not gonna do anything, okay? Just, uh, just don’t move. Let Tenna come back, and it’ll all be fine, yeah?”

Spamton tried hard to listen to his words, but the shadows were already poking at the corners of his mind, their laughter drowning out his sense of reasoning.

Something had been following him—stalking him. And now that he was here, they were going to hurt him. They all wanted to kill him, right here, right now. He had to get away fast.

He raised his tail defensively, the split cables at the end swaying with the sudden motion.

“Get [[AWAY FROM ME]]!!”

More onlookers backed away, heeding his request with utmost obedience. Lanino backed off as well, but Elnina stood her ground.

“Tenna—er, Spamton… look, we know things are a little heated between you and us right now, but we’re not going to hurt you, okay? We just want Tenna to be safe, so let’s dial back the temperature, alright?”

His breathing was still coming in rapid, laborious inhales, struggling to keep up with his racing heartbeat. He looked around again, loathing the way he couldn’t see the threats that were surely lurking on his right side at each turn. However, as the center of the stage caught itself in his periphery, a sudden dagger of pain shot through his head, and he reached up to clutch it in between both hands, his claws scraping against the surface of the casing.

The pain of his metallic bones bending and snapping. The shadows filling every circuit and wire, poisoning his blood into a river of fire. The strings lurking underneath his skin, writhing beneath the casing until they burst through, hungry for the flesh that remained. The way they pulled at his body, a puppet through and through, never to escape the fate that chained him down, threatening to choke him as they pulled tighter and tighter.

His screen flickered with an erratic array of static as the memories assaulted him, and an agonized scream tore through his throat.

“GraaAAAHH—!”

The others watched him in fearful pity, lost in their own inability to help.

But as the sound echoed throughout the showroom, Tenna’s consciousness roused itself awake, shaking off the disorientation of the sudden switch. As soon as he realized what was happening, a panic of his own came over him.

Shit, shit—what was it you were supposed to do in a situation like this…? Come on, come on, surely there was something he could do, something he’d seen on one of his countless TV segments… maybe a drama show, or a medical interview panel? Something, anything…

“Spam—Spam, it’s okay, I’m right here,” he tried. “I’m right here with you. Just breathe.”

At the sound of his voice, Spamton did seem to react. His antennas twitched slightly, as if seeking it out further, trying to get closer to him, though he was still clutching his head.

“That’s it. Just breathe. You’re safe.”

And then, slowly but surely, his breathing did begin to even out. It took a minute or two, but gradually, Spamton started to relax, his tail dropping against the floor in defeat. He let go of his head, lowering his hands just as slowly, but when he looked up, he wasn’t really seeing the room in front of him. He was simply listening, tuning out the audience before him.

[[Cathode]]…?

“Yeah,” Tenna answered, fighting to keep his tone calm, “still here, big shot.”

I… want to go home…

From within, Tenna’s heart dropped. “Then let’s go.”

And just like that, they began to switch places once more. Spamton welcomed the dark, quiet embrace of their subconscious, while Tenna braced himself against the feeling of reintegrating with his own body, his stomach lurching and his features reshaping with ease. The others continued to watch in trepidation, and some let out a sigh of relief as they recognized that Tenna was returning, though others still were a little wary.

Once it was over, Tenna fell to his knees. Elnina took a step forward, while Mike rushed over to his side.

“Tenna! Are you okay?!” He exclaimed, worriedly touching the side of Tenna’s arm.

“Yeah,” Tenna said with a drawn-out exhale, “we’re okay now.”

But Mike still seemed distressed. “I can’t believe he did that to you again—I knew we can’t trust him—”

“Mike, stop,” Tenna warned, his voice low as he didn’t have the energy to raise it. “It wasn’t his fault.”

Mike looked unconvinced, but to Tenna’s relief, he remained silent as he let go, allowing him to stand back up.

“Well, that was… exciting, if nothing else,” said Lanino. “But, uh… is this going to be the new… normal?”

“You can’t just ask him that!” Elnina hissed at him under her breath, getting a shrug in return.

“No, it’s alright,” Tenna said, brushing himself off. Then, he turned to face the wider crowd, taking in their concerned gazes. “Everyone… I’m sorry you had to see that. I hope I didn’t scare you all too much. I… I want to thank you all for everything you’ve done for me so far… but for now, I think it’s best if I… stay away.”

The crowd exchanged looks of disappointment, murmuring amongst themselves in hushed anxiety.

“Tenna… we’re sorry you feel that way,” Elnina said, an edge of regret to her voice. “But we’ll be here when you’re ready. So… take all the time you need, okay?”

Behind her, Lanino and the majority of the gathered Darkners nodded in unison.

Once again, it took everything Tenna had not to break down into tears. “Thanks, you two… I’ll see you around, then?”

“Of course,” they said together.

Though it hurt, it seemed that the decision had been made.

With one last glance down at Mike by his side, he and Tenna turned to leave, his tail swishing its own goodbye behind him. Once they exited the showroom, the doors swung shut once more, leaving them all out of sight—but for how long, Tenna couldn’t say.

As they reached the lobby, though, Tenna paused, prompting Mike to stop as well. He swiveled his gaze around the room again, taking in its familiar aesthetic, attempting to burn the memory of it deeper into his mind.

“Mike,” he said at last, “I’m going home. I think he and I need to be alone for a little while, so I want you to stay here, got it?”

Mike hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s… I mean, I’m sorry, boss, I just don’t…”

Tenna sighed. “If this is about what Swatch told you last night, then you don’t need to worry. We’ll be okay.”

“You… you heard that?”

“I heard enough. Now, will you be alright still managing things here for a bit?”

Mike nodded confidently. “If that’s what you want, then yes, you can leave it to me.”

“Good. Thanks, Mike.” He smiled. “Heh… you know, I guess I still owe you for everything else from before. I’m racking up a lifetime of debt here, aren’t I?”

Mike couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, you owe me big time. But who knows, maybe I’ll let some of it slide.” He poked Tenna’s side playfully with an elbow. “In the meantime, call me if you need anything, ‘kay?”

“I always do.”

With that, the two of them parted ways. Mike soon disappeared back into the greater studio beyond the lobby doors, while Tenna stepped outside, greeted by the darkened atmosphere of Castle Town once more. In his head, Spamton stirred slightly, seeming relieved to be away from the piercing lights of the studio.

A deep breath, and Tenna spoke to him internally:

Let’s go home.

On the way back to his quarters, Tenna found himself enamored by the sights around him. The liveliness of the town brought about a sense of nostalgia—of the two of them exploring the Cyber City when it was in its prime, prowling the streets and passing through the various shops with carefree abandon. Though he was fairly tired out after the strain of switching consciousnesses multiple times already, the surroundings worked to put a spring back into his step.

Spamton seemed to notice, too, as he perked up a bit the further they got.

“Still missing that [smooth taste] of [sweet deals of the past]?”

A little, Tenna admitted. But you know what? I’d love to make a few new memories here. Show you around the town, hit up all the shops, maybe a drink or two… just the two of us for a day! How’s that sound?

“Sure, while I’m [[CHAINED]] to your [premium channels package],” he scoffed. But then, more quietly, he added, “…Yeah, I… I guess that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Tenna grinned from side to side of his casing. Even though they were spent for today, just the thought of him having agreed to it for another day was enough to send a flash of excitement coursing through his wires. With his newfound energy, he made it to the front entrance of the castle in no time.

As he stepped through the first entrance, the foyer opened up before him, the blue candlelight reflecting off of the deep obsidian flooring. In the center, the Delta Rune remained etched into the flooring, standing ever-vigilant underneath the dancing light of the flames. Beyond that, the next set of doors leading to the first floor awaited.

However, as Tenna began heading towards them, his reduced field of vision prevented him from noticing that two shadows were slinking behind him.

The moment he reached out to grab the door handle, he jumped as a voice resonated, its low, growly cadence filling the enclosed room.

“Well, well, if it isn’t a lost little insect, scuttling back to its nest.”

Whirling around, Tenna came face to face with two unfamiliar Darkners. Their fur was a bizarre mixture of colors, ranging from blue, pink, and yellow, each one pulsating in a brilliant display from the plug-like structure on their faces. The pattern was almost hypnotic, but as they came even closer, backing Tenna against the frame of the door, he found that somehow, they towered over him.

“Oh—uh, h-hello there! I don’t believe we’ve met before, have we?”

The one on the left laughed—a deep, guttural sound that scraped against his antennas. “Met? No. We’ve only seen. Your face, your voice—all over the city, yes? Plenty of time to watch. To learn.”

“Um… right,” Tenna said, unnerved. “I guess I did make a bit of a name for myself there, didn’t I? What are you looking for, an autograph? Maybe a photo?”

They exchanged a glance.

“Mmm… no, no, but it’s not you we’re after, little insect,” said the one on the right, creeping even closer yet. “You’re carrying something, aren’t you? Someone.”

Tenna’s heart skipped a beat. He tried to back away, but he was already cornered. “So, you, uh… don’t want my autograph then?”

In his head, Spamton twitched in alarm. “Werewires…? [[Cathode]], something’s not—”

But before he could get much further, the werewire on the left made a pointed nodding gesture, signaling the one on the right to close in. With the bandage blocking that side, Tenna couldn’t see it well enough to resist as the creature pushed its way behind him, restraining his arms tightly in its grasp.

“H-hey, wait, what are you doing?!”

Tenna tried to struggle to get away, but they were shockingly strong given their lithe, agile form. Around his arms, the creature’s claws dug in a little deeper, causing Tenna to wince.

“What do you want from me?! Money? Connections? I can get you those—there’s no need to get rough!” He tried, fighting to keep the panic from rising in his voice.

In front of him, the other werewire centered itself before his screen, no more than a few inches away, those pulsing colors resonating deep within his white glow.

“Eheheh… we already have what we want,” it said, its features twisting until they resembled a warped, vicious smile. “Now it’s our turn to make good. Someone doesn’t want that little rat you’ve got scurrying inside of you getting loose, you see…”

“…Not without a little lesson first, that is,” the one behind him finished.

Oh, fuck.

“[[Cathode]]!! You have to let me [take back control of your life]! I can protect—”

No! Tenna shouted back at him. Don’t do anything! It’s okay, no one needs to get hurt!

“Wait, there’s no need for—”

But as he tried to get the sentiment across out loud, the werewire aggressing him raised a claw, placing the sharp point right up against his chest.

“You can hide, little insect. Watch, if you like. We want him to come out and play.”

“[[Cathode]], please—”

Don’t listen to them, they won’t actually do it!

They wouldn’t, right? It wasn’t like in those movies or TV shows—this was really happening right in front of him. He just needed to stay calm. They could be reasoned with; they were all residents of the town, after all.

“…He’s not coming out. You don’t need to hurt him.” Tenna focused his gaze directly on the werewire facing him, defiance radiating from his screen.

The warped smile spread further across its face. “No?”

The claw began to rake down his chest, tearing through his suit and leaving a deep scratch mark down the surface of his metallic flesh. Tenna let out a pained groan, trying to twist away from them again but being held fast by the other’s powerful grip. In seconds, the black and white liquid static that flowed through him began to trickle from the wound as the claw severed the component holding it in. This type was thicker and darker—the magic-based fluid that served as his blood, almost black like oil and glittering with electrically-charged static.

Not all of his wires bled, but it seemed that they knew exactly where to find the ones that did.

“…How about now?”

Fury flared within him as Spamton called to him again. “[[Cathode]], they’re gonna—”

Tenna bared his teeth, feeling his control slip. Spam, NO, you’ll only make things worse!

After a few seconds, the werewire tilted its head. “Hmm… how disappointing. But you see… we didn’t come here to have our fun taken away.”

The one restraining him gave an amused growl-like laugh, the movement of its body reverberating against Tenna.

“Hold on, wait, we can talk about this, can’t we?” Tenna tried again, his voice growing more desperate than he’d meant for it to. “Please—”

The werewire flicked its ear, unamused. “You’ve talked enough, little insect. We tire of it.”

“W-wait, you’re not actually gonna…”

His words went unacknowledged as the werewire raised its claw again, this time bringing it lower in a swift, slashing blow, raking it deep against Tenna’s sternum just below the last cut. He attempted to double over, his breath rushing from his body in a shocked exhale, leaving him wordless as the pain spread through his wires.

“[[Cathode]]!!”

He hardly heard his scream. In reality, he didn’t have much time at all to be shocked as his consciousness was purged from the front of his mind, rapidly being replaced by that of Spamton’s.

In an explosive burst of fury, Spamton took Tenna’s place, his body shifting faster than it ever had previously. However, the werewire restraining him held fast, tightening its grip in anticipation. The second he had enough control, Spamton tried to lash his tail, hoping to catch them in restraints of their own and punish them relentlessly. But he quickly found that it was no use—his tail was pinned tightly between himself and the werewire’s body. If he couldn’t separate the cables on the end, he couldn’t summon the strings that lay beneath.

He was defenseless.

“Heheh… there you are,” said the one facing him, its fur pulsing eagerly. “Now the real fun begins.”

“I’ll [KILL] you for this,” Spamton hissed, jerking as far forward as he could before being reined right back in.

“Tsk. Hollow threats,” it growled, reaching out with its right hand to raise Spamton’s chin at an upward angle with a single claw. “But so many other lives, ruined at your hands, your words… For each life ruined, we take back what’s owed. And what’s owed…”

It poised for another strike, this time piercing deep into his left shoulder, slicing open just the right component to draw a new thin stream of blood. It rapidly began seeping into his sleeve, leaving a darkened stain, and Spamton only managed to half-suppress a pained grunt.

“…Is an eye for an eye.”

He bared his teeth in a show of malice but didn’t bother to struggle again. The blows thus far had been precise—practiced, even. It seemed they were aiming to cause the most pain without truly damaging him. He could take it; if it meant that Tenna didn’t have to, he would accept the burden onto himself.

“…But if you’ve already lost one, then this will have to do.”

Then, with the next blow sending a spray of sparks flying as it carved a jagged mark across his abdomen, images and memories began to coalesce within Spamton’s mind, overwhelming him with their blinding sensations as if protecting him… or, perhaps, tormenting him.

The voice on the phone, filling his head with sweet promises in tandem with cruel threats. Never knowing when it would bring about his next big success… or when the nightmares that followed would shake him to his core, leaving him broken and distant for days on end.

Another slash, and a dark stain formed on his right shoulder to match the other.

The memory of the first time the shadows had spoken to him, their discordant whispers penetrating his very being, surrounding him with their cold temptations and flashes of knowledge forbidden to him. The more they revealed, shattering his already flayed mind, the deeper he fell into the abyss, scrambling desperately for a way back out.

Another, severing a wire near his throat.

The feeling of nearly choking to death on his own tongue during a glitching episode, the corruption defiling every last piece of his code, wreaking havoc on his body as he lay helpless and alone in an alleyway.

Another, slashing at the underside of his newly repaired arm.

The memory of their first kiss, the static from Tenna’s screen electrifying his skin as their lips met. For as long as he could, he held onto this one, letting its light wash over him and burn into his mind. But with the next blow, it, too, was corrupted, replaced by the sensation of that dark, staticky blood pooling into his mouth from Tenna’s as he shuddered in front of him, the black knife of the prophesized blade stabbing through to the other side of his chest. He fell to the ground, their mouths still connected by a blood-laden string of saliva for just the briefest of moments as Spamton watched in horrified shock.

Yet another, drawing a line of blood across his right flank.

The images swirled and distorted to show him a single bright green string, incorporeal as it wrapped itself inside of the two of them, coiling around the faint glowing lights of their very beings. Through the connection, the shadowy poison coursing through Spamton made its way down the string, turning it blackened and brittle as it crept towards the other end.

He didn’t know how much more he could take.

But then, with a final strike at the ready, the werewire restraining him stiffened suddenly, its long, pointed ears twitching in alarm.

“Wait—someone nearby?”

It was too late. The other had already begun to swing, and at the words of its companion, it tensed in alarm as well.

The claw missed its mark. Instead of forming another superficial wound, this one slashed deep into his left flank, severing a much more vital vessel than the creature had intended to.

“Shit—”

Spamton let out a gasp, the pain snapping him out of his chaotic visions.

“Idiot!” The other hissed. “We’re not supposed to kill him!”

Swiveling its head, the attacker gave a frustrated growl. “Rrrgh… fuck it, just leave him. We can’t stay.”

In a heartbeat, the werewire behind him finally let go, and without its support, Spamton keeled over, embracing the cold ground below. Gradually, he raised a hand to his side, feeling the glove over his hand immediately soak through with the fluid that was gushing out of him. As he moved to put pressure over it, he heard the werewires mutter once more:

“…No loss, TV’s dead, anyway.”

Fury pulsed through him again, willing him to rise. Though he had collapsed, Spamton had one major advantage over Tenna: he was an intruder. A rogue piece of code, not bound by the same petty rules as his host. And that meant he had much, much more control over it all.

So, without a second thought, he reached into Tenna’s systems, flickering wildly as his consciousness spread through them, and commanded his body to flood itself with adrenaline. It was more than enough to get him back up, though his limbs were shaking violently all the while. Still clutching at his side, the pain was significant, but the rage easily overshadowed it. Lifting his head, he scanned the room before him, but to his dismay, the werewires had already slipped away. Despite how quickly Spamton had managed to force himself back up, they were fast.

Nevertheless, he unfurled his tail cables, feeling the green strings webbed between them tighten in anticipation. He had a choice—he wanted nothing more than to go after them, to tear them apart with his bare hands for what they’d done.

But it would undoubtedly be the last thing he ever did. With a quick glance inward, Spamton could tell that the wound wasn’t actually that bad on the surface; in a stroke of luck, none of Tenna’s internal organs had been damaged by the blow. It had been less of a stabbing motion and more of a cutting one.

However, it was bleeding profusely. Looking down, he could see that Tenna’s blood was pooling through his glove and slowly dripping onto the floor. Despite the lack of organ damage, the fact that they had nicked a rather major vessel meant that time was limited.

So, yes, he had a choice: he could go after them and take revenge, bleeding to death in the process—something he was more than willing to do. His life was meaningless if it meant giving them what they deserved.

Or… he could save Tenna.

He needed no time whatsoever to decide.

With a pained grunt, he continued pushing his hand up against his side with as much pressure as he could muster and began hobbling his way back out of the castle. He needed to get somewhere safe—somewhere he knew would have Darkners willing to help.

His heart lurched as he realized what his best option was.

He’d only just managed to escape that place, haunted by the memories he’d created there. But he didn’t have time for whatever irrational emotions his head decided to throw at him—he needed to push through it no matter what. So, with his sights set on the gold and red building in the near distance ahead, he made his way down the street, his pace slow and steady but undeniably hurried.

As predicted, several Darkners spotted him on the way there. They had most certainly seen the blood leaking from his side, trailing behind him in small splatters across the cobblestone pathway. But one look at the strings webbed between his tails, their eyes widened in fear, and they backed away, some even fleeing on sight.

“Urghh… [cowards]…” Spamton hissed under his breath. No matter: he could make it to where he needed to go. They would help him, unlike these spineless savages.

A little further, and he was nearly there. The adrenaline pumping through him was still going strong, but the blood loss was starting to catch up with him. His vision was getting blurry. However, he was able to recognize the brilliant red doors as they came into view in front of him, and as another set of Darkners parted the way for him in shock, he forced his way through, barely managing to stay standing as he burst through to the other side.

At once, every Darkner present in the lobby turned to look at him. For a moment that felt like a century, they all simply stood there in silence, hardly able to process what they were looking at. But then, with the last of his efforts, Spamton raised his voice to them.

“Don’t… help me… help… him…”

And in less than a second, Spamton let go, and Tenna collapsed onto the floor.

The effect was immediate. All at once, everyone rushed over to him, the room filling with frantic murmurs and gasps of alarm.

“Oh my god, what happened…?!”

“S-someone get Mike!! Hurry!”

Now that he was back in the comforting darkness of their subconscious, freed from the pain of their physical body, Spamton could only watch in abject fear as the others scrambled to help. Blood was still pooling out of him, spilling onto the shining lobby floor, tainting the polished surface with its texture like a starry night.

By some miracle, it didn’t take long at all for someone to appear from the back, their tone commanding and familiar.

“Move, NOW! All of you, MOVE!”

But to Spamton’s surprise, as he peered through Tenna’s darkened screen, the figure he saw was none other than that same green Pippins he’d seen twice before, once just a little while ago.

Was that…?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Instead, he watched as the others rushed to deliver a first aid kit, with the Pippins leading the efforts as they began working to stop the bleeding.

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck, Tenna, what did you do…?!” He half-whispered as he shakily unwrapped another wad of gauze. “Where’s Ralsei?!” He demanded.

“He’s not here, boss. He went off to help the Lightners somewhere else.”

“Damn it,” He muttered, realizing that they were on their own. Then, he shook his head in a fit of both anger and despair. “Spamton, I’m gonna fucking kill you if I ever see you in the flesh, you hear me?! Now fucking help us!”

Spamton shrank back a little, though it was less so out of fear. This guy didn’t exactly scare him. But his words resonated within him—if they were to meet, it was the least he deserved. This was his fault, after all. Even if he hadn’t been the aggressor, he was right—someone had been out to get him, and so long as he was stuck inside Tenna’s body, he was in just as much danger.

This was all his fault.

And now he was trapped inside a dying host, helpless to do anything but watch the light flicker and fade out. The panic from before was rising up again—why, why couldn’t he just hide himself away in the dark? Why did he have to watch one of his worst nightmares come true right before his very eyes? Why did he have to listen to the sounds of them all crowding around him, their whispering and shouting swirling in his head like ghosts of the past?

[[Cathode]], don’t you dare [close down permanently] on me…

“Spamton, help us!!”

The desperate plea broke past his racing thoughts. But… what could he do? It wasn’t as if he could physically reach out and close the wound himself.

He was useless. Helpless. Hopeless.

However, as he sat there in the darkness of their subconscious, he realized that one sound was growing louder than all the rest, drowning out even the frantic murmuring surrounding him on the outside. It was constant in its rhythm, pounding like the cheering of an audience at the peak of the old days.

It was Tenna’s heartbeat, racing steadily along as it fought to continue its one and only purpose.

Drawn to its trance, Spamton reached into his systems again, searching for that rapid beat at its core. There it was—Tenna’s source of life, surrounded by the faint hum of the river of electricity coursing through it. He reached a little further, taking its glow into the palm of his illusory hands, feeling its pulse run through him in a melodic symphony, each beat filling him with a sense of calm finality.

Perhaps there was nothing he could do to help. But this way, he would make sure that no matter what, Tenna wouldn’t die alone.

Now all he could do was wait.

On the outside, the others were all still hard at work. And soon enough, it seemed that their efforts paid off.

“I… I think I got it—it’s slowing down!”

He could hardly comprehend the words.

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the crowd. After his initial surprise, Spamton, too, joined in, his own dread melting away for the moment. For the next few minutes, he simply stayed in silence, letting the feeling wash over him while they finished up with whatever it was they were doing—at this point, Spamton didn’t want to pay close attention to the details. He’d had enough for now.

We’re… [still here]…?

But as the time passed, it had apparently been long enough in between consciousness switching for Tenna to jolt back awake. Spamton felt him tense up all around him, and with a small, weak groan, his screen powered back on. Immediately, the green Pippins focused his attention on speaking to him.

“Tenna? Oh, thank gods, you’re awake! What happened to you?!”

He didn’t seem to register the question, and as he took a moment to gaze at the figure before him—Spamton assumed his vision was likely still a touch blurry—he didn’t seem to recognize the speaker, either.

“W… where’s Mike? I… ow…” He winced, stopping the tiny bit of movement he’d attempted. Then, more desperate, he repeated, “Where’s Mike?”

The Pippins looked absolutely crestfallen, and he glanced down at his hands. They were thoroughly coated in Tenna’s blood. “I… I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

Ouch. Spamton couldn’t blame either of them in this situation—the Pippins, who he was almost certain by now was the one pretending to be Mike, and Tenna, who couldn’t put two and two together no matter how hard he tried. Something simply wouldn’t let him—not without a cost.

But that wasn’t his business. Right now, he only cared about Tenna not dying.

With a shaky breath, “Mike” seemed to push through the disappointment for the time being. Forcing his expression back into a friendlier one, his gaze fell over Tenna, gentle and caring as ever.

Or so it was on the surface, anyway. Looking closer, Spamton could tell—just barely—that underneath, it was strained by something darker.

“Just relax. It’s over. We’ll take care of you.”

Several hours had gone by since Spamton had delivered Tenna to the studio. Now, they were back in his quarters, with Tenna fast asleep in his bed and Spamton simply idling in his head. The worst of the wounds had been more thoroughly cleaned and closed with a quick soldering after they’d left the studio, and neither Spamton nor the Ambyu-Lances that had stopped by were particularly concerned about them now that the bleeding had long since stopped. The rest were, for the most part, superficial. Unpleasant to be sure, but far from life-threatening.

Tenna would likely be out for a good, long while though. Spamton had practically tapped out the last of his energy reserves to move him, after all, so it was no surprise. For now, it was all he could do to try and rest alongside him. For a decent amount of time, he’d been shifting restlessly, too worked up by his anxiety over the whole situation. But eventually, he managed to slip into a deeper state of dormancy. As he slept, he was vaguely aware of someone else in the room with them for a bit, though it didn’t concern him, as it was likely just one of the TV World Darkners checking on things.

And yet, as they lay there in the dark, he heard the sound of a voice break the silence.

“Hey. Hey.”

Spamton’s consciousness stirred further into wakefulness. That was Mike’s voice, wasn’t it? What was that idiot doing? Didn’t he know Tenna needed to rest?

“Spamton. Hey, can you hear me…?”

Oh…? Okay, now this was interesting. Waiting a little longer, Spamton flickered to life even more, brushing against the edge of their subconscious curiously.

“Spamt—ugh, you know what, never mind. This was a stupid idea…”

Alright, he simply had to know what this guy wanted. Sorry, [[Cathode]]; gotta borrow you for just a [quick ride].

Luckily, with Tenna already unconscious, there was no resistance when it came to the possession. He slipped into the forefront of their mind with ease, his body doing little more than a single jitter or two while the transformation ran through him, and a moment later, his screen came to life, filling the room with its now bluish-white glow.

Mike, who was now back in his pretender’s outfit, stopped in his tracks, turning to him warily, the glow reflecting ominously off of his face. However, as Spamton adjusted to the feeling of physicality again, he realized that something wasn’t quite right. He’d tried to stretch his limbs out, but they failed to move, instead being pulled tight against the restraints that were apparently holding him in place to the bedframe.

“What…?”

He pulled again, but they held fast. Even his tail was well tied together, as though the restrainer knew that the cables would grow in length. They must have been put in place when he’d been asleep. That, and on top of all this, the movement aggravated his freshly injured side, making him hiss in discomfort.

“Yeah, I’d apologize for this,” Mike said nonchalantly, “but I’m not sorry, so I won’t.”

Spamton glared at him. “Oh, you’d better have a damn good [[PRICING]] for this, buddy.”

Mike glared right back. “Look… I just wanted to… thank you,” he said, forcing the words through gritted teeth, “for bringing Tenna somewhere safe.”

Spamton’s screen flickered in place of narrowing his eyes. This guy wasn’t serious, was he?

“Bullshit. You did not [rise and shine] me for that.” He sighed. “Look—I admit, I quite enjoyed our little game of [cat and mouse] the other day, but let me ask you: what makes you so sure that I’m the [mouse] right now?”

Mike considered him, clearly unnerved. “I don’t trust you.”

“Then why are we [[bargaining]]?” Spamton attempted to lean forward a little, catching the restraints again. “Tell me… what is it you really want?”

Another pause. “…Tenna can’t hear us now, right?”

Spamton paused as if to check. As he’d figured earlier, Tenna was likely still a good while off from waking up. “Nope—he’s [all tuckered out].”

Mike grit his teeth a little harder in hesitance before willing himself to keep talking. “You knew too much back in the studio, when you were running around pretending to be Tenna. You can read his memories or something, can’t you?”

Spamton raised a brow. “Sure I can. Why? What’s it to [[a valued customer]]?”

“I want to know… can you also change them? His memories?”

Well, then. This was getting more interesting by the minute. “[Spare change], you say?”

Actually, he wasn’t sure. But it wouldn’t be hard to find out. So, in what would be only a split second for those on the outside, Spamton dove into the stream of memories residing in Tenna’s head, taking a moment to poke around for himself. The memories were relatively fragile in nature—in theory, if he really desired to, he could do a lot of damage. He was, after all, functionally a virus right now, even if he didn’t particularly want to be. And if viruses did anything well, it was destroy.

But as he looked a little closer, brushing directly against one of them, he found that they weren’t necessarily anchored in place. They were malleable… to a degree. A connection moved here, redirected there… it wouldn’t be easy, but perhaps, just maybe, something like that could be done.

“…Hmm,” he said upon returning, “Maybe. It’d be a real [challenge run], though. A wire or two could get crossed. It would be… [[MESSY]].” He smiled, fangs poking out prominently. “Depends on what you want changed, [dear customer].”

Mike looked beside himself with loathing—both for Spamton and for himself. Spamton found it rather amusing. But he could tell that whatever he was about to say, he wanted it desperately.

“Can you… can you make it so Tenna only remembers ‘Mike’ as me? I mean… the real me?”

Ohhh boy. Now this was oh-so deliciously interesting. “The [real] you? Oh, yeah, I know who you are—you’re quite the [[little rat]] yourself, aren’t you?” His smile grew wider, hungrier. He couldn’t help it—Mike had awakened something in him. This was his domain, after all. It was what he was born for. “Such a [total jackass] request. You must have a reason for something so… violating?”

Mike flinched at the word, and he lowered his head in shame. And yet, he remained utterly desperate to justify himself. "I just... I'm so tired of hiding... I just want things to be different..."

Spamton's expression shifted to a decidedly less amused one. "Then stop being such a little [[whoops, can't say that on TV!]] and tell him yourself. Why should I [sell] to you when you were just threatening me?!"

He looked back up abruptly, fear settling in his gaze instead. "I—I can't! He won't forgive me... He’ll cast me out! I'll lose..."

He'd trailed off, but Spamton knew exactly what he was going to say. He'd seen that empty, despairing look more than enough times.

"...Everything?" His mouth twisted into another lopsided grin. "Ha… you can believe [[your #1 rated salesman]] when I tell you that [losing big] hurts. And you—you're the [[Cathode's]] right-hand man right now, yes? All that [[POWER]]... boy, it sure would hurt to lose all that, wouldn't it?" As his grin spread wider, his voice became more venomous. "He trusts you, you know. More than he knows [what's good for] him. And you come in here to break it at his most [[VULNERABLE]]?" He managed to lean even closer. "I underestimated you. You’re just like me: [desperate]."

His gaze darkened considerably. "I'm nothing like you."

The self-denial was practically tangible in the air. "Then let me get this [straight and narrow]—you get to play the [hero] who nurses him back to health and [[delete]] all the hard parts? Take advantage and make off with your [[FREEDOM]]? Wow, how [GENEROSITY] of you.” He tilted his head to the side. “So... how is it that you and I are any different?"

Mike turned to avoid his gaze again, trembling ever so slightly. "I... forget it, this was a mistake. I'm leaving."

Oh, no, no. Absolutely not. He did not get to just come in here and wake him up only to deny him the [[deal of a lifetime]].

…Though in reality, Spamton didn’t want to do this at all. Tenna had already gone through enough to last a century—adding to the pile was the last thing he needed right now. Not to mention the risk involved; of course this guy wanted to mess with the memory of “Mike” specifically. The thing swallowed by the shadows, a parasite that had taken up residence since long before Spamton arrived. The effects could be catastrophic… or perhaps nothing would happen at all. He had no way of knowing.

But even so, he couldn't help it. All at once, his broken and erratic coding was flooding across his mind, bidding him to do what he was designed to. There was no resisting.

The strings were only pulling tighter.

"Wait, wait, wait! I didn't say I wouldn't [prize giveaway], did I?" His smile became nothing short of manic. "Come on, [1000th visitor], this is a [[once in a lifetime opportunity]]! I won't be [trapped] in here forever, you know! Why don't you go ahead and take your [[SHOT]]? I'll make you the [hero]—for a [smooth price], of course!"

Mike hesitated, still struggling to decide which was more overwhelming: his distrust and self-loathing, or his all-consuming desperation to hold onto everything he'd managed to scrape up through his veil of lies.

"...What's your price," he asked at last, his voice low and raspy.

That's what I thought, you sly little [[rat]].

…Wait—no! This is a terrible idea! DON’T TAKE THE [DEAL]!!

But he couldn’t stop himself. The words were flowing from him without any thought or effort behind them.

“For you, [valued customer], nothing at all! That’s right—for the [low, low] price of [[FREE]], this and [MORE] can be all yours!” He tried moving his limbs for emphasis, not even reacting to the fact that he was still locked in place, and his screen flickered frantically, glitching out as he spoke. “Right [NOW], that is! But you’ll [OWE] me. It’s a [specil] kind of [deal], you see—the [pay-it-forward] kind. EAHAHAHA—what an [[OFFER]], am I right?!”

Please, please don’t actually [[press accept]]!

For what felt like an eternity, the two of them stared at one another, trapped in a maelstrom of indecision. Mike, torn between the hard truth and the easy way out, and Spamton, bound by his own insanity, watching him helplessly with bated breath. For the former, it became harder still given that he was peering into the screen of the one who he’d been deceiving—and just behind it, the cold, radiating glow of the devil holding the quill.

All he had to do was reach out and sign.

But instead, the silence was dispelled at last as he broke into tears.

“I… I can’t do it… I can’t…” He half-sobbed, rubbing at his cheek. Though Spamton couldn’t see the tears themselves, he could see them staining the fabric of his outfit. “I’m so sorry, Tenna… I should never have come here… I shouldn’t have…”

He never finished the thought, opting to flee the room altogether.

“[[Coward]]!” Spamton hissed after him, though his thoughts contradicted him.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…!

As they echoed in his head, he soon found himself calming down, readjusting to the feeling of the quiet darkness surrounding him, comforting in its stillness. The restless, manic erraticism that had gripped him was finally fading—his mind was becoming his own again. Not much longer, and he slipped back into their subconscious, leaving behind the fear of what had almost just transpired—but not the hatred he felt for himself for almost letting it.

But perhaps now, the both of them could rest in peace. They needed it more than ever.

Perhaps they could really, truly begin to heal.

It took seven more hours for Tenna to finally wake up. Spamton, too, had been in a state of half-sleep, but the moment he felt their body begin to move all around him, he jolted himself awake.

"[[Cathode]]! Took you long enough! Finally finished [[firmware update]] or what?"

Despite his brashness, he'd eagerly rushed to the edge of their subconscious as he called the name.

Slowly, Tenna managed to sit up, filling his chest with a sharp inhale as his weight pressed down on his joints. At first, he held one hand up to his head, placing pressure against the damaged side as he glanced around the room blearily. Then, having settled a little, he lowered his arm again, simply taking in the hushed silence that had befallen not just his quarters, but the whole of the castle.

"Hey, [[Cathode]]?" Spamton tried again. "Uh... do you... do you remember...?"

For another moment, Tenna merely continued sitting there, staring quietly into the distance. But after a little while, just long enough for Spamton to wonder if he had even heard him, his expression suddenly fell, and his next breath came as a short, distressed hitch.

Oh...

As the tears began to fall, quickly streaking the glass of his screen, a deep sense of discomfort and regret gripped Spamton. Once again, he was at the mercy of the darkness encapsulating him, helpless in the face of vulnerability that wasn't his own. He wasn't much good for this sort of thing, anyway. But maybe, at the very least, he could make Tenna feel a little less alone.

So, in the blink of an eye, Spamton allowed himself to manifest, his code spurring Tenna's visual centers in a gentle manner. Now appearing by his side, Spamton leaned forward a little, pressing a hand down onto the bedside.

Tilting his head at him, Tenna let out another shaky sob. "It's... it's not fair," he started, his voice wavering with the effort. "I... I thought we would be safe h-here... so, why...? Why do they all...?"

Spamton's heart lurched pitifully. For him, there was no such thing as safe; the constant fear was simply a fact of life. And now, Tenna was seeing what was only the tip of that reality—that it was nothing like the glamorous, exciting thrill-of-the-edge kind of life that his own TV programs would have him believe. That their old life was really, truly over.

For Tenna, it was, perhaps, a most difficult and terrifying thing: to be at the complete mercy of someone who was not only at odds with the world, trapped in a nightmare of their own design, but of someone who he also deeply, unconditionally cared for, even as the world sought to wound him for it.

“[[Cathode]]… I…”

But there was nothing he knew to say. No words would be able to undo the ruin.

Instead, Spamton reached out, taking Tenna’s hand into his own. He paused for a moment, surprised by the gesture—and for a second, Tenna smiled ever so slightly.

…Yet as he held it, they soon came to realize that it was really only the sight of it. They couldn’t truly feel it. Spamton tried to squeeze harder, to offer something resembling comfort, but it was to no avail—only the slightest sensation of the contact remained.

Through the hallucination, it was no more than an echo of the past—the feeling of the two of them touching in a memory, now reduced to a ghostly shiver. No matter how hard he tried, Spamton couldn’t even offer him the most basic form of physical connection; only the fleeting sensations of what had once been someone else.

With the realization, Tenna couldn’t help but laugh under his breath. A purely instinctual response—a coping mechanism. It genuinely was just so, so unfair. Another breath, and the laughter quickly choked itself back into another sob.

And this time, with his attempt at solace denied by fate itself, Spamton found that tears of his own were beginning to crawl down his face. He couldn’t stop them—their stinging, bitter warmth only spurred on more, and before he knew it, it was too late to hide them. There was nothing he could do now but join Tenna in their sorrow, together in one body, but apart in the darkness of the mind.

For a little while longer, they remained as they were, bound only by the whisper of an embrace as the azure flames lining the castle danced on beyond the walls of their quarters, indignant to their plight. But then, at last, there was something to break the silence.

The door to Tenna’s room opened in a slow, careful motion, and in a moment, they turned to see Swatch walk through. At once, Tenna reached up to wipe away the tears still streaked across his screen, though it was to a varying degree of success. On instinct, Spamton wanted to disappear; to hide himself away like he always did, cowering behind Tenna’s shadow. But for some reason, this time, he chose to remain.

“You’re awake—oh… oh, dear,” Swatch said upon seeing the state of him. At once, he approached, stopping to kneel at his bedside, his expression deeply concerned yet compassionate. “What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

As he did so, Spamton stepped back, watching the two of them from just a meter or so away.

Tenna let out one last shuddering breath before shaking his head, turning to meet his gaze.

“No… No, I’m… I think I’m okay, it’s just…” He trailed off for a moment, rubbing the last of the moisture from the good side of his screen away with the inside of his wrist. “I was just thinking about how it was… back then. How I thought all the good things would last forever… until things started changing… until I lost control of everything.” His antennas drooped a little lower. “Every time the numbers went down… it felt like I was losing a piece of myself. Like I had to force myself to be more, to be better—anything to get those pieces back.”

He looked up slightly, meeting his own reflection in Swatch’s glasses. “It feels like it’s happening all over again. That if I’m not wanted in the Light World anymore… then maybe I was never welcome here, either,” he finished, the pitch of his voice rising against his will on the last few words.

[[Cathode]]…

Swatch looked almost pained, listening to him with contemplative patience. “Tenna… you know that isn’t true. Things may be tough right now… but, if you’re able, I want you to recall our conversation from that first night you visited me at the bar. I told you to remember those willing to support you when control slips away, didn’t I?”

Tenna’s screen flickered briefly, lighting with recognition. “Y-yeah…?”

“Well,” Swatch said, his expression lightening, “we’re here for you. Myself, Mike, your loyal companions from TV World, and…”

He paused, peering a little deeper into Tenna’s screen.

“…I’m sure you, are, too, aren’t you, old friend?”

Spamton froze. Even from where he was making himself appear in the room, he could see through Tenna as though his sight was his own. And right now, he could see Swatch gazing at him directly, his calm eyes piercing him through the veil of that white glow. It made him a little uncomfortable, being perceived in such a way. And yet, despite the flame of malice that still burned inside him, kindled by the past experiences he’d shared with Swatch—and despite the spark of jealousy that had undoubtedly ignited upon seeing him get too close to Tenna just now—he couldn’t help but feel encouraged by his words.

So, when Tenna turned to look at him in response, Spamton hesitated for only a second before returning a small nod. It was enough to bring a smile back to his face, if even only briefly.

“I… I guess you’re right,” Tenna said, his antennas perking back up a little. However, they quickly lowered themselves again. “But… it doesn’t change the fact that there are still some who want to…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.

Swatch dipped his head in lamenting. “What happened to the two of you was unforgivable. All I can do is offer my condolences—but I am optimistic that after seeing the results of their actions, whoever is responsible is unlikely to try again.”

Naturally, Spamton wasn’t so sure about that. Whether Tenna believed it or not was a different story; for now, he seemed more inclined to change the subject.

“…Yeah,” he said, doubt creeping into his voice, “I hope so.” Then, after a quick glance around, he asked, “…Where is Mike, anyway? Is he here?”

“Ah… I believe he stepped out for a little while,” Swatch replied, suddenly avoiding Tenna’s gaze. “He seemed rather upset by your condition. I’m sure he’ll come back around once he learns that you’ve woken up, though.”

“Oh. I… I didn’t mean to scare him like that again,” Tenna said, a slight frown forming on his screen.

Spamton, however, was watching his reaction carefully.

Should he… should he tell Tenna about Mike?

On the one hand, he felt as though it would do him a favor to expose the lie. For all Mike’s bravado in aggressing Spamton, constantly spouting about how much he distrusts him, Spamton didn’t trust him, either. How could he, when he’d practically made his whole career in deceiving Tenna for personal gain? It reminded him too much of himself—something he’d readily brought up earlier.

His true colors had been revealed. As far as Spamton was concerned, he was nothing more than a fellow scam artist.

But on the other… it would hurt Tenna deeply. More than that—it might break him completely. And that simply wasn’t something Spamton could bring himself to do. So, for now, as much as he disliked the idea, he supposed that it was for the best to keep the truth hidden away.

Meanwhile, Swatch shook his head. “It’s alright. He just needs some time. It’s been an eventful few days, after all. But, speaking of which, you did have some visitors earlier; the Addisons stopped by not too long ago.”

Tenna quirked a brow, his expression simultaneously hopeful yet thoroughly nervous.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, “it’s good news. They said that progress has been good thus far. In fact, if things continue to go as smoothly, they say Spamton’s new vessel should be ready in just another day’s time.”

At that, Tenna exchanged a glance with Spamton. Could it really be true…? Were they really so close to going their separate ways at last?

Despite himself, Spamton’s initial reaction was a mixture of emotions, chaotic and volatile as ever. He was finally going to be free… but for some reason, the thought of leaving the warmth of Tenna’s systems behind—of being thrust back into the cold, unforgiving world of reality—was utterly terrifying. How could he protect him, let alone himself, without the powers granted to him by their shared body?

He couldn’t. He was helpless and useless on his own; something he’d never admit to out loud, but after almost dying in the streets—after almost losing Tenna alongside him—he knew it was a reality he’d have to face eventually.

But to his surprise, as he met Tenna’s glance, he found that he appeared to be just as anxious. With the way he was looking at him, Spamton would’ve thought he’d just been told he’d kicked a puppy.

“…What’s wrong, [[Cathode]]? Beside yourself with [CASH OFFER] to be [[free]] of me?”

Tenna didn’t respond, seeming lost in thought. Curious, Spamton couldn’t help taking a moment to wade a little deeper into their subconscious, letting his current state of emotions wash over him. However, what he found was nothing close to what he’d been expecting.

Why… why wasn’t he happy…? Shouldn’t he be overjoyed?

“Tenna, did you hear me?” Swatch asked, breaking the silence once more. “I said…”

“…you’re going to be [[free]].”